by E. J. Godwin
He thought of Telai’s gift of farewell, and reaching deep in his coat brought it out to hold it for a while. The light bounced and refracted inside the amber until the firefly seemed to glow of its own accord, as if still calling for a mate centuries after its death. With a silent vow stronger than any sworn on Krengliné, Caleb promised he would one day stand on Telai’s balcony again.
He stowed his treasure away and extinguished the flashlight. The darkness was so complete he could not see his hand an inch from his eyes.
He was on the verge of falling asleep when he heard Warren stir in his blankets: another dream. “Why did he do that?” the boy murmured. “Who are you?” A pause, and then, “No, no, it’s been too long. She doesn’t even have a body anymore!”
A chill ran down Caleb’s back, and he shifted closer. “Warren,” he whispered. “Are you all right?”
Silence. He placed a hand on the boy’s chest, and felt only the slow breaths of sleep.
“Is there a problem?”
“No, Soren,” Caleb whispered. “He’s been having bad dreams, that’s all. Go to sleep.” Soren growled and turned his back again.
Caleb had a hard time following his own advice. A certain misgiving had tainted his quest for healing. It never occurred to him he might not be the only one to pay a price.
He shifted his position, trying to find a more comfortable spot on the unforgiving stone. I’m just exhausted, he told himself. Telai’s right, I worry too much.
He soon fell asleep, the silence broken only by the faint breath of horses and the echo of dripping stone.
12
Fulfillment of Fears
The lighting of a single candle can change the
path of history.
- from Besir Orand’iteé
“MY LADY!” Yoté exclaimed. “You shouldn’t be walking the city streets without an escort.”
Garda lowered the hood of her gray cowl. “This is a private affair, my good man. And I do have the authority to determine my own means of travel, if I’m not mistaken.”
A bright morning sun accentuated the lines of contrition on the servant’s face. He bent his head toward the leaf-speckled cobblestones. “Of course, my lady. I was only concerned about—”
“Your concern does you credit, Yoté. But I hardly see the need for it at the center of Ekendoré in the full light of day. If you seek a worthy recipient, consider Caleb Stenger, or your mistress, Telai.”
“Lady Telai? How so?”
She shook her head. “My tongue is too quick this morning. You’ll know soon enough. I need to discuss the matter with her before I make it public—or, rather, before it becomes public all on its own. Where is she?”
“As usual in Gerentesk, my lady. But—if only to appease an overly concerned citizen—please allow me to escort you. I have no pressing duties.”
“Lead the way, then. But I must speak to my daughter alone.”
A brisk wind off the mountains blew a few scattered clouds over the valley, momentarily dimming the city and its colorful autumn gardens. Garda loved this time of year, but the message she had received from Udan during the night had sabotaged its beauty. Ekendoré seemed too quiet and blissful, as though about to wake from an age-long slumber.
It was the nineteenth of Terté, a day of celebration for the harvest, and their footsteps echoed down the empty halls of Gerentesk. At last they arrived at the open doors of Telai’s office at the southeast corner, and Garda walked in, smiling a little at the surprise on her daughter’s face.
As Yoté left, Telai rose from her seat by the cluttered table and approached. “Well! What miracle brings you beyond the doors of Wsaytchen?”
“No miracle, Telai. I needed some fresh air, and time to think.”
The younger woman’s smile faded. “You look exhausted, Mother. When will you learn to get a decent night’s sleep?”
Garda sat on the deep sill by the east window. Gerentesk was always chilly in the morning, and the sun felt good on her back. “I hardly slept at all, not after what I heard.”
Telai stepped closer, drawing the sleeves of her white woolen smock down to her wrists. “What is it?”
The Overseer turned her gaze outside. “It concerns Caleb Stenger.”
“Caleb?” Her eyes widened. “The raids. By Hendra, Mother, don’t tell me—”
“No, no, he isn’t hurt,” she said. “Sit down, Telai.”
“Don’t be dramatic. Tell me what this is about.”
“Very well. He’s been exiled from Ada. At Udan.”
“What? Exiled? Did Warren go with him?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand. What’s he done?”
Garda hesitated, knowing how impulsive her daughter could be. “How much do you care for this man?”
She folded her arms. “Why does that prevent you from giving me a straight answer?”
“All right, I’ll get to the point. The reason why I slept so little was not just my concern for you, but for Ada as well. He’s found the Medallion of Yrsten.”
Telai lowered her arms to her sides. In the long silence that followed, her face went so pale that Garda feared she might collapse.
“Has it been confirmed?” Telai said at last, her voice trembling.
“Not officially. There hasn’t been enough time. But there’s little doubt—”
“I won’t believe it until I see it with my own eyes!” she cried, her color returning. “The eyes of a Loremaster!”
“I don’t have that luxury. I have to state a position on the matter. I’ve sent out a warrant for his arrest.”
Her jaw dropped. “His arrest? Why?”
“It’s not because he’s a criminal, Telai.”
“But everyone else will think so! And how can you arrest a man who’s been exiled?”
Garda snorted in derision. “The Rite of Exile—an outdated, childish ritual, one that flouts the very law it’s supposed to represent. Frankly, I had forgotten it even existed. And if I had ever thought anyone would be foolish enough to utter it, I would have stricken it from the books.”
“Then why did he accept exile?”
“You know better than that. Joásen exiled him in full view of almost twenty Raéni.”
Telai’s eyes flashed. “He has no right!”
Garda flipped her braided hair out of the confines of her cowl, the sunshine gleaming off the silver bands that kept it. “Technically, he does. But Joásen isn’t our immediate concern. I came here to tell you in person because you’re the Grand Loremaster. You must consult with those under your authority. Yrsten has come to pass, and many in Ada will look to you, not me, for guidance.”
“Who will Caleb look to for guidance? I don’t care what happened at Udan, he’s still a citizen of Ada.”
“I agree. Soren does, too. Even he couldn’t reverse Joásen’s act, so he protested it by accompanying Caleb Stenger into exile.” Garda scowled, her fear for Telai igniting her anger. “You can’t let your concern for this man outweigh your duty to Ada. By great Grondolos, this is Yrsten we’re talking about!”
“I know the implications—better than you do. But I won’t just sit and bemoan our fate, or worse yet make a decision based on false threats. The whole point in confirming the Medallion is to keep us from doing anything rash.”
“Everyone saw it with their own eyes, including Soren—unless you think a Master Raén would make a mistake about that kind of thing.”
“He doesn’t have the authority, Mother, and you know it!”
“Telai, you’re using that as an excuse. We need you here.”
“For what? Even I don’t know what the nature of Yrsten’s evil will be. And if it comes to war, I won’t be any use as a scholar.” Telai made a pretense of straightening up the table, her back turned.
Garda left her seat and placed her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “Don’t give up hope. I’m sure you’ll see him again.”
Telai shot her a glance, and stepped away t
o continue her little charade. “Now you’re coddling me. Yes, my position means a lot to me, especially when it helps my people.” Her hands shook, and she threw a stack of papers onto the desk. “But I can’t do this to myself. Not again!”
A pang of sympathy tugged at Garda’s heart. “Tenlar doesn’t regret his decision, child. Why should you?”
Telai faced her. “Look beyond the proud words of a Raén, mother. He simply chose the lesser regret.” Garda paused to consider her reply, but Telai changed the subject. “Ressolc has more experience and respect than any Loremaster in Ada, including me. He’s much older, for one thing, and I’m always going to him for advice. He’ll serve you as well as I ever could.”
“Yes, Telai. But you know there are some things we’ve had to keep to ourselves. It’s why I risked favoritism and pushed for you to be voted in as Grand Loremaster—though you’ve since earned the position in your own right.”
“Of course I know that. But why does any of that matter now?” Her shoulders drooped, and she leaned back against the table as if in weariness. “I’m sorry, Mother, but I can’t stay. I won’t know a moment’s peace until I talk to Caleb. And please don’t put me in a position where I’m forced to disobey the Overseer.”
“I may come to my own regrets if I don’t,” Garda said, closing her eyes briefly. “For now, you have my promise. But Telai, you’d better understand something. You could be trading one decision for a far more difficult one, where you’ll be forced to choose between one betrayal and another.”
Telai bent her gaze to the ruby on her finger. “I know. But it’s hard to explain. There’s a reason I need to be with him, something greater than my duty at Gerentesk.”
Garda shivered, as if another cloud had passed beneath the sun. “Telai, I’m terrified of what this might lead to. Please don’t throw away everything you’ve worked so hard for.”
“You think my profession is the only thing at stake?”
“Of course not!” Garda snapped. “Your life, for one thing. Take Yoté with you. Or better yet, one of the Raéni.”
She shook her head. “I won’t condemn anyone else to exile, should it come to that.”
“Telai—”
“No, Mother! Right or wrong, I have to live with my decision.” She scanned the rows of books lining the walls of her study. “I’ve been holed up in this place now for almost a year—ever since you caved in and let that narrow-minded Council shackle me with a teaching job. I’m sick to death of it!”
“It goes with the territory,” Garda said, trying to keep the indignation out of her voice. “Don’t you think I get tired of all the politics and paperwork now and then?”
“Don’t give me that. Politics is what gets you out of bed in the morning.”
“And what you do doesn’t?”
“Not here! There’s nothing to discover. The place is full to the brim of musty old books and parchments, every one read a thousand times over. I need to get back out where I can be of some use, before I turn all yellow and old myself!”
Garda drew a long sigh. “Always the same—never happy unless you’re pursuing something new and different.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Have you ever considered why you’re so attracted to this man?”
Telai struggled for an effective rejoinder, then whispered a curse.
“My dear Lefatéi,” said Garda, using a secret nickname she had not called Telai since she was a child. “Please don’t follow this man into exile, not without a clear understanding of why you’re going.”
Telai bowed her head, rubbing her hands together as was her habit when facing a difficult decision. Garda forced herself to silence, knowing that anything more could ignite the spirit of defiance her daughter had inherited. She had long feared a day like this—when Telai’s determination and strength took her down a very different path, turning a mother’s pride into pain.
Telai straightened her shoulders. “Whatever the price, I’ll pay it,” she said, then grabbed her cloak and marched out the door. Garda clamped her eyes shut, each fading step from the hall another wound in her heart.
The sound of a throat being cleared ended her melancholy. Yoté stood at the threshold all the more consumed with alarm, doubtless from having seen the look on Telai’s face.
“My lady—is something wrong?”
“It’s best you hear it from Telai, Yoté.”
“As you wish. Do you require an escort?”
“No,” she said, “only my daughter’s youth and resilience.” Yoté’s brows contracted, and she managed a little smile. “Lead the way to the palace, my overly concerned citizen. There’s work to be done.”
13
Dernetondé
Victory is never found
in the blood of an enemy at your feet.
- Etrenga, 1st Supreme Raén and 1st Overseer of Ada
CALEB STOOD alone, chilled from an eternal sleep—an aluminum baseball bat gripped firmly in his hands.
The dream again. He dreaded the moment when Warren’s capsule opened to reveal a shriveled corpse, the skin shrunk tight on a ghastly skull. It was a sight that always sat him bolt upright in bed—until now.
Three dim, colorless ghosts floated toward him over the wreckage of the hibernation room. Joásen approached, broken sword in hand, eyes bright and filled with wrath; Garda, her face livid and feral, pointed a long, black-nailed finger; Ressolc hobbled forward on his cane, spittle on his lips, his breath a hollow rasp.
Your son! they cried in unison.
Caleb shouted, swinging his bat through the air. Leave him alone!
Their faces neared. Garda shrieked, turning his heart to ice. Ressolc brought his cane down, and Caleb’s shoulder gave way, crumpling like hollow tin. The baseball bat vanished, snatched away by some invisible force.
A pair of hands pinned his arms in an iron grip. Caleb fought with all his strength. Warren! he yelled. Warren, run!
There was a blow to his head, and the images vanished. Spots swam in his eyes, and a halo of light shone on the jagged ceiling. A nicker from one of their horses echoed off the damp stone.
“Caleb Stenger! Speak!”
“What? Soren?”
A silhouette appeared against the light. “By the snows of Hendra! It’s a good thing we’re not in the open—you might have brought the entire Hodyn nation upon us with your bellowing.”
Caleb sat up and rubbed his cheek. “You hit me!”
“Not as hard as I would have liked,” he snapped. “Now I have to put up with two of you having nightmares.”
Warren was gripping the flashlight, pale with fright. “Don’t worry, son,” said Caleb, patting him on the shoulder. “I get bad dreams the same as you.”
Doubt softened Soren’s expression. “Go back to sleep for a little. You’ll need to be well rested to get through Véigen.” But Caleb tossed with his blankets for a while, then lifted himself from the cold stone floor, groaning from a stiff back.
After downing a quick meal they saddled their horses and returned to the main passage. Caleb led the way as before. The tunnel varied greatly in width and height, angling slightly downward, and there were no sheer drops or dangerous chasms. Yet they took great care leading their horses over all the loose stones and ledges; one mishap would put an end to their escape, trapping them between one foe and another.
The slow hours passed, and the silence and weight of rock overhead began to take its toll. Caleb felt a strong urge to turn the light to high beam. But in the unrelenting darkness there was no telling how much farther they had to go, and he dared not risk it. They only stopped to rest and water the horses, or when Caleb wrapped his son’s blistered feet in cloth soaked in a nearby pool.
Warren was doing his valiant best to keep up, and before long they were obliged to take turns carrying him on their backs. Despite his small size, he was no easy burden. The tunnel began to incline after this, and they stumbled along, aching from the strain. Eventually the c
eiling rose high enough for Caleb to place Warren in the saddle.
Many hours later, his feet burning and his legs ready to buckle, Caleb glimpsed a light ahead. Bat guano and the scattered bones of mice and other small creatures littered the floor. The passage widened. Leaving his horse with Soren he plunged ahead, heedless of his companion’s shout of warning.
Between one step and the next, the orange glare of a setting sun shone directly into the mouth of the tunnel. Caleb stumbled to a halt. Soren climbed the slope behind him, leading both Tellahur and the horse on which Warren sat, muttering all the way. Caleb eventually recovered enough to move cautiously out into the open.
They stood at the head of a valley that widened quickly to the west until it lost itself in the sun. “Dernetondé,” said Soren. “Quite a ways to go before it’s behind us.”
Warren slipped drowsily from his perch into his father’s arms. “Not before a hearty meal and a long, long sleep,” Caleb said, and together they climbed down the stony slope to search for a greener campsite.
♦
Caleb woke to a late morning sun peeking over the mountains. Warren puttered among the stones, and Soren kept watch on a boulder several paces away. A few shrubs here and there marked the beginning of a vast expanse of scrub that filled the valley. It was a desolate land for an exile, and a perfect place for an ambush.
Soren walked over from his lookout. “Anybody who followed would have caught up to us by now.”
Caleb stood up and stretched. “We should still be careful, though.”
“Agreed. We’ll ride a full day’s journey every day, and get past Dernetondé as soon as we can. Hodyn shoot before asking questions—unless there’s something to gain by keeping you alive. They’re better with the bow than most Raéni, and better at hiding themselves, too. We’d best do the same, at night at least. If there’s no safety in numbers, let there be safety in secrecy.”
