He tried to speak, but she interrupted him. “Danger, great danger,” she told him. “Rastín Dnyarr Túrring of the Élvemere people must now remember.”
After she said it, she moved toward the gates with a speed Rastín had never seen before. He could not keep up with her, and he soon lost sight of her among the masses waiting to return to the immortal city of the ageless. He wandered through the lines, searching for her, risking the chains, ignoring the whips from high above that sought to keep him in his place.
It was Wërg who herded him toward the platform, often taking blows in his stead, and Wërg who saw him through the gate though he entered the gate alone. The bitter cold of the space between brought a feeling of such loneliness that it seemed his soul shook with the ache of it. Indeed, he emerged from the gate shaking. Walking through the transition corridor and into the city, he hardly saw anything.
Only when he was standing before the ashes of his father’s pavilion did he realize that he was back among his kind. But as he stood there, caked in mud, looking like a thing he was not, he might as well have been invisible. His people did not see him.
There was one other among the ashes of his father’s pavilion. His name was Alborn, and he was a trusted guard. Rastín had not seen the old guard at first because he was kneeling in prayer.
Rastín quietly approached Alborn. The aged guard did not turn or start at the sound of Rastín’s approach. Instead he waited until Rastín was standing directly behind him, and then said quietly, “You have returned. I hear you in your gait. Under earth, leather, and wood, I smell you; but I do not see you.”
As Alborn stood and turned, Rastín understood there was much unsaid behind those words, for the Alborn he saw was not the Alborn he had known. The Alborn he had known carried a great sword. He had kind eyes and a face that spoke quietly of respect held close. The Alborn standing before him carried a walking stick, had no eyes and a face with cheeks so hollow that they seemed to be those of the dead. Rastín wondered if Alborn had passed on and only lingered here before setting off for the blessed land.
That illusion was broken when Alborn gripped Rastín’s arm to steady himself and said, “Quickly now, we must be away.”
Alborn led him to a tent on the far side of the burned area where King Túrring’s pavilion had stood. Once inside the tent, Alborn closed and secured the entrance.
“Your father joined your mother in the blessed land four turnings back to the day, to the toll,” Alborn urgently explained. “At the end I thought there was only one thing he longed for in this life, and that was to see your return. It was a mistake on my part, the first of many.
“In the instant of your father’s passing, the serpent magi departed, never to be seen again. Chaos found us as soon as it was discovered you had not returned. I did my best to keep this quiet. I pretended for days that you were among us, grieving your father. My eyes, my cost. Gouged out by one of the ageless themselves.
“Your father’s rivals set fire to the pavilion. A loyal few could not prevent it, nor stop the flames from spreading.”
Rastín wrapped his arms around the old guard and wept openly. “You did your duty as best as you could, better than anyone else could have done. You’ve paid such a price for loyalty, and I have nothing to repay you with.”
“My loyalty cannot be bought or sold, paid or unpaid. My family has served since the reckoning—the day the Élvemere people were enslaved—and before. Though you have not been crowned, you are my king now as your father was before.”
“Shodjen—”
“—and others. The factions are many, numbering more than ever imagined. Nearly every great house. Nearly every great family. We are a fractured people now. If you were to return into this chaos, you would suffer Djerg’s fate or worse.”
“Dear, loyal, faithful Djerg, too?”
“His body hangs where it happened. I dare not fetch it down, though I did not hesitate to cut his heart through when they started on him. My vows, my cost; my life spared for renouncing you. Djerg begged me to do what I must. I did what must be done because there was no other to do it, yet at the cost of my soul.”
Suddenly feeling older than his cycles, Rastín spoke with his father’s voice and his father’s words. “There is no shame, Alborn son of Jfe, for doing what must be done.”
As he spoke, Alborn collapsed at Rastín’s feet, his hot tears falling on Rastín’s hands. “You are your father’s son. You are not a specter sent to torment me.”
Rastín felt the same, but he did not say so. Instead he waited for Alborn to continue his confession and relieve the burden he carried. “His voice is in my ears…His voice I shall hear always. It is my punishment, the mark of my crime.”
“There is no crime in unquestioning loyalty, Alborn son of Jfe. If it was to be done, better you than the alternative.”
Alborn sat back on his haunches and found bitterness. “And would you wish the same?”
“If it must be done and if there were no other way, I would.” Rastín said it quickly and without hesitation, for he meant every word. “You gave Djerg mercy when no other would. You carry the pain they wished to inflict, but you must let this go now if you’re to be of service to me.”
“How can the blind and starved be of service to anyone?”
“You have already been of service. When you saw me your first instinct was to protect me, and you’ve done so.”
“My first instinct was to be selfish. I should not have done so for I have played you falsely. There is no place for you here. You must know this. Twice bitter is hope given then snatched away.”
“You, dear friend, have listened too long outside my father’s door. Your words have his voice in them.”
Alborn regained his feet with Rastín’s help. Then, while looking without seeing, he said, “As do yours.”
Chapter 6
Rastín’s reunion with his people was twice bitter, as Alborn had said it would be, and the approach of morning only made things more dire. Long ago Alborn was granted the right to remain in the camp, and that right had not been revoked. Few of the living had that right, and Rastín was not one of them. If he remained in the camp, and was found out, those who served the ageless would decide his fate. If he left the camp, and was found out, his father’s enemies would decide his fate. Either would bring death. But now exhaustion overcame him and he slipped into a deep sleep.
He awoke some tolls later, but well before the sounding of the first toll, to find Alborn preparing what meager fare the old guard could scrounge. He did not doubt Alborn had also added some things he had secreted away previously and had been keeping in case a need arose. He did not want to eat what little remained of the old guard’s food, but to refuse would be an insult; so he ate as Alborn sat nearby. He praised the old guard as sincerely and affectionately as he could, because Alborn was all that remained of his father and his past life.
Rastín finished eating. Immediately Alborn stood and said, “I’ll escort you to the dig. You’ll be safe until you reach the gate and likely while you work. It will be on the return, when word has spread, that you’ll need to be on your guard. They will come at you then, whether in the lines or in this camp, and there will be no safe ground until they’ve killed you or you’ve won.”
Rastín reached forward and clasped hands with the old guard. “There is no need for you to leave camp. No need at all.”
Alborn thought otherwise.
“Few others have had the run of this camp and much of the city since our fall,” he said carefully. “And though I may not see with my eyes, I am not blind. No other knows this camp as I do. I will deliver you to the gate.”
“You will not be able to return and it will mean your—” Rastín’s voice dropped off.
The sounding of the first toll spoke for them both. An awkward silence followed until Alborn broke it. “We will wait until much of the camp clears, and then I will take you along the outer path. I carry the sign of the ageless. The guardians
will not challenge me, but you must help me do something about my appearance and yours.”
Water was one thing they had in abundance, so Rastín helped Alborn clean himself up then did the same. Afterward, Alborn excused himself and went out into the camp.
Alone, there was nothing to keep Rastín’s dark thoughts in check. Suddenly, he felt an unbearable weight—the weight of his people and futures lost. He could not breathe. He needed air. He needed to think, but he began to doubt. Many tocks of the toll had passed and Alborn had not returned. Had Alborn betrayed him?
He whirled around at a movement behind him, but it was only Alborn returning with two weather-stained but otherwise good cloaks with hoods. Yet something else was wrapped within the cloaks, which Alborn presented on bended knee. Rastín could not believe his eyes as he lifted the cloaks and saw what was hidden within. He touched the shards as one would touch the most precious jewels.
“Each piece has been carried by one of the loyal these many cycles,” Alborn told him. “Though you were born a slave and have never walked the land of our people, I know in my heart that this belongs to you, for you are my king.”
“Where? How?” began Rastín, not quite knowing what to say.
“Though few, the loyal remain. When commanded, they act without question. I have asked from them the one thing they hold dearer than their own lives, so you may have it now and be the one to carry it forth for our people. It does not come without burden.”
“You have been its keeper through it all?”
“I alone have been the keeper of nothing save your father’s will. The others are its true keepers. Accept only if you can give that which can never be reclaimed. Refuse and I must see this returned to those who will carry it for our people. I don’t mean to hurry your decision, but the second toll will sound soon and I must know before then.”
Alborn knew Rastín had accepted before Rastín ever spoke aloud. On his signal, a young elf maiden entered. She was lithe and slender, like most of his kind, with a well-kept mane of silver. Her skin, bronzed by the suns, seemed to glow, and her overly large gray eyes seemed able to probe hidden depths. “She is Dierá. She will stitch the shards in. Remove your clothes quickly now to the skin. No time for modesty. Her skill is exceptional, and only a true blade will get out what she stitches in.”
Rastín did as he was asked. He expected Dierá to stitch the shards into his clothing, but her hands and Alborn’s were upon him before he knew what was happening, and the shards were being sown into his flesh. He would have cried out in surprise, and in fact he guessed that he had; but Alborn and perhaps others had a hand or hands over his mouth to muffle his screams.
When it was nearly over and he had recovered enough to see past the pain, Rastín saw that Alborn had indeed been joined by others, the elf maiden Dierá he had been introduced to and two other elf maidens he did not know.
But the ordeal was not over. He was still being held down and Dierá was straddled across his chest sowing in the last shard. When she finished, she pushed herself against him and spoke into his ear of how the shards must be remade. The touch of her body to his was electrifying. It was all he could think about while she pressed against him, and it took the pain from him even as her words wormed their way into the deepest parts of his mind.
The second toll sounded as Dierá moved off him and he was allowed to stand. When he did, he turned angrily to Alborn and asked, “What have you done?”
Alborn touched a hand to Rastín’s shoulder and regarded him with eyes that could not see. “I have done what must be done. What your father entrusted me to do.”
Without a word, Dierá helped Rastín dress. “What of them?”
“What of them,” Alborn said. “Their fathers knew I would not ask if there was not need, for I have never asked when there was not need. They live or die with you now. Command them to stop breathing and they will die before dishonoring you by taking a breath. Command them to cut out the other’s heart and they will do so though they will all three perish.”
Rastín threw his hands up in the air even as Dierá was pulling his cloak into place. “Send them back. I have no need for such.”
“A choice has been made. It cannot be unmade. Do you not know shieldmaidens when you see them?”
“They are too young. Why would such be needed in this place?”
“In this place ever is the need. Your father kept too much from you to keep you safe, and now there is no time to explain. We must go and we must do so now. Dierá, Eldri, and Síari are yours. Do with them as you will.”
“I—”
“Stay to my right, follow my lead. Tell Dierá, Eldri, and Síari to stay ahead of us, no more than a stride away.” Alborn started to leave the tent, but as Rastín had not relayed the order, he paused. “I have given them to you. You must command them to act. They will listen to no other.”
“Your act makes me no better than the ageless.”
Alborn wheeled around; and if Rastín had not known the old guard’s eyes were empty sockets, he would have sworn the old guard was not only able to see him but to look into his soul. “Free will is what separates us. They gave themselves freely.”
Waving everyone out of the tent, Alborn said, “We’ll stay to the outer path, take the northernmost corridor to the gate. After the gate, we’ll head to the highlands. Any other that comes within a pace of his highness is to be dealt with.”
Rastín turned to the three. “Do as Alborn asks. It is my wish.”
Dierá, Eldri, and Síari acquiesced. They left the tent first, moving directly toward the outer path. Alborn and Rastín followed, both with the hoods of their cloaks raised. Rastín carried Alborn’s walking stick though he knew the guardians would not allow him to pass through the gates with it.
Alborn set the pace, for he could not move too swiftly, while the shieldmaidens walked an almost courtly pace to stay within a stride. As he walked, Rastín’s thoughts swam with images of his father, his mother, the old guard, and the she-beast. In this confused state, he felt that he was both Élvemere and Wërg. In his mind’s eye, he was a young Elf who trembled as he stood before his father. His father was telling him to find calm and resolve, and not to show anguish, sorrow, or fear.
Before his mother he was a boy who little understood her deepening despair and angst. His mother was telling him she was leaving for the blessed land where her heart lived. Before Alborn he was the prince of a lost people. The old guard was telling him that his father had joined his mother in the blessed land.
Before Akharran he was Wërg but not Wërg. The she-beast was telling him there was danger, great danger, and that he must now remember. It was the only time the she-beast had called him by his full name—a rare moment in which he felt that he truly was Rastín Dnyarr Túrring of the Élvemere people.
Alborn’s hand squeezing his elbow returned Rastín to conscious thought. They were leaving the camp now, going into the heart of the city on their way to the transition corridors and the gate. Ahead, Dierá, Eldri, and Síari had stopped, but Rastín did not know why. Alborn seemed to sense that something was wrong, however, because he too stopped abruptly.
Rastín saw them then: serpent magi, walking within protective lines of overlords flanked by enforcers. Their two great horns and their long muscular torsos on serpent bodies were unmistakable. Like most, these were golden in color with black scales except for a patch of crimson in front. Outside his father’s pavilion, he had never seen serpent magi so this sighting was unusual, yet it was made even more so because he was not seeing one or two magi—he was seeing many, all headed toward the transition corridors and the thousand-fold gates.
Alborn did not hesitate long. At his first step Rastín followed, as did Dierá, Eldri, and Síari, but the shieldmaidens instinctively took different positions. Dierá, a stride ahead, kept to the left. Eldri and Síari, a stride behind, kept to the right.
With his training as the son of a king, Rastín understood this flanking formation. Dier�
� kept the path ahead clear. Eldri and Síari ensured no one could attack him from behind. Rastín doubted anyone’s attentions were on him, however, as the appearance of the serpent magi was unsettling and sure to be the focus of anyone nearby. Their presence certainly was the focus of his thoughts, and all he could think about was Akharran warning him of danger, great danger.
Chapter 7
Rastín grabbed Alborn’s arm and pulled him into a dark recess where a large drainage pipe emptied sewage from the towers above. He was not surprised when Dierá, Eldri, and Síari followed and quietly melded into the shadows. He started to speak, to question the old guard, but paused, remembering his encounter with Akharran in a similar place. After a few heartbeats without speaking, he finally asked, “Have you ever seen anything such as this?”
Alborn regarded Rastín. “Tell me what it is you see.”
“Overlords, enforcers, magi. More than can be counted.”
Alborn put his right hand on Rastín’s shoulder. “No, see without seeing and tell me what it is that you see.”
“Now is not the time to speak with my father’s voice, Alborn. There is no—”
“There is always time. You think that because I have no eyes that I do not see, yet I see. I see with clarity beyond yours. Your vision is as clouded as your thoughts. Our people need a king and yet on this day you are not that king, nor can you be, but you are my king as you are Dierá’s, Eldri’s, and Síari’s.”
Alborn continued before Rastín could speak. “You have never seen because you do not see. Djerg and I have stood ever vigilant outside your father’s door, and yet you did not see us. You see only what you think you ought to see.
“In your eyes I am no more than Alborn, son of Jfe, a guard at your father’s service. I am no more such than Dierá is a naïve elf maiden. You say you hear your father’s voice in my words, yet what if my voice was in your father’s words?”
Ruin Mist Chronicles Bundle Page 134
