— You have a great magick, holy man.
— Someday you're going to have to believe in what you can do.
— If a person squints, he can see magick energy flickering off another person. It crackles off you.
— I have their magick ability and I was born before the first Invasion. I'm real Islander. Just like you.
— You have a great magick, holy man.
— I'm a real Islander. Just like you."
— Just
— like
— you.
"This is a trick," Matthias said. His voice echoed throughout the area. "You're doing this so that I feel like I'm like you. You're trying to make me into something I'm not."
The fears he felt, the changes, were all an act.
The burning boy flared out. The torches beside him fell to the ground and were extinguished. The small flames from the fireballs still burned, but the light in the area dimmed greatly. Red and green colors danced in front of Matthias's eyes. He could still see a reflection of the burning boy's flame, although it didn't exist.
"It worked, too," the boy said. "You defended yourself. And it seems like you've done that before."
The man beside him glanced at him in surprise. Tri brought his arms down. Denl and Jakib sat up. There was movement beside Matthias, barely within the range of his peripheral vision. Two women stood up. They looked familiar, but he didn't have time to figure out who they were.
"You did this," Matthias said. He was shaking.
"I did the fires, yes. But you defended. I aimed for you or your friends every time."
"You have bad aim, Fey."
"I'm not Fey," the boy said.
"He's not," the Islander man behind the boy said. "He was born before the Fey invasion."
"I need to take the word of two Islanders I've never met before."
"No." That was a woman's voice. It shook. Matthias turned. It was one of the Wise Ones. Her face was half in shadow. The flames from the fireball beside her cast a golden light on her right side only.
Pausho.
"That boy is a Coulter. His father is one of the survivors of the mountain. Like you, Matthias."
Her words made him cold. He clenched his fists, and they grew warm. He looked down. Small tongues of flame flickered between his fingers.
"Stop that!" he shouted at the boy.
"I'm doing nothing," the boy said. "The magick is trying to break free. I wonder how many times it has, over the years. I wonder how much damage you've done by not letting it go."
Matthias unclenched his fists, and the flames faded. The smell of smoke was giving him a headache. Tri hadn't gotten up. Denl and Jakib were still sitting in their places, watching him.
The boy was clever, he'd give him that. Making it seem as if Matthias had magick, like the Fey. The Fey knew in some inexplicable way how crazy that made him.
"You're his father?" Matthias asked the stranger beside the boy.
"No," the man said. "Not his real one. We've sort of adopted each other."
"I don't have a real father," the boy snapped.
"But you did," Pausho said, "if your name is Coulter. It's a family name. It comes from here. Your father left here as a young man, saying he'd never return. That was twenty-some years ago. Shortly before you were born, I'd guess."
"I don't have a real father," the boy said. He sounded uncertain now.
"But you did." His friend spoke softly. "Remember Solanda. She told you how she found you."
"She kidnapped me," the boy said, his voice crackling with anger.
"Yes, she did," his friend said, "but the old woman wasn't your mother. She had adopted you, remember? From a couple that was murdered by the Fey. She kept your name for you. It was Coulter. Like your father's. You told me that. Remember?"
"No," the boy said.
Matthias didn't like the way this was going. It felt like a show put on for him. How did that boy know he was coming? How did the boy know that Matthias had created such barriers before? What kind of system did the Fey have and why were they after him?
"You can stop," Matthias said. "You will never convince me that I'm like the Fey."
"I'm not trying to convince you," Pausho said. "I simply know the name Coulter. I remember bringing the boy up here."
"What does that mean?" the boy asked. "Bringing him up here'?"
"They kill babies," Matthias said, "If the babies don't meet their standards."
The strange Islander flinched. Tri shook his head. Denl and Jakib looked at him, and he wasn't sure what kind of look they were giving him, whether it was surprise or shock or both. They had heard of this before, there had been talk of it in the village below. Apparently it hadn't sunken in.
"And now you see why we bring those children here," Pausho said. She indicated the boy with her hand. "See how dangerous they are left untended?"
"You didn't bring him here. You brought his father here."
"And he was saved. And in saving him, it allowed him to procreate, to father this creature. Of course you're like him, Matthias. You're just like him. Demon-spawn. And you should have died all those years ago."
She said it so calmly, so rationally, as if she weren't talking about his life, as if she were talking about a weed she didn't want in her garden.
Matthias's stomach turned. His headache grew. "No," he said. "I'm nothing like that."
"You're exactly like that. Most tall children are."
"He's not tall," Matthias said.
"His father was," she said. "The rule doesn't always work, but it usually does. It's rare that someone as normal as that boy has the powers he has. It makes me wonder about his mother. Was she from here too?"
"You talk about people I've never met!" the boy said, and there was anguish in his voice.
"You met them," Pausho said. "They're your parents. Whether or not you remember them is another thing."
"You're saying that there are others like Coulter?" the strange Islander asked.
"I don't know," Pausho said. "Not many. Most of the children that we put here die as they're supposed to. Or disappear. And not all of the ones the mountain rejects have great powers. Sometimes they have simple abilities."
"The Wise Ones have been killing babies because they have extraordinary powers?" Tri asked. He was even paler than he had been. In fact, in the firelight, he looked almost green.
"Killing out of fear," the strange Islander said.
"No," she said. "Out of necessity. If you had read the Words — "
"I canna believe the Roca wants ye ta kill innocents," Denl said.
"Then you know nothing of the man you call Beloved of God," Pausho said. "It is the Roca's instruction."
"Not even I believe that," Matthias said. The headache was pounding now. He had never felt quite so odd in his life. He couldn't absorb everything Pausho was saying. She had never met the boy before. Had she? And would she work with Fey to entrap him? It made no sense.
Although the Fey wanted him. They wanted him badly.
For discovering the properties of holy water.
For killing Jewel.
For murdering Burden.
They did want him. He just didn't believe they'd go to such lengths to get him.
"We have the real Words in Constant," she said. "The Roca had two sons. One became King of Blue Isle, the other the spiritual leader. The Roca wanted all the power to remain in his sons. He did not want any of the other powerful ones to live."
Matthias felt a shudder run through him. He had always suspected the Tabernacle's process of choosing a Rocaan was wrong. After his studies, he had concluded that the Rocaan had initially been meant as an hereditary title, like the King.
"You're saying that Nicholas has these powers?" Matthias asked.
"If he is the blood of the Roca," Pausho said. "It is why we have never contested the royal family's rule. They are an unbroken line."
"That explains Gift," the boy said.
"Gift?" Matthias asked.
>
The boy started to answer, but the strange Islander put a hand on his arm. "I think we've had enough tonight," his friend said.
"What's Gift?" Matthias asked.
"It doesn't matter," the boy said. "But now maybe you'll believe me."
"I don't see why I should," Matthias said. "Nor do I see why you are trying so hard to convince me."
The boy stared at him for a moment, then sighed. "You know," he said. "Now that I know what you are, I wonder the same thing. I had a hope that we would be able to work together. But you can't even work with yourself. Come on, Adrian. Let's find the others."
The boy took his friend's hand and they started up the path. Matthias watched them go. He was too unsettled to follow them. And too exhausted. He needed rest. He needed to tend this headache.
He needed to think.
They disappeared into the darkness. "Where are they going?" Pausho asked. But no one answered her. No one knew.
But they would be easy enough to trace. And Matthias would trace them.
As soon as he figured out what he had just learned.
FORTY-ONE
Rugad could not sleep. He sat on his balcony and stared across the dark city at the river. The night was black. There was no moon. The stars were faint flickers in the sky. He could barely see the river, and only because it was a ribbon of darkness in the ruins of the city. He could hear the river as well, gurgling as it moved on its course to the Infrin Sea.
He hadn't even changed for bed. He still wore his clothing — and the jar with his voice inside. He didn't sleep with it tied to him, too afraid the jar would open somehow in his sleep, but he carried it with him whenever he was awake.
He had stopped keeping track of time, but he knew it hadn't been too long ago that Tuft had come to him. The Wisp had brought news of the golem's capture. Only the Wisp had thought that the Fey had captured Rugad's great-grandson. Either way, Rugad did not want the rest of his troops to know. He had sworn Tuft to secrecy, promised him a promotion and extra responsibility, then sent the Wisp on his way.
Rugad wanted to meet the golem alone. A golem, especially one over two years old, was a rare thing. This one was eighteen, and it had shattered once. It had powers of its own that enabled it to stay alive this long.
Powers of its own.
Rugad would discover what those powers were. With luck, not even the golem knew. That would give Rugad more of an advantage than he already had.
But he was impatient. He had seen the golem just once, when it had saved the life of King Nicholas and in the confusion of its explosion had allowed Nicholas to escape. Odd that the creature was not with Nicholas now. There was a story in that. A story he would discover.
He had discovered other things, though, in the weeks that he had been recuperating. He had learned the golem's place in Islander society. The Islanders believed the golem was the King's true son.
Islander culture was patriarchal, like so many of the cultures he had encountered in his years as Black King. The Islanders had not been enlightened enough to allow a woman to rule at any point in their history. The royal line had always been carried through the male. The royal issue had always come from the male.
Even if his great-granddaughter — she of the clear eyes and the incredible determination — even if she wanted to rule, she could not.
She could not.
Nicholas would have let the golem rule in her place rather than let his Fey-raised son rule.
And that was telling as well.
As he had lain in his bed, Rugad had wondered how Nicholas planned to reconcile the royal line with a golem in charge. A golem was quite literally made of stone. If it had its own magick, as this one seemed to, it could have a long life span, but even that would not make up for lack of issue.
Would the daughter's children have been passed off as the golem's? Was that even possible with all the servants in the palace?
Not that it mattered now.
Now Blue Isle was Rugad's, and Nicholas's convoluted plans regarding his children played into Rugad's hands. Rugad had captured what the Islanders considered to be the heir to the throne.
The heir.
And a golem, depending on how much of his magick was based in the Mysteries and the Powers, was most likely a blank slate. Rugad knew better than to hope this one was, and yet, Nicholas had abandoned it. A person rarely did that with an active golem, one with a personality of its own.
The golem had been found with a Black Robe near the city's burned Tabernacle. Its "family" was nowhere around. The Black Robe had been the one to rescue it, and the Black Robe had taken it away.
Perhaps the golem was not a Fey creation after all. Perhaps it had started as one, but perhaps it got most of its power from the Black Robes.
Rugad would have to find out.
Even that might work in his favor. Most of the Black Robes were dead. In fact, he had just slaughtered another group of them that morning. When he had determined that the golem was no longer with those Black Robes, he let his still-bloodthirsty troops loose. The slaughter had been quick, but not merciful.
He suspected it was the last gathering of Black Robes in Jahn.
The remaining Black Robes, if there were any, would be killed when they were found in the countryside or when they tried to revive their religion, as these types so often did.
He would stop them and they would die, and their construct would be used for his purposes, not theirs.
He smiled and leaned back in his chair.
He almost wished he had ordered the Infantry to bring the golem through the streets of Jahn. Then, at least, he could see their progress. Instead they were proceeding through the maze of tunnels beneath the city.
Those tunnels had proven useful. He suspected they would be even more useful as time went on.
He didn't like the setback of losing Nicholas or being unable to locate his great-grandchildren. But he knew it for what it was. A setback, and a setback only.
A knock on the door made his smile widen. He could not speak loud enough to bid the person to enter. He stood slowly and went inside. From there, he said as loud as he could, "Come."
The door opened. A contingent of guards filled the hall, with Wisdom in front of them.
"We have your prisoner," Wisdom said.
"Bring him in," Rugad said. He was beginning to get used to the pain of speaking. It no longer surprised him, and so he did not think that much of it any more. He knew what price he was going to pay each time he opened his mouth.
Wisdom reached behind him and pushed the golem forward. It was as Rugad remembered, tall and slender and Fey-like, with the look of Nicholas about his face. Its eyes told of its stone-nature, however. They were slate gray, as all golem eyes were. And if the eyes hadn't given it away, the cracks in its skin did. Anyone who had seen a golem before would recognize this one for what it was: a golem that had shattered at least once, although Rugad would have guessed that it nearly had lost itself one other time before.
The golem was staring at him, its face expressionless. It did not show any honor to its betters, which did not surprise Rugad. It had been raised among Islanders and probably did not know what it was in its first few years of existence. It might not even know that Rugad was its better.
Wisdom brought it into the center of the room. It stood near a pair of ornate chairs behind the embroidered couch. Guards started to follow, but Rugad held up his hand.
"I want five guards posted at this door," he said, "two other groups of five at the end of the hall, and another group of five on the balcony. I need five more near the main entrance, and several at the tunnel openings."
The leader of the guards, a woman by the name of Blade, nodded at him. Silently she indicated which guards would go to the balcony, and they did, making their way around him with a nod as they went outside. The remaining guards split up, a well-functioning team that made him smile at Blade with approval.
She did not smile back, something he approved of
even more. She remained outside his door, arms crossed.
"Close the balcony doors, Wisdom," Rugad said.
Wisdom released his grip on the golem and went to the doors. Rugad used that moment to walk around the golem.
It was cracked and filthy. It smelled of rotting flesh. If time were not of the essence, he would have had it cleaned before it was brought here.
But Rugad had been prepared for the smell. Tuft had explained the circumstances of discovery. Rugad had been appalled. In Fey culture, only those extracting magick touched dead bodies. Those extracting magick — or Red Caps, who always smelled this foul.
Wisdom had returned. He crossed his arms and stood in alert position beside the golem.
"Thank you, Wisdom," Rugad said. "You are excused."
"I don't think you should be alone with it, sir," Wisdom said.
"I will not be," Rugad said. "If I have any trouble, I will contact the guards."
"Sir — "
"You seem to have gained a habit of contradicting me, Wisdom," Rugad said. "Is this left over from my injury or does this indicate a desire for the Black Throne?"
Panic flared in Wisdom's eyes. Rugad now knew he would have to make an example of the man.
"It is habit, sir," Wisdom said, "from the days when you could not speak."
Rugad smiled. "I could not speak, but I could always communicate. It seems you forgot that as well."
"I was concerned for you," Wisdom said.
"And I value that concern," Rugad lied. "As I do now. But it is misplaced. I will be all right."
"As you wish," Wisdom said, and bowed. He must have been panicked. Bowing was something he rarely did.
He let himself out after leveling a warning glance at the golem. As if the golem would be afraid of Wisdom. It had much more to fear from the Black King. And judging from the light in those slate gray eyes, it knew that fact.
"What do they call you?" Rugad asked. He might have known, but he had forgotten. Golems were usually not this important, in the scheme of things.
"Se-bas-tian," the Golem said. It spoke slowly, its voice the rumble of stone against stone. How could anyone think it Fey? How could anyone believe it to be a living creature and not a magickal construct? Perhaps the Islanders were easily fooled, but his granddaughter should not have been. Jewel was usually brighter. Had she expected her noble experiment to fail this badly?
The Resistance: The Fourth Book of the Fey (Fey Series) Page 27
