by Jann Rowland
“Sequoia, do your people have the ability to control water?” he asked loudly.
Sequoia approached and examined what had caught his attention. “We are Groundbreathers, Skychild. We have control over metal and earth and things which grow and blossom. Those are merely pictures of a people long dead and gone.”
“Dead and gone? Who were they?”
“Waterweavers,” Sequoia said shortly. “Terrain treated them as his children, though they were no children to him.”
“Treated them as his children?” Skye exclaimed, twisting to look at Sequoia in shock. “I have never heard of such a thing.”
“How quickly a Skychild’s memory fades,” Stonedagger said from where he stood to the side watching them. He had apparently moved closer to them at some point. “Your goddess was the one who destroyed the Waterweavers, after all.”
Skye regarded the man, trying to determine whether he had told the truth. “My people have no records of a people of the water, and Celesta has never concerned herself with those who walk on the earth. The Book of Celesta says nothing of Waterweavers. If Celesta had ‘destroyed’ them, as you suggest, we would have a record of it.”
“The Waterweavers have been extinct for millennia, Skychild,” Sequoia said. “This talk of them is pointless.”
“I don’t consider it pointless when my goddess is accused of genocide. Why don’t you tell me about these Waterweavers?”
“There is not much to tell,” Sequoia said. “They were children of the water goddess, Cascade—”
“Water goddess?” Skye exclaimed.
“—and Terrain treated them like they were his children, as I said. The Waterweavers had control over the water, but they were not appreciative of the attention Terrain gave them. As I said, your goddess destroyed them.”
“And the Groundbreathers were the set of children Terrain always wanted?” Skye supplied.
Sequoia gave him a look that indicated she did not appreciate his facetious tone. “He was pleased with the Groundbreathers in a way that he had never been pleased with the Waterweavers, yes. I would note that my people have not had a reason to hate Waterweavers for quite some time. What is the point of hating an extinct race? Certainly, we are disappointed in their choices and their inability to see the greatness of Terrain, but that is all. We scarcely give them a second thought. And you should not either.”
There was more going on than was evident on the surface, and Skye considered trying to pry more out of Sequoia, but he had a feeling she would not tell him anything else of use. No doubt she considered it sacrilege to share much about her god with someone who worshiped another. Still, he might have tried anyway had it not been for the approach of Jasper and the Skychild members of Skye’s party. Gusty’s disappointed expression told Skye what he had already suspected; they had found no signs of Tierra.
Still, Skye asked them, “No luck, then?”
“We cannot find her,” Jasper confirmed, his face as inscrutable as always.
“Sorry, Skye,” Gusty said.
Nodding in acknowledgment, Skye looked away for a moment and then abruptly marched up to the priest. The others followed him.
Stonedagger looked alarmed at his approach. “What is it now, Skychild?”
“Why are Waterweavers on the walls instead of Groundbreathers?” Skye asked, still trying to dig up more of the truths buried in this temple.
The Head Priest stared back, refusing to speak.
A flash of inspiration hit Skye. “Groundbreathers didn’t actually build this temple, did they?”
The priest’s face darkened. Evidently, he did not appreciate Skye’s guess. He opened his mouth, shut it, held his breath, and then released a steady stream of air that sounded much like the hiss of a snake. Grudgingly, he said, “You are correct.”
“What?” Sequoia exclaimed.
“What is all this about Waterweavers?” Gusty said in confusion.
“More children of Terrain, but they controlled water instead of earth,” Skye said by way of a quick explanation, intending to provide more details later.
The dourness of his expression only increasing, Stonedagger said, “Waterweavers built this temple millennia ago to honor Terrain. That was before they became corrupt and abandoned him. Eventually, Groundbreathers took over the temple, and they turned it once more toward Terrain.”
“Is that when the spikes outside sprung up?” Skye asked. “I doubt they were here when this place was first erected.”
The Head Priest tightened his mouth and refused to answer the question. Instead, he said, “The Waterweavers were horribly savage. They would offer up Groundwalkers as sacrifices to Terrain, and on occasion, they would even eat the flesh of their victims. They believed blood would strengthen their powers over water. When Terrain discovered their deeds, he admonished them. It was then that they turned away from him.”
Sequoia’s lip curled in disgust, but Skye narrowed his eyes and said, “That sounds to me like a story that’s been embellished over the years.”
“Believe what you will, Skychild. I have no desire to enlighten you. I would much rather you leave this place at once.”
Rather than argue, Skye rolled his eyes and gazed around the room once more. The place was a mess. It was a wonder anyone would willingly work in such an environment. What could the priests get out of a position in a place like this?
As such thoughts rambled through his head, Skye glanced around the room. Suddenly, he found himself drawn to a region where it almost looked as though someone had tried to scrape away at the wall to remove the pictures and stories told there.
He walked toward it with Sequoia close behind him.
“Look at this,” Skye said, reaching a finger out and trailing it along the vague outline of a figure. The person—perhaps it was a man, but it was hard for Skye to tell—stood with head bowed in servitude or perhaps supplication to a second figure. The other figure—perhaps a woman, but again, it was difficult to be certain—hovered on what seemed to be a cloud. In fact, as Skye looked closer, it appeared as if the first figure was also on a cloud.
He frowned, squinting at them both, and then he said slowly, “Is that Celesta?”
Sequoia, who had not been paying attention to the pictures on the wall, snapped to attention at the implication that an image of the Skychildren could be found in a Groundbreather temple. “Surely not,” she said after giving the images the barest glance.
“Look at the clouds here,” Skye insisted, pointing. “Terrain has dominion over the land and the seas, right? He doesn’t have anything to do with the clouds.”
“He assisted in the formation of the sky to a certain extent, but we do not traditionally associate him with the clouds, no.”
Skye gave her a sideways look. Groundbreathers believed Terrain had something to do with the formation of Celesta’s domain? He grimaced but did not pry further, knowing it would bring about an argument. Instead, he said, “Look at the eyes on this servant figure here. He’s bowing his head, but the angle of his eyes seems to say something different. Is this a servant to Celesta?”
“I think you are imagining things, Skychild,” Sequoia said. Despite her dismissiveness, she sounded uneasy.
Before Skye could puzzle out more of what the frescoes could mean, a sharp bark caused him to swivel around and look for Stone.
“No!” Stonedagger exclaimed in aggravation. “Keep that mutt from disturbing the sanctity of—”
“Oh, shut up,” Sequoia snapped, drawing an appreciative glance from Skye. Then she and Skye rushed forward. The rest of their party followed.
In front of the garm, on the ground, Strix flapped his bright red wings in an almost drunken frenzy. He did not appear to be attempting to fly; rather, he kept beating his wings as though he were trying to hit his head with them.
“Whoa, whoa,” Skye said. He wanted to calm the bird down, but he did not know how to go about it. “What’s wrong?”
“My head,” was the only cohere
nt thing managed by Strix for several seconds. And then it was, “I remember. I remember.”
“What?” Skye said. “What do you remember?”
“What is the matter with your bird?” Sequoia murmured.
“I can’t figure it out,” Skye said. “He’s not speaking very clearly.”
“Celesta!” Strix cried. A long trill escaped from his ebony beak. “I hate Celesta!”
“Why?” Skye asked. “Did you remember why you hate Celesta? I still don’t understand that. She created you. Shouldn’t you be grateful?”
“No, no, she didn’t,” Strix moaned.
“What do you mean she didn’t?” Skye asked. “Of course she did!”
Strix turned a baleful eye on Skye. He seemed in command of his faculties once more. “I hate Celesta. I have lived for eons, Skychild, and I remember much. The memory was hidden from me, so I do not know the reasons for my feelings, but do not insult me by believing I do not know what I am saying.”
“But why?” Skye asked, perplexed. “Why would you hate the goddess who gave you life?”
“As I told you, Celesta did not give me life; I was never created by her. In fact, Celesta has perverted the meaning of my existence.”
Skye regarded the bird with bewilderment. “But the Book of Celesta says—”
“And who do you think wrote the Book of Celesta, Skye? Celesta controlled what was written in that book, regardless of who actually held the pen. Do you not think that she could have ensured it contained whatever she wanted it to? Regardless, I know this much to be true: I was not created by Celesta, and she changed me, denying me the fulfillment of my purpose. I can’t tell you more than this, as the memory has not returned.”
And with that, Strix flapped his wings and took to the air, flying out through the corridor, likely toward the horses tethered outside. With a whine, Stone followed, trotting in the bird’s wake.
“What was that all about?” Sequoia asked.
Skye darted a look around the room, noting that Stonedagger was looking at him with ill-disguised interest.
“Perhaps we should speak of this after we leave. Do you think we can pull some more information from these priests?”
Sequoia turned and regarded Stonedagger, who returned her gaze with a bland expression.
“Can you tell me anything else about my daughter?”
The man scowled and shook his head.
“In that case, I believe we can depart.”
“All right, everyone,” Skye said, looking at the other Skychildren. “Let’s go. We have a lot of ground left to cover.” He did not want to leave Strix unsupervised for long.
The Skychildren started to leave, and when Jasper attempted to stay at Sequoia’s side, she waved him off, still glaring at Stonedagger. With obvious reluctance, Jasper turned and began to walk from the room, though his suspicious gaze never stopped raking over the temple and its occupants. Skye thought the Groundbreather was wasting his energy, as there were few priests in evidence—in fact, Skye thought this temple was all but abandoned—and those who were present did not seem threatening. Skye followed Jasper, though at a much slower pace, straining to hear what Sequoia had to say as she stayed behind to speak to Stonedagger for a few moments.
“I trust you have not led me astray, High Priest.”
“You have learned the direction in which your daughter was taken, have you not?”
“Assuming Jasper can follow the path they have left behind.”
“I suggest you catch up to them and find out more about them for yourself,” the priest said.
“I will,” Sequoia said. “And it will not go well with you if I find you have been playing me false.”
“You can do nothing to me. I serve Terrain. Do you?”
“If you have been false,” Sequoia said in dark tones, “you will discover that my wrath is far more terrifying than Terrain’s. I am before you now. Terrain, however, does not take a direct hand in his people’s doings. You would do well to remember that.”
Sequoia then marched away from the priest, her feet stamping against the floor. When she approached Skye’s position, he turned to walk beside her, no longer attempting to feign disinterest.
“Do you think he was telling the truth?” Skye asked her.
Sequoia snorted. “As little of the truth as he could possibly manage.” She turned her head to regard Skye. “I expect to be informed of what that bird was going on about.”
Though Skye grimaced at the thought of the impending conversation, he nodded. Enlightening his most important ally in the search for Tierra could no longer be avoided.
Soon, they had mounted and were making their way away from the temple. For Skye, they could not move quickly enough.
Terrain, seeing how the Waterweavers had suffered from the lack of leaders to guide them, put a hierarchy in place among the Groundbreathers to be followed for the sake of maintaining order.
And when he saw that the Groundbreathers did as he had commanded, he was pleased, for they had met and exceeded his expectations.
“My beloved people,” said he when they had gathered together, “from this day forward, I would ask that you dance every week to honor me.”
“How would you have us do this?” asked one whom he had set up to be over them all. “Teach us, our god, so that we might honor you with our obedience.”
And Terrain showed them the patterns of order which were pleasing unto him, and soon his people had mastered them. They danced, and their motions created vibrations on the land he loved.
From that day forward, the Groundbreathers would dance weekly during the evening. And though Celesta the sky goddess had previously loved the evening due to the glowing appearance of the moon and the stars, she would scowl down upon the Groundbreathers on the nights they danced, for she could see the joy in their expressions by the light of the frivolous celestial bodies she had created.
And sometimes Celesta would cause the deluge to fall down upon them, but still they danced, their joy unaffected by the sky goddess’s fits of temper.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Chosen
The journey underground was not what Tierra would have expected it to be. Though she was a Groundbreather—and thus not afraid of being underground due to her ability to feel the soil and rocks around her—the sensation was uncomfortable. For one thing, she had only been underground on a few occasions when she had visited the caves set in the side of the mountain in which the Groundbreather castle was constructed. For another thing, the journey brought on a sense of something that was dark and foreboding and spoke to some great unknown danger.
Furthermore, Tierra found the tunnels themselves to be a disappointment. Of course, her awareness of such feelings amused her and saddened her in equal parts. The time she had spent in the company of Skye and his people had rubbed off on her; she now looked for beauty in her surroundings. There was little beauty to be found in these caverns.
The tunnels through which they traveled were composed of the same drab gray rock found outside at the cave entrance. They were a maze of avenues of varying sizes, some of which were massive enough that the light of the torches failed to illuminate any walls or ceilings. Most of the tunnels, however, were small passages through which the company could easily pass, though they might have scraped their heads on the ceiling had they still been mounted. The group’s horses had been left outside with two of the men. Tierra suspected the horses were stabled somewhere on the outside world, though she had seen no evidence of any signs of habitation. Tierra was a little sad to say goodbye to Chestnut, but her mind was too full of her situation to spend long thinking about her parting with a horse.
The strange Groundbreathers seemed eager to pass through the caves quickly, though Tierra could see no evidence of fear or uneasiness in their countenances. In fact, the men almost seemed more at ease than they had been on the surface.
And well they might, Tierra thought with exasperated cynicism. They are not l
ikely to be pursued down this wretched hole.
Though Tierra did not want to think of it, the chance of Skye being able to rescue her had dropped dramatically. Skychildren did not fare well in underground passages, as she had discovered during her escape from Skymount with Skye. But more than that, Tierra and River and their captors had already passed a dizzying array of passages with many possible branches. As a Groundbreather, Tierra would be able to navigate the passages again to find the surface. However, a Skychild in these passages could wander for months without finding anything. Furthermore, Tierra was uncertain whether her ability to speak with Skye in his mind could pass through so many miles of rock, even if by some miraculous chance Skye did come close enough to speak with her.
“How long are we to travel in these underground passages?” River asked Canyon the day after they had entered the blackness. She seemed to be growing more sullen with each passing hour, and Tierra empathized with her.
“We will only be traveling for a few days,” Canyon replied pleasantly. “And when we arrive at the end of our journey, I believe you will both find the reward to be well worth it.”
“Is that so?” Tierra asked with a sarcastic bent. “Will you allow us to go free?”
Canyon’s expression faltered, reminding Tierra that he had been the only one of her captors who had treated her as though she were more than some necessary nuisance to be dragged around. She felt a tinge of guilt, but she refused to apologize. In the end, even he was her enemy. She did not know why she kept having to remind herself of that.
“Your Highness,” Canyon said softly, “you know we cannot let you go.”
“Do I?” Tierra asked, her irritation only growing. “I do not even know why I am here! Nobody has seen fit to tell me that minor detail. It does not make sense!”
