by Brian Farrey
“Aubrin, what—?”
As I reached for her, I felt something press against my leg. My hand slid down my side to a ripped pouch. And the Vanguard.
Only the Vanguard can eliminate the Sourcefire, Kolo had said.
Struggling to my feet, I held my arm back and pitched the Vanguard right at the approaching tornado. But the gale force winds made it impossible. The crystal pyramid landed just steps away. There was only one way to deliver the Vanguard into the heart of the Sourcefire.
“No, Jaxter!” Aubrin cried. She tried to snag me but I dodged her grasp and retrieved the Vanguard. We both knew what had to happen next. We’d finally arrived at the purple marble.
“I love you, Jinxface!” I called over the turmoil. Then I turned and ran at the Sourcefire.
I ducked as wooden poles and hunks of thatch hurled past. The broken cobblestones made me trip and stagger. But I forged on, my hand to my eyes to fight off the wind.
It won’t hurt, I told myself. It can’t hurt.
Suddenly, I was struck from the left. I hit the rocky ground, pain shooting through my body, as the Vanguard tumbled from my grasp. Powerful arms held me in place.
It was Gobek.
The creature pinned me down, the expression on his face both pained and sad.
“Gobek,” I shouted over the wind. “You have to let me go. I have to destroy the Sourcefire!”
“Is wanting Gobek to suffer more?” he asked. “Gobek is not belonging here. Gobek is wanting to be free.”
“If I don’t take the Vanguard into the Sourcefire, it’ll expand and destroy all the Provinces.”
Gobek ripped the vallix skin gloves from my belt and used them to pick up the Vanguard. Being made of magic, touching the Vanguard would have ended him. Even with the magic-resistant gloves protecting him, the flesh on his arm sizzled and blistered. He suddenly looked very tired and very ill. “Is not your time,” he said, almost too quietly to hear.
“But it is my time,” I said. “Aubrin’s seen it. Please, Gobek, you’ve got to let me—”
Gobek raised his arms and the skin across his body began to shift. The color changed. He grew taller, leaner. A tangle of messy brown hair with unruly cowlicks spread out over his head. A pink, four-pointed star formed on his shoulder.
A moment later, I was staring at an exact replica of me.
“Is taking care of Bright Eyes.” The voice from this other me was Gobek’s. He looked like me but I could still see the enormous sadness and the pain. More than that, I saw hope.
Then, without another word, he took the Vanguard and walked calmly up to the expanding Sourcefire.
He didn’t stop to brace himself. He didn’t look back. He was at total peace, just as the Scourge monsters behaved when they were erased from existence. Gobek held the Vanguard in a clenched fist high above his head and stepped into the Sourcefire.
It was like the night winked. The light from the Sourcefire collapsed in on itself and my ears popped as a giant whoosh pulled all the air into the empty crater. Where the explosion that released the Sourcefire had thrown us away, the destruction of the Sourcefire drew everything nearby toward it.
I flew toward the crater, as if tied to an invisible rope. Massive piles of house shot through the air around me. My arms flailed, grasping to hold on to anything. I managed to dig my fingers in at the edge of the chasm while debris rained down past me.
Then everything was still. Completely and utterly still.
I wriggled and fought to pull myself up and out of the crater. “Help!”
A moment later, Aubrin’s dirty but smiling face peeked over the edge of the crater. “You’re alive.” She grabbed my forearm and pulled while I scrambled up the side of the crevasse. But she wasn’t strong enough. The earth where my hand dug in slowly started to give way. . . .
Aubrin’s hands slipped. I fell back, only to be snatched by two gigantic hands and hauled up to safety. Before I could thank my rescuer, I was crushed in a life-threatening embrace. It wasn’t until I wheezed for air that Luda let me go. I crumpled to the ground and coughed until I could breathe again.
“You . . . hugged . . . me . . . ,” I said to the Satyran.
Luda cleared her throat. “I did no such thing,” she proclaimed tersely. “I was just making sure you weren’t damaged. You seem to be working fine. Carry on.”
Talian and Bennock, leaning on each other, limped over. Aubrin took the empty pouches from my belt and used the fabric to dress their wounds.
“Help . . .”
We almost missed hearing the voice, weak and shaky as it was.
“There’s someone trapped under there,” Bennock said, pointing to a collapsed house near the edge of the crater.
Luda led the way and we started tearing bits of timber and thatch from the wreckage, searching for the survivor. A small hand shot up from down below, a spellsphere pinched between its thin, bleeding fingers.
I peered into the debris. “Callie?” It wasn’t possible.
With a roar, Luda tossed a beam twice her size into the crater, revealing my battered friend, her legs pinned under the wrecked house. Callie smiled faintly. “Ta-da.”
Aubrin squealed but I couldn’t make a sound. I’d have fallen over if Bennock hadn’t been there to hold me up.
“But you were in the Keep,” Aubrin said.
“It was Edilman,” she said. “When I released the magical lock, he threw his body on top of the box to keep the lid from opening. It bought me enough time to open a quickjump ring.”
“Did the abbot—?” Bennock pawed hopefully at the remains of the house.
But Callie shook her head. “I wasn’t going to leave him, but he knew if he moved off the box, we’d both die before we could make it through. So he shoved me into the ring and it closed behind me.”
Luda and Talian gently eased Callie out from under the rubble. She cried out as her legs emerged, mangled and bloody.
“So you quickjumped into a demolished house?” I asked, trying to take her mind off it. “Some mage you are.”
Callie snarled. “It wasn’t demolished at the time, you garfluk. I can only quickjump to places I’ve been. For some reason, the first place I thought of was your house. I’d forgotten how close it was to the Keep.”
I took a step back. I hadn’t realized it but she was right. The house I’d grown up in was gone. Aubrin’s arm slid around my waist and we hugged.
“You did it,” she whispered. “You changed the future.”
I ran my fingers through her short hair and glanced down into the gaping hole where the Keep had been.
“Yeah. The future will never be the same.”
43
Birth of the Procoran
“The mills of justice grind slowly, but they grind finely.”
—Corenus Grimjinx, clan father
We spent the night among the ashes of Vengekeep. As dusk came, everyone helped gather food and carve out shelter from the heaps of debris. Grievances were set aside. We weren’t thieves and mages and Sarosans and soldiers. There, huddled in the ruins, we were all just survivors.
The next morning, we attended to our dead. I carved Edilman’s name into an arrow-shaped slab of mordenstone. There was nothing to bury but I couldn’t let his death go unnoticed. Side by side, Bennock and I placed the stone in the cemetery just outside Vengekeep. The inscription under his name bestowed the greatest honor I could think of. It said: “A Grimjinx to the end.”
Then we joined the Sarosans, deep in the woods, as they mourned their losses. Reena wept uncontrollably in her father’s arms while Maloch stood stoically at her side. I bowed my head in respect as the flames of a funeral pyre took what remained of Holm. I’d heard he’d died saving his sister from a braxilar. Like a true warrior-bard.
When the funerals finished, the unclaimed dead—Nalia and many mages—were lined up down one of the few undamaged streets. They’d be tended to later. The Dowager vowed to show them more respect than they’d shown the Provinces
.
Talian and the healers had worked on Callie until late into the night. They relieved as much pain as they could, but in the end they had to tell her she’d never walk again. The news didn’t faze her for a second.
“Maybe I’ll surprise you,” she said with her usual knowing smile.
Of that, I had no doubt.
At breakfast, what remained of the rebellion’s leadership gathered to talk about the only thing left to discuss: the future.
“We must spread the word,” the Dowager said, “and start rebuilding the Provinces as soon as possible. We can’t do that until everyone knows the Palatinate and the Scourge are gone.”
Kendil nodded. “Before our exile, the Sarosans happily wandered the Provinces. We’ll resume that sacred tradition and share the news.”
“And what do we tell everyone?” Ma asked. “Yes, it’s important they understand the danger has passed. But life just can’t go back to normal.”
“I don’t think it should go back to normal,” Da said. Quizzical looks spread through the group. “Look, Mannis Soranna created the Five Provinces from the ashes of the Great Uprisings. Well, we’ve got plenty of ashes to go around again. Why not start something new?”
Talian disagreed. “We wouldn’t be here today without the Dowager. Isn’t that a sign she should lead us—?”
“It most certainly is not!” The Dowager looked up from her plate. “Ona is quite right. It’s time to start over. The Five Provinces were created because there was a need for them. Things have changed. I don’t know if that need exists anymore.”
Mr. Oxter chuckled cynically. “So, what do you think we need?”
Everyone looked expectantly at the Dowager. I thought she was going to be ill. But when our eyes met, I gave her a small nod. Her chin went up and her shoulders went back.
“We need freedom. To believe what we chose to believe, to be what we chose to be. For too long, the people of our land have defined themselves by what they’ve always known: the leadership of a High Laird. We neglected personal responsibility. We need to leave the cradle and make our own decisions.
“There is no more High Laird. The house of Soranna is gone. So what will you choose? I know the people of these Provinces. They’re good people. They’re smart people. They can govern themselves.”
It really was a shame she didn’t want the job of leader because, at that moment, I think every person there would have followed her anywhere. As she stood, we all stood.
“When we spread the word of the Palatinate’s fall, we’ll also speak of the future. A future that belongs to everyone, where there is equal say for all throughout the land. A new government will address the new needs of the new land. Everyone will be represented. No voice will go unheard.”
Some muttered their approval. Some applauded.
I hoped the new government would have amnesty for thieves.
“Success means ignoring the petty grievances of the past. That is how we’ll forge a new order. A new government. And we’ll call that new government . . .”
She paused. Everyone held their breath. The Dowager leaned over and whispered in my ear. “I don’t want to make a mistake. What’s the par-Goblin word for ‘wisdom’?”
My mind raced. I hadn’t come expecting a quiz on ancient languages. “Um . . . procoran.”
She rose and said to all, “And our new government shall be called . . . the Procoran!”
A cheer went up from the crowd. The applause was deafening. Nanni appeared at my elbow and whispered in my other ear. “Jaxter, why did the Dowager name our new government after the par-Goblin word for ‘naive’?”
Oh. Right. Procoran is “naive.” Procorus is “wisdom.” Funny how so little separates those two words. I was always getting them mixed up.
I shrugged. “Too late now.”
Energized, the crowd went to work. The Sarosans gathered supplies for their trek across the land. Others, led by Castellan Jorn, started sifting through the debris, hoping to resurrect Vengekeep.
“Very wise, that Dowager,” the Castellan told the workers closest to him. “We should start over again. There’s nothing saying we have to call the new city Vengekeep, is there? Now . . . Jornville. That has a lovely ring to it.”
Crews formed to find anything worth salvaging, Uncle Garax took point on top of what remained of the Ghostfire house. He directed people where to search, chastised those he didn’t feel were working fast enough, and needled all with reminders of what the Dowager said about working together.
“And just how are you going to pitch in?” I asked Garax.
“What do you think I’m doing now?” he retorted. “Supervising is exhausting work, y’know.”
Shaking my head, I walked away to let him have what was hopefully his last delusion of grandeur. With the Ghostfire house destroyed, his prospects for employment in the new world didn’t look especially good.
I joined up with the Dowager at the demolished cartographer’s shop. It was in better shape than most. The roof had collapsed and the walls were buckled, but a convenient hole where there had once been a window made it easy to access the shop’s supply of maps. The Dowager was sorting through rolls of parchment, placing them in piles according to Province.
“I’m all for this Procoran,” I said. “But I’d really love to have just one leader right now who would tell my uncle to zoc off.”
The Dowager’s eyes narrowed. “Why? Are you applying for the job?”
I coughed, choking on my own surprise. “Er, no. I’m a better apprentice. I just want to get back to Redvalor Castle and start working again.”
The Dowager was quiet for several moments. Her lips pulled back in a sad smile. She lowered herself to the ground and motioned for me to join her. “Jaxter, weren’t you listening? Everything’s changed. There may not even be a Redvalor to return to. And even if there is, I’m not the Dowager anymore. I’m just . . . Annestra.”
“So . . . what will you do?”
“I’ll help the new government get started. I won’t run it, you can be sure of that. But this could be my chance to mold something new. The Palatinate was able to quietly exterminate plants and animals that resisted magic because the monarchy didn’t care. I could make sure the Procoran cares. And you’re welcome to join me.”
“Me? I’m not a politician.”
“Neither am I. The Procoran will need advisers. The research that we’ve already done will go a long way toward helping the Procoran protect anything in danger of extinction. But I know that’s not what you wanted when you became my apprentice. And I’ll understand if you want to go back to your family. I’d miss you, Jaxter. But you need to do what’s best for you.”
She kissed my cheek and resumed sorting maps. You need to do what’s best for you. So many times, I thought I knew what that was. Thief. Scientist. But maybe none of it was true.
I wandered the shattered streets, not sure where I should go or what I should do next. I found myself at the crater and the ruins of our house. A flood of memories came back. Da presenting me with my first lockpicks. Ma carving my profile into a forged silvernib. All that took place here. I hated that it took the destruction of the house to remind me.
“It’s very nice rubble.”
Bennock, approaching from behind, nodded at our former home.
“It’s a good thing the theme of the day is ‘starting over,’” I said, kicking at what used to be the front door. “Don’t really have much choice.”
“I may have lived secluded in an abbey all my life but even I’ve heard stories of the Grimjinxes. I say it’s three months before you and your family are back on your feet. Make it two, if you’re involved.”
I smiled at the praise but I wasn’t feeling it. “So, what will you do now?”
I wasn’t the only one who’d lost his home. Bennock had lost more: the only family he’d ever known. The former acolyte traced sigils in the dirt with the toe of his boot. “I’m not sure. Kendil said I’d be welcome with the Sarosans.
It might be fun to travel with them.”
“Oh.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“Well, you said you wanted to study languages. My da speaks six fluently. He’s no assassin-monk but I’m sure he’d be willing to teach you. You could always, you know, move in with my family. Or, they’d be more than happy to teach you to be a thief. You’d make a good one.”
Bennock titled his head, uncertain. “That’s a compliment, right?”
“We’re Grimjinxes. It’s the highest compliment we can give.”
“Are you moving back with your parents?”
I tried to picture what that would be like. I couldn’t. I tried to picture what staying with the Dowager would be like. Again, I couldn’t.
“I don’t know, Bennock. The Dowager . . . I mean, Annestra’s going to assist the new government. She wants me to help her but . . .”
“But what?”
“I gave up being a thief to be her apprentice. Now I’m supposed to give up being her apprentice to be . . . I don’t know what. Can’t I just be something and stick with it?”
“Who says you’re supposed to be one thing, you naff-nut? Jaxter, you are a thief. You are a scientist. You’re all those things. Nobody’s just one thing.”
“But the par-Goblins said, ‘The path of thievery never forks.’”
“Right. The ancient par-Goblins. They were legendary thieves. Where are they now? They fell apart, probably from listening to their own advice. Maybe if they’d found a way to be something other than thieves, they’d still be around. Don’t limit yourself because of something a bunch of dead par-Goblins said a hundred years ago. It’s like the abbot always said to me: the future’s up to you.”
Bennock gave me a playful punch in the arm and strode away. As he mentioned Edilman, I felt a knot form in my stomach. I had a future to decide. Edilman didn’t.
Because of me.
44
Everything Changes
“Until thieves write history, time will glorify the High Laird.”
—Jaxter Grimjinx, scientific liaison to the Procoran
I sat on a pile of mordenstone and twisted metal—all that remained of Vengekeep’s gates. Flattening my legs so I could use my lap as a desk, I stretched a piece of parchment across my thighs. In one hand, I took the quill and inkpot I’d found in the remains of the Ghostfire house. Aubrin’s journal lay spread out next to me, open to the page with the message for “EAJ.” My message. Sighing, I dipped the quill into the ink.
