Catalyst Moon: Incursion (The Catalyst Moon Saga Book 1)

by Lauren L. Garcia

  How long had they been here? Stonewall had stopped keeping track of time's passage once he'd dropped to a kneel at Kalinda's side. Given the tightness in his own legs from holding this position, at least several hours.

  The meager light outside painted Kalinda’s face gray. But despite the physical toll her magic had taken, she was still beautiful in his eyes. Would this be how she looked in thirty years? Forty? The wild thought struck him that he would like to know her then, and all the years in between. But that was a foolish fancy. People, especially ones he cared about, never lasted very long.

  Besides, he wouldn't live another forty years. Twenty, maybe, if he was strong enough to withstand the hematite. This was the path he'd chosen; he could not turn his back upon it.

  Mage in his arms, he rose and said, softly, “Jennet?”

  She started awake. When she saw Stonewall standing, she jumped to her feet. “Riel!”

  “He's well,” Stonewall said. “Thanks to Kalinda, he'll remain so.”

  “Thank Mara!” Jennet rushed to her husband, though when her eyes fell upon the mage in Stonewall's arms, she paused mid-step and gave him a horrified look. “By the One! Is she...?”

  “Kalinda...over-exerted herself,” Stonewall heard himself say. “She needs rest.”

  Jennet's eyes were bright and red-rimmed, but she only nodded and knelt over her husband, smoothing back his damp hair. By now, Saph had woken, rubbing her eyes, until she caught sight of her mother. “Mama?” she asked. “Is Da...?”

  “He's alive,” Jennet whispered, pressing a hand to the hollow of Riel's throat, where his pulse beat faintly. “Sweet Mara...”

  Saph's eyes lit up and she shoved her brother. “Cop! Wake up! Da's alive!”

  “Huh?”

  Jennet rose and pointed to the loft. “If you can get her up there, Ser Sentinel, she can rest in one of the children's beds.”

  Stonewall eyed the ladder. It would be awkward to climb with Kalinda in his arms, but he could manage. “Aye. That will work. Thank you.”

  She offered him a warm, tear-streaked smile in return. “Thank you.”

  There was a great deal of meaning behind the words, but she should have thanked Kalinda. Nevertheless, he managed a singular nod of acknowledgment before he made his way up the ladder and into the loft.

  The hearth's glow cast a flickering light about the wide, low-ceilinged space and revealed two small sleeping pallets stacked with bedding and blankets, with rag dolls and wooden toys scattered between. Crates and chests were stacked along the far wall. One small window faced outside, revealing a pale light; evidence of the approaching dawn.

  In the back of his mind, Stonewall considered checking the perimeter of the farm to make sure whatever had harmed Riel had not followed him here. And there was the issue of Riel's hunting partner – Neff. Was he alive? Someone should at least go looking...

  Suddenly his armor felt heavier than it ever had. There was so much to be done, but the events of the day and the meager amount of rest he'd gotten were catching up to him at last. But he had a duty. His hand crept to the hematite vials at his belt.

  Not yet, he told himself. Not unless absolutely necessary.

  One task at a time. He had to hunch over as he crossed the loft. His legs still protested from kneeling beside Kalinda for so long, but he knelt again to set the dark-haired woman upon one of the pallets. Without allowing himself more than a perfunctory glance at her, he made his way back down the ladder.

  Jennet sat by her husband, mopping at his now-bare chest with a damp rag while a pail of water rested by her feet. The children were also on the bed: Cop curled beside his father, while Saph sat at his head, hands in her lap, gaze distant.

  “I can't believe he's alive,” Jennet said as Stonewall approached. “I was so certain–”

  She broke off, blinking, and took a breath. Stonewall slowly came to stand near her, uncertain what to do now.

  “Will he get better?” Saph asked him suddenly.

  “I believe so.”

  “All the way better?”

  Stonewall looked at the sleeping man. Now that most of the blood was gone, he found a new appreciation for whatever Kalinda's magic had done. Riel would bear a nasty scar, but it seemed a fair trade for the rest of his life. “I'm no mender,” he said to the girl. “But I have seen men and women recover fully from very bad wounds.”

  “Will he turn into a moon-blood, too?” Cop said sleepily. “Isn't that what happens when they do magic on you?”

  Stonewall looked at Jennet, who had the grace to flush. “Hush,” she told her children. “Let your father rest and leave the sentinel alone. Are you hungry?” When they nodded, she jerked her chin toward the door. “Fetch some honey; I'll make flatcakes and we'll have a proper breakfast.”

  Once the children left, she shot Stonewall a chagrined look. “Sorry about that. We don't get...her kind much out here.”

  “Only the worst of the rumors.”

  She turned her attention back to her husband. “It's just strange to me, is all. Magic, I mean. I don't understand it. But I suppose it'd be unfair of me to speak ill of mages, now.”

  “Now that it's proved useful to you,” he could not help but add.

  Jennet flushed again. “The mage...she'll recover?”

  Stonewall took a deep breath. Already, he wanted to check on Kalinda again, but kept himself firmly in place. “I believe so. I've seen her perform...great magic before, and she's always recovered after a bit of rest. But it may be a day or so.”

  “Have you,” Jennet paused, “worked with her very long?”

  Worked with. An odd choice of words. They implied partnership, even camaraderie. But there was nothing of those sentiments in any bastion or garrison Stonewall had ever visited. No doubt the mages would say the same.

  “We've only known each other a handful of days,” he said. “But they have been...eventful.” Among the images of this journey that played through his mind, Kalinda's smile lingered, along with her voice, a whisper, as she said, “Stone...”

  “She's saved my life,” Jennet said, pulling him from his memories. “I can never thank her enough.”

  Stonewall frowned. “But you weren't injured.”

  “Oh, no.” Jennet smiled despite her tear-streaked face and bloodstained hands. It was a smile that held no pain nor fear. “Riel is my soul-bonded. I know this like I know my children's faces. If he is well, if my family is well...” She shrugged. “They are my life.”

  Stonewall's mouth opened but no sound emerged. Rather, he was struck with a longing so sharp it cut. His eyes burned. His mother and his other siblings. Gone. Even his memories of them were faded, though they filled him to the breaking point. Any blood family he'd ever known was dead, his brother Bahar had been the last to fall. He was alone. He would always be alone. For a few moments, it was all he could do to stand in silence while Jennet tended to her husband.

  At last she rose and began to collect the bloody rags. “You should get some rest, too. Please eat with us and stay here as long as you need to...?” Her eyes flitted between his daggers and the sword at his waist. “I never did catch your name, Serla Sentinel.”

  “Stonewall.” It was not his birth-name, which he'd not heard uttered in four years, and never would again. But his old life, too, didn't matter when laid next to the path he'd chosen. He offered her a warrior's salute: arms crossed before his chest and a slight bow, the gesture ingrained within him so deeply that he made it without a thought.

  “Stonewall.” Jennet wiped her forehead with her sleeve. “Thank Tor I found you. Both of you.”

  ***

  For perhaps the first time in his life, Stonewall was too tired for breakfast. When the children returned with eggs and honey for the flatcakes, he only managed a meager portion of each before pleading exhaustion. His body felt cold and leaden, such that even the climb to the loft was tiring.

  He made his way back to Kalinda's side and dropped to his knees beside her as he remov
ed his weapons and the bulkier pieces of his armor. The second sleeping pallet was far too small for his frame, as were the blankets. Had he been a different sort of man, he would have curled up with her for warmth. He was no stranger to female company – of any sort – but somehow, this was different. She was different.

  Prior to this, Stonewall had told himself he and the mage were as far apart as the two moons, but that wasn't as true as he'd once believed. Like him, she wanted to help others when she could; like him, she tried her best to do what she thought was right. Perhaps he was more tired than he realized, because right now, a little heresy seemed inconsequential in light of everything else he'd learned about this woman.

  Kalinda. When was the last time he'd thought of another so intimately? Even sentinel names were titles, chosen or bestowed once one joined the ranks.

  The loft was chilly, and the wooden slats of the floor were hard, but he'd slept in far worse conditions. Stonewall tugged the blanket over his chest and shifted his arm so that he could rest his cheek upon it. A moment's consideration was all he needed to pull the rest of Kalinda's blanket over her so that she would be warm. He hoped, anyway.

  Sleep did not immediately come, so he spent a while listening to her quiet breathing. What in Tor's name he was going to put in his report whenever they reached Whitewater City? Of course, the truth was the best option, but if he told the Whitewater commander of Kalinda's abilities, she would truly become a prisoner.

  He could not let that happen.

  But what, then, was he to say?

  Questions circled endlessly through his mind, but they were erratic and without true form, for he was senseless with exhaustion. Surely that was the only reason he swept away a few strands of dark hair that had stuck to her cheek; surely that was the only reason he wondered if her lips were as soft as they looked in the morning light.

  If I've started daydreaming like this, I definitely need sleep. He drew back his hand. No doubt she would not appreciate such thoughts. For his part, such fancies meant nothing other than how tired he was.

  But even so, when he shut his eyes and urged himself to drop into sleep, he did so half-wondering if he'd dream about her.

  He shouldn't have wanted to.

  ***

  When Kali woke, it was to the sound of rain. It was dark all around. Unfamiliar voices murmured somewhere she could not see. She had no idea where she was. Panic seized her breath but she bade herself to hold still, and waited while her eyes adjusted to the shadows.

  Something stirred at her side. Something warm. Solid. Carefully, Kali reached for that warmth, only to find Stonewall, eyes closed, mouth slack with sleep. His gear was neatly stacked nearby and his breathing was steady and even. His expression was softer then she'd ever seen, almost peaceful. She rested her hand upon his arm, savoring his nearness, before better sense urged her otherwise and she pulled it back, tucking it beneath the blanket that someone had wrapped securely around her. He stirred, but didn't wake, for which she was grateful. He needed rest, too. Perhaps more than she did.

  Kali's mind was still blurry with exhaustion, but Stonewall's presence made her feel safe. It was easy to drop back into sleep.

  FOURTEEN

  Bright fingers of fire stretched from the pyre of oil-soaked wood to claw at the inky sky. Beyond the flames, below the garrison walls, the White River rumbled. After the Circle priestess gave Lieutenant Dev and the fallen Starwatch sentinels their final rites, the churning of the waterfall was the only sound.

  As Milo stood with the other Whitewater sentinels, he could not recall the priestess' words from mere moments ago. Nor did he pay attention to the consuming fire other than to register its heat upon his face. Outside of the glowing ring of light cast by the pyre, the night air held a chill sharp enough to bite. He didn't care about that, either.

  He only had eyes for one.

  Flint stood nearly opposite Milo, a little apart from the others. Alone. A casual observer might have thought she was bored, for her face was blank. But her body told another tale. Her hands hung limp at her sides and her shoulders slumped. Her eyes were red-rimmed and glassy.

  The Circle priestess pressed her palms together and bowed her head. “It is done. Your brothers and sisters are with the gods now. Nox will guide their souls to the next life. May the One bless and keep all of you.”

  With this, she turned from the pyre and made her way out of the courtyard. Most of the sentinels slipped off as well, heading for the barracks. Captain Cobalt cast a long look at the pyre before turning his back on the flames and making for the main gates. Commander Talon glanced after the priestess but ultimately remained, as did Beacon, Rook, Milo and Flint.

  As the captain had done, the commander studied the bright flames, though it was only a moment before she turned her attention to those who stood in silence. “Dev was a good officer,” she said quietly. “And a finer man.”

  “Who will lead us now?” Beacon asked.

  Flint scowled, but the commander shook her head. “Cobalt will take over leadership of your squad for the time being, until I find a suitable officer.”

  “Why do you care?” Flint asked the mender. “Are you hoping for a promotion?”

  Beacon blanched, but recovered quickly and frowned at her. “No, burnie. I just have an annoying habit of taking an interest in matters that affect our lives.”

  Talon cleared her throat. “In the meantime, you're all off active duty tomorrow. Take the day to recuperate.”

  She stepped away from the pyre, following the path of the priestess toward the garrison's main gate. Only the squad remained. Rook and Beacon exchanged glances before Rook went to stand at Flint's side.

  “Flint, I–”

  “Don't,” Flint broke in, shaking her head. “Just...don't.”

  Rook cast a helpless look at Milo, but he had no advice to offer.

  Beacon jerked his thumb in the direction of the barracks. “Come on. Let's get some rest.”

  With a sigh, Rook moved off, but Milo remained, standing awkwardly across the fire from his sister. As Rook slipped to the barracks, Beacon stood next to him. Like the others, Beacon was not wearing his helmet; the fire made his copper hair even brighter. “Not coming?”

  Milo looked at Flint, who stood silently and stone-faced. “I want to stay with her.”

  Beacon nodded once. “She's pretty broken up, isn't she? Makes sense, I guess, considering.”

  Milo frowned but kept his voice quiet. “Considering what? We're all taking it hard. Dev was a great leader and a good sentinel.”

  “Well...that's true enough.” Beacon coughed into his hand and glanced at Flint again. “See that she gets some rest, will you? Mara knows she won't listen if I tell her to.”

  “I'll try.”

  The mender nodded and slipped after Rook. Only the twins remained before the climbing fire. Flames bathed the sentinels' bodies, enough so that Milo couldn't make out distinctive forms at all, which was probably a good thing. Flint stared at the fire with that strange, distant expression. She didn't look like she was ready to leave any time soon. Well, then, neither would he. Milo took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and began to wait.

  ***

  Though Talon had moved away from the pyre flames, their heat clung to her face. It was not a pleasant warmth. While her sentinels made their weary way to the barracks, Talon followed the Circle priestess to the main gate, already open in preparation for the priestess' departure.

  Talon quickened her steps. “Serla,” she called through the night air. “Please wait a moment.”

  The priestess paused before the open gate and regarded the sentinel commander. In the flickering light cast by the torches set on either side of the gates, her face looked younger than Talon remembered from the funeral, mere minutes ago. Then, the priestess' bearing had seemed venerable and heavy as the words she'd spoken.

  But now her skin was as smooth and unblemished as that of a child, though her gaze was tranquil. “What do you need,
Commander?”

  Talon gave a warrior's salute, deep enough to serve as a bow. “I wanted to thank you for attending to the funeral rites on such short notice.”

  The priestess smiled. The expression made her look even younger. “It is every true believer's duty and honor to serve the One however they can. I'm glad I could bring peace to those under your command.”

  “As am I. But there is something else I must ask of you. Or, rather, of the Circle.”

  The priestess tilted her head as if studying Talon, but said nothing. Her expression held only mild interest.

  “In my haste to send for you,” Talon began. “I didn't get a chance to explain the circumstances of these sentinels' deaths.” She reiterated what Gray had reported, along with the events at Parsa, while the Circle priestess stood silently, white and black cloak rippling in the wind.

  When Talon finished, the priestess looked troubled. “Of course, we will send aid to Parsa, though,” she touched the hematite amulet around her neck, “I do wish your sentinels had been able to protect those poor people.”

  Gods above and below, so did she. But hearing the matter phrased so baldly was a cut to the quick. “They did the best they could, serla,” Talon replied. “But–”

  “Surely they have faced the barbarians before?” the priestess said suddenly, brows knitting. “Even...unusual ones as you've described should have been no match for properly trained sentinels.”

  Talon fought back a frown. “Normally, I would agree with you, serla. But I fear these attacks are connected, and are perhaps symptoms of a growing threat.”

  The priestess nodded slowly. “Have you sent word to the High Commander?”

  Have I done my job, you mean? “I've notified Argent. I've no doubt he'll inform the queen. In the meantime, serla, we must take care of those nearby.”