Spyridon (The Spyridon Trilogy Book 1)

by Lillian James

  “You knew. But you said nothing.”

  He shrugged. “I thought it clever. We had no way to know if she was the one from the prophecy. It seemed foolish to tell her something we couldn’t be sure of ourselves.”

  “And now?” Absorbing the understanding that his leadership style was much subtler than she’d guessed, she turned toward him. “Do you believe it’s true?”

  “No. It’s not possible, Eithné. She’s a healer, so she could be the ‘strong one.’ But the woman in the prophecy must have the ability to see past, present, and future. That’s a sight gift. Seirsha can’t have both. No one can.”

  “Perhaps it’s metaphoric.”

  He lifted a brow. “Why would Armín predict someone who was only perceptive? And then there’s the ‘knowing.’”

  “It must refer to the sedfai. You said Seirsha’s is stronger than you’ve ever seen.”

  “She’s talented, but even she can’t sense the distance of cities.”

  Eithné sighed. “I think you might be right. If Seirsha was the girl from the prophecy, we would have seen some sign of it by now. Something besides her healing gift. Other than her ability to use her sedfai when training, she’s done nothing extraordinary.”

  He studied her and then cocked his head. “You’re relieved.”

  She almost laughed. He was so much more perceptive than she’d ever have guessed. “Yes. I shouldn’t be, but I am. I like her. I didn’t expect to. I was so focused on protecting her, on ending the war, that I didn’t think of her as a person. Now that I know her…she deserves better than a life dictated by prophecy. And she’s just beginning to find it.”

  “But if the prophecy were true…”

  “If the prophecy were true, everything would end for her. The search for Lan’Gemhína would become her whole life.”

  “Even without the prophecy, things won’t be easy for her. She’s still the Baanrí.”

  “So should we tell her?”

  He glanced at the wall again, but he’d lost that raw, blindsided look. Or he’d masked it. “Not yet. She’s still safer the less she knows. But she’s changing. She’s not the person we found. I think she’ll be ready soon.”

  “Soon we might not have a choice. If there are Watchers here—”

  “There must be.”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “You’re strong enough to accept that. I will be too.”

  “Strength has nothing to do with it, Eithné. It is necessity.”

  “Of course, Endeté.” She smiled, and he couldn’t quite mask the surprise that flashed across his face. “We’re going to have to be careful with our links. That’s the easiest way for them to monitor us.”

  “We’ll limit communication, avoid the location function unless absolutely necessary.”

  She thought of how often she used her link to check on Seirsha. Even that small peace of mind was to be taken away. Then she noticed the jeweled metal sheet propped against his window.

  “Is this from the communicator we used to find Seirsha?”

  “Yes.” He stood when she did. “It’s a Saroyan locator.”

  “I know. They made smaller ones as well. Armbands, necklaces, and others.” She frowned, thinking back to the day they’d found Seirsha. “The box was rather large, wasn’t it?”

  “I suppose.”

  “But the space inside it was small. I thought it was just padding, but…” She glanced at the wall that joined his room to Seirsha’s. “I have an idea.”

  “Could you hear them?”

  “Not the people in the theater,” Jane said, “but I did hear two men walking toward the meeting.”

  “Did you recognize the voices?” Valaer asked sharply.

  “No,” she answered, and his shoulders lowered. “All I could hear was something that sounded like ‘Endetar is waiting.’”

  Eithné frowned at Valaer. “Why would they use that term?”

  “What does it mean?” Jane asked. “I have not heard it before.”

  “Endetar is the informal form of Endeté.”

  Jane looked at Mikhél. Endeté translated literally to mean “my commander,” a term used for the highest-ranking person on the ship. “They were talking about you?”

  “No.” He shook his head, and she had the feeling he was as baffled as the rest of them. “No one would use the familiar form with me. It’s not appropriate.”

  “It means beloved.” Eithné looked around the room as if for confirmation. “It’s basically a term of endearment in and of itself. You use it with family members, mates, and friends. Instead of keirené to greet someone, you would say keirenar. Instead of arvaré to thank someone, you would say arvarar. But Endetar? Who would refer to a commander in such a way?”

  “It also shows reverence,” Valaer said quietly. “The Watchers aren’t just spies. They’re a cult. We’d be wise to remember that.”

  Mikhél nodded. “We must exercise extreme caution. Take no avoidable risks, especially when you’re alone. Gather together only when necessary and only on empty levels. And our interactions with Seirsha must be above reproach. As a refugee she’s the most vulnerable among us.”

  “There’s something else,” Eithné said. She held Jane’s jewelry box in her lap, her fingers sliding back and forth over the lid. She looked at Jane and then opened the box and pulled out the gríth. “It has a false bottom.”

  Jane’s eyes shot up. “That’s not possible. I have kept that my whole life. I would have known.”

  Eithné shook her head. “The release mechanism is complicated. It’s an old Saroyan tradition you wouldn’t have come across by chance.”

  She pressed the jewels on the lid in a spiraling pattern, and the lining of the box raised to reveal a hidden compartment that flashed with bits of silver. Jane’s heart began to pound, and she stepped closer and touched the side of the box with trembling fingers.

  “What are they?”

  “Bracelets.” Eithné pulled them out one by one. They shimmered in silver, blue, and green, just like the outside of the jewelry box. Intricate jeweled designs decorated the surface of each bracelet, and twin jeweled rows lined each clasp.

  “There are six,” Eithné said. “With six different colors lining the clasp. They—”

  She stopped and pressed her lips together, and an odd sort of chill worked its way down Jane’s spine. She picked up a bracelet and studied the jewels. “They match our eyes.”

  Eithné exhaled. “Yes. When I saw it, I felt as if I was losing my sanity.”

  “It’s a coincidence,” Valaer said as he studied a different bracelet. “One of the jewels is clear. Obviously it matches no one.”

  Eithné shook her head. “It’s no coincidence. Those are not the original jewels for that set. You can see the marks where someone damaged the metal when they changed the stones.”

  “Someone knew we would need these,” Jane said. “Someone knew, before I was born, what each of us would look like. Is that even possible?”

  “Perhaps. If they had the gift of prophesy.”

  “It was my mother,” Jane said softly. “She gave me the box; she must have done this. She must have seen what would happen here.”

  “No.” Valaer waved away her conclusion. “She had a simple projective gift. She could move objects with her mind, nothing more. It had to have been someone else.”

  “Then who?”

  “I have no idea.” He looked at Eithné. “Even with the gift of prophesy, would one see details such as this so far into the future? I thought prophetic visions were vague at best, unreliable at worst.”

  “So did I. Apparently we were wrong.”

  Mikhél asked, “How do they work?”

  “Each bracelet has a designated color,” Valaer said, and Jane realized he’d used his gift to determine the answer. He pointed to the silver jewel on the underside of the bracelet he held. “The jewels along the side of the clasp are buttons that represent the different bracelets. Each of the buttons on this side will send
a signal indicating your location to the appropriate receiver. The buttons on the other side tell you the locations of others.”

  “The technology is only valuable if it’s safe.”

  “It uses the same signal as the larger box, so they wouldn’t be detectable by anyone here or on Spyridon. There’s no voice or video, but if all we need to know is location, they’d be safer than our links.”

  “Then we’ll use them,” Mikhél said. “Find your band.”

  The bracelet Jane held bore a green stone, so she passed it to Eithné. When Leima handed her the amethyst bracelet, she found an etching near the stone: a simple black outline of three delicate flames. And she said, “Oh.”

  “What is it?” Eithné asked.

  “I have seen this before.” She pointed out the symbol.

  “Where?”

  “It was on a painting in the entertainment level. A landscape. It seemed familiar, like I had been there before.” She ran a finger over the flames. “The artist drew this instead of a signature.”

  “Seirsha,” Mikhél said, and heat licked up Jane’s spine at the way he said that name. “Show us.”

  They rode down in shifts. Mikhél wanted speed, but traveling as one group would call too much attention. He ordered Seirsha with him, and he tried to ignore the look on Eithné’s face when they boarded the lift.

  She was wrong. He wasn’t in love with Seirsha. He could think of no mistake more foolish than falling in love with the Baanrí.

  But he couldn’t ignore the warmth of her in the small tube. The ride was over in the span of a few breaths, but it seemed he could have searched the entire gallery himself in the amount of time he was trapped on the lift at her side.

  He might have cursed Eithné for her intrusion into his thoughts, but he couldn’t find the motivation. However wrong she was about his feelings for Seirsha, they’d convinced her to trust him. He’d spent enough time in this war to value trust far above his own comfort.

  When they reached the gallery, the others were already there. Seirsha led them to the painting and held up the etching on her bracelet. It was an exact match for the painting’s signature. And that couldn’t be a coincidence.

  Eithné studied the landscape. “You said you’ve seen this place before?”

  “Yes. It must have been before I left Spyridon.”

  “That’s not possible. These are the Appalaeds. They’re nowhere near where you were born. You must have seen them in the language program.”

  “It doesn’t matter where she saw them,” Mikhél said. “The painting and the bracelet share that symbol. It means something. Spread out. Look for anything with the same mark. Move quickly.”

  As Eithné took down the painting, the others fanned out to search. But not one of the clusters of artifacts housed in the gallery held the same signature. He had no choice but to end the search before they risked discovery.

  Per his directions each of them exited via an alternate route. As Seirsha walked away along a wide, deserted corridor, he thought about the locator she held. Five of the six bracelets had been taken by their small group. The sixth, with the clear jewel, was hidden safely beneath the false lining of the box. He wondered who had made the bracelet that now graced the Baanrí’s arm.

  And he wondered who they’d intended to wear the sixth bracelet.

  CHAPTER 21

  Ninety-three days till arrival

  Jane ran through the dark, the ring of metal rhythmic beneath her feet. Damp strands of hair clung to her face, and sweat trickled between her breasts and along her spine. Her legs had been burning for a while, but she worked through the pain.

  Though the space was lightless, she wasn’t blind. Her senses revealed the ridges in the metal grate below her feet through microscopic shifts in the stale air. The rough texture of the walls was like sandpaper against her skin, though she never touched it. The rooms she passed in secret were empty save for discarded furnishings, silent save for the pulse of the processors three floors above.

  About fifteen feet ahead, the corrugated metal gave way to open air broken only by the ladder that ran up the wall to her right. She estimated eight strides before she reached it. If she fell through, she’d either fall forty stories or crash into one of the metal grates below, breaking bones and shredding skin.

  Without slowing she counted down the steps. Five, four, three, two, one…and she leapt through the air, her legs scissor straight. She landed with confidence born of practice and sent her consciousness forward toward the next break in the floor.

  It was nighttime—or not. Time was relative in space. Her lessons were done for the day, dinner consumed by jumplight. She had no obligations until the following morning. So she ran, as she’d done every night since she’d been chased by a Watcher.

  Her sedfai was stretched to capacity, searching for information as much as for spies. She analyzed each new sensation, identified it, and filed it away for future reference. The activity soothed as little else could, and the tensions of the day finally began to leave her shoulders. A little longer and she’d be able to sleep tonight, at least for a while.

  Until the dreams started.

  They’d been so strange lately. Vivid and hauntingly familiar. They showed her another Spyridon, worse than the ideal of the language program but more solid than the ghostly emptiness of the ship. This Spyridon held the stark element of reality, and she found herself believing more each day that her dreams were closer to the truth than anything else she’d seen.

  And then, of course, there was the boy.

  At the thought of him and the nightmare he always brought, her steps faltered. The uneven cadence rang quietly in her ears, and she almost thought she heard the twang of country music. She shook her head, tried to force herself back into the present. But the scar along her wrist brushed against the bracelet with each step, reminding her that she could ignore the past, but she’d never be able to change it.

  She was so caught up in her memories, it was almost too late when she sensed them: a man and a woman, two rooms ahead on the left. Jane slowed, her sedfai honing in on them, her concentration tightening. And suddenly she didn’t just feel them.

  She saw them.

  They were silhouettes against the dark. Faceless figures in gray and black, with a nebulous glow shifting around the edges. Before she could fully comprehend what she saw, the man turned toward her.

  He’d sensed her. And the last thing she wanted was to be chased by another Watcher.

  Digging in, she ran toward the ladder between them. Just as she heard the muffled tones that told her he was calling open the entrance to the maintenance shaft, she dropped down through the narrow hole, her body straight and stiff.

  The door opened above her with a gentle swish.

  She passed through the first level without sound, her face an inch away from unyielding metal.

  The man stepped onto the platform.

  She passed through the next level as the air began to buffet against her skin.

  The man stepped toward the ladder and then stopped. If he touched it, she’d be lit up like a beacon. But he murmured softly into his link, calling up a light as she passed through another level.

  Jane grabbed the edge of the next grate and swung herself toward the platform. Velocity yanked her body down even as her hand held fast, wrenching her arm from its socket. She held her grip through the agony, waiting to release the grate until she could land quietly. The instant her feet touched metal, she backed away.

  The man touched the ladder, and she stilled. Fire licked down her arm, slipped sinuously into her shoulder socket, as her body began wrenched itself back together. Pressed flat against the wall, she ground her teeth against the pain and sent up her sedfai.

  Though the man was surely illuminated by the ladder light, she saw only that strange combination of silhouette and ethereal glow. He looked down the ladder shaft, up and then down the platform on which he stood. The woman said something to him. She was too far away to be
heard, but Jane saw her voice move like a wave pattern around her. The man responded, and his voice was visible too.

  And then they disappeared.

  Unsure of her senses, Jane didn’t move. The door to the maintenance shaft above her closed, and she jumped, half expecting an invisible apparition to touch her. After several minutes the light from the ladder winked out. All was still, silent, and dark.

  No one was coming for her. Whoever they were, however they had done it, they were gone.

  Ninety-two days till arrival

  “Watchers again,” Eithné said. “I know your sedfai gave out before you left, but do you think they detected you?”

  Jane started to argue about her senses, but she wasn’t entirely sure Eithné was wrong. “I don’t think so,” she said instead. “They never came after me.”

  “What were they talking about?”

  “I don’t know. I could not make out the words.”

  “Where they the same people you sensed in the theater?”

  Jane’s breath came out in a huff. “I don’t know. I could make out height and build this time, but that was it. The woman was taller than Eithné and slim. The man was about Valaer’s size. That’s all I could see.”

  “See?” Valaer frowned. “You saw them?”

  “Only through my sedfai.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw the glow but no real detail.” His face twisted in skeptical mockery, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes and turned to Eithné instead. But the old woman was looking at her as if she made no sense. So were Mikhél and Leima, and Jane wanted to groan. What had she done wrong this time? “You must know what I mean. It was like a…a silver outline of what I was sensing. I could not see any facial features, but I could see them moving.”

  “Through the wall? You saw them through the wall?”

  “Well…yes. And when he was in the maintenance shaft, and I was below him.”

  Eithné’s gaze shot to Mikhél. “Five levels below? You’re telling us you sensed him from a distance of five levels away?”

  “Yes. Is that not normal?”

  “It’s impossible,” Valaer said. “You imagined it. Or you’re making it up to get attention.”