She suddenly wondered if that were possible. What if all this was a dream? What if she was in an asylum somewhere?
Might as well play along. If I am mad, at least I'll commit to my madness.
Still, she couldn't make heads or tails of what these two men had said. Teeth was apparently a lech who spoke in riddles, and the other man – Scholar – seemed like the child of rich parents who spoke a foreign tongue.
Garden came to her aid. She stepped forward and curtsied, the mirror of Siren's movement. She took Scholar's hand from Sword's. "We are indeed of this order and association, and we are indeed proscribed from revealing our names. But we thank you for the honor of your introductions."
She curtsied again, three times – once at Teeth, once at Scholar, and once at Siren.
Now Sword knew the world had gone mad. Not once in the months they had worked and trained together had Garden given any inkling that she could speak like this. She sounded like she came from wealth, or education, or both.
Sword suddenly realized she knew very little of her friend. Only what she had seen in the time of their training, and nothing at all of her world before then.
Blessed Ones are reborn in this world, and they have no lives before.
"So you've met? Good!"
Devar had somehow appeared only a few feet away. More than once in the training he had done this, and she asked him once if it was his Gift. He always shook his head and answered, "Why do you think I'm teaching stealth?" And then he would laugh that wonderful laugh and move to the next lesson.
"We haven't exactly made our introductions, given that they believe they are still under edict not to reveal their identities as Blessed Ones," said Scholar.
"Yeah," said Teeth. He sounded on the verge of whining. "They won't tell us their names."
Scholar rounded on the thin man with a snarl. "That's what I said, you ignoramus. Why must you always make repetitious what is already clear and well enough said?"
Teeth shrugged. "Did you bring any cakes today?" he said after a moment.
Scholar stared at him, then growled and pulled a linen-wrapped bundle from within his coat and handed it to Teeth, who tore it open and devoured the cake it held in one great bite. "Yum," he said.
"Your eloquence astounds," said Scholar.
Siren just watched at them with the vacant stare of a mother watching children reenact an oft-played argument. One she had seen many, many times.
"What's going on?" said Garden.
Devar nodded toward the three newcomers. "Why don't you tell them your names?"
"I thought we weren't supposed to," said Garden.
"No, that's what we told you as part of your testing," said Devar. "But you are Blessed now. And your identity will hint at extraordinary power, without telling enemies exactly what it is you can do. Misinformation and mystique are part of the power you hold." He nodded again. "Go ahead."
"I'm Garden."
"Sword."
Teeth grinned at Sword. He had cake on his teeth. "I like your name."
Sword felt like showing him exactly how good a name it was by slicing off his big smile.
Devar held up a hand. "I wanted you five to meet, because you'll be working together."
"Okay," said Garden. She sounded more like she was saying, "Ew." Which made Sword love her just a bit more.
Devar nodded at Sword and Garden, "Join me at the water barrels for a moment," he said. "I have a bit of a thirst."
Sword and her friend followed him, with only a few dozen backward glances at the strange trio that had joined them.
Devar had barely arrived at the barrels when he swung around and said, "Just what do you think you're doing out there?"
The words came out as a snarl, so vehement that Sword actually took a step back, her hand dropping automatically to her katana. She noticed some of the vines clinging to a nearby post twitching, and knew Garden had been surprised as well.
"What? What's –" She was too flustered to even finish speaking. Devar had never spoken to them like this, not even once.
Garden didn't say a word. Flabbergasted to silence.
Devar stared at them. Then he shook himself, and the rage disappeared from his eyes. Gone so quickly that Sword almost convinced herself it had been her imagination.
"Sorry," he said. "A lot of long days." He laughed ruefully, as though privy to a joke that he could never share because no one would understand the punch line but him. "Do you two understand how rare you are? How few Blessed Ones exist, and how many fewer live to serve the Emperor?" He nodded at the three others, who were now chatting amongst themselves. Scholar kept throwing up his hands whenever Teeth spoke, the tone of his voice carrying over the distance between them, if not his words. "Those are good people," he said. "Like you, they've given all to serve Malal. Like you, they know what they do is hard, but worth it. Like you, they've all lost much – and gained everything through the purpose of a Blessed One. And," he said, looking at both Sword and Garden with more than a little consternation, "I'm betting that they gave you more of a chance than you gave them."
"We're sorry," said Garden.
"Yes," said Sword. "Sorry."
Devar nodded, smiled. The smile wasn't quite as bright as his grins usually were, but the anger was gone from his face. "Just remember who you are. You are Blessed Ones. You've given everything – even your names – in service of the Empire. And part of what you owe her is your allegiance to her other servants."
"Can we go back?" Sword said. Reflecting on his words, she was starting to feel awful. She had treated the three newcomers more like a Dog than a Blessed One: as people to be feared simply for their newness, their strangeness.
But they weren't strange. They were part of her Pack now.
When they got back to Scholar, Teeth, and Siren, Scholar was still flailing at the air. "Your jokes are infantile, Teeth!"
"I think jokes about breaking wind are funny."
"Infantile!"
"Boys, please," said Siren. She had a surprisingly soft voice with a trace of the lilting accents of the north; a voice that made her instantly more attractive. It was also, Sword sensed, the voice of a person who said little but when she did speak, what she had to say would be worth listening to. "We're not making a good first impression."
Scholar and Teeth realized that Devar, Garden, and Sword had rejoined them. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Then Sword took a half-step forward.
"I –" she began.
At the same moment, Teeth said, "Sorry –"
"Sorry, you first."
"No, you first."
Another silence. But this one was broken by Teeth's laughter. "I am sorry, girl. I'm rough-spoken and silly and soft in the head, and I am a person whose appetites are too-oft in control. The curse of my Gift, you could say." He laughed again. Then, suddenly, enveloped Sword in a huge hug. She tensed for an instant, then relaxed as she realized she felt nothing lecherous or ill-intended about the gesture. It seemed sincere.
"A person whose appetites are too-oft in control," he had said. Maybe he was a creature of the moment, someone who said whatever came into his mind – often wildly inappropriate – then spent just as much time repenting of them. But candor was a good thing, on the whole. Better than guile.
She hugged him back. Awkward, both because she wasn't much of a hugger, and because his bones stood out so sharply against his skin that the embrace was painful.
Teeth let go of her and turned to Garden, arms wide. She was more prepared than Sword had been. She jammed her hand between them, grabbed his, and pumped it quickly up and down. "It's quite all right I'm sure you didn't mean anything by it no doubt we'll be fast friends and a good time will be had by all." She delivered the sentence all in one breath, nearly as a single word.
But Teeth grinned. He bowed, then rejoined his two friends.
Scholar spoke. "I, also, render my most heartfelt offering of remorse. Please accept my sympathy, my apology, and the bestowal
of my fraternal devotion."
Sword was the first one who managed an, "Uh, thanks." That seemed to satisfy Scholar.
"He said, 'sorry,'" said Siren. "I'm sorry, too. I should have said something to warn you of these two." She punched Teeth lightly on the arm. He grinned, a smile that seemed far too wide to fit his head. "We're an odd bunch, 'tis true. But we watch for each other and we'll watch for you, as right as berries and wheat."
Now it was Sword who felt like hugging them. Partly because of the words they had each spoken – though in truth she was still trying to figure out what Scholar had said – and partly because she was deeply ashamed of how quickly she had made them enemies in her mind.
Devar was right to rebuke us.
Maybe that's part of being a true Pack, too. Part of being a family: to tell the others in the family when they're wrong. To rebuke them, but from a place of goodness, and to return afterward and favor them without regard to the rebuke.
She held out a hand to Siren, who took it.
"Good," said Devar. "Now, come with me."
He turned and walked with them to a building that Sword had never been into. There were no windows that she could see, and the door was a massive thing of pure brass.
Instead of a keyhole, there was a large, round impression below the handle. Devar took the black disc that marked him as a Blessed One and pressed it against the indentation.
"This building was made hundreds of years ago by an Emperor who was also a Blessed One," he said. "His Gift was a sealing power – he could make any lock impossible to pick, could create vaults that none but he and those of his choosing could enter."
"Don't sound like that great of a Gift," said Teeth. He had produced a hunk of dried meat from somewhere within his tunic and was chewing on it with gusto.
"You have heard this tale time and again, yet with every recounting you repeat the same nonsense observation," said Scholar.
Sword, trying to make amends for her actions of before, looked at Teeth and smiled. "It really doesn't sound like that great of a Gift. Not so much as to be a Blessed One."
Devar grimaced. "Tell that to the thousands of enemies he had, and whom he locked in the confines of their own minds."
He twisted the disc. There was a low hum, almost a chime. The door opened.
Devar looked at Sword and Garden. "Sword, you were allowed to practice your Gift on the field – with supervision – because your Gift could be mistaken for natural ability. And you'll notice if you think back that you rarely practiced with more than a few people, none of whom stayed long."
Sword cocked her head. She hadn't realized it. But now that she thought back… he was right.
Devar turned to Garden. "And Garden, you never practiced your Gift in front of anyone at all, and never even spoke your name before your first night in the Emperor's service."
The two girls nodded. "The more people there are who know exactly what you can do, the more people there are who can try and find a way to exploit any weaknesses. The weaker you become, the less chance you have to be useful to the Emperor. In here," he said, gesturing at the blackness behind the brass door, "is the only place you are free to speak at will, to practice or to speak of your Gifts without fear. Outside, if you do so you take not only your life in your hand, but the lives of any innocents who see what you can do."
Sword suddenly felt cold. Remembered Creed's son. Remembered Marionette killing him. And wondered if that had been the real reason: the boy had seen the fulness of their power, so he could not live.
Gods, give me strength.
Devar turned and disappeared into the darkness. Teeth, Scholar, and Siren followed him.
Garden looked at Sword. Then, together, they stepped in.
9
Sword didn't know what she expected. But it wasn't a large, empty room nearly the size of a practice field with only a slate and some chairs at one end and a few racks of weapons at the other.
"This is it?" said Garden. Sword nodded in thorough agreement.
"If it makes you feel better, when it was first made it held the wealth of the kingdom – the most secure vault in existence," said Devar. "But seven hundred years ago the Emperor Hakire put the wealth in an ordinary vault and declared that this would be the headquarters of the Blessed Ones. Only they and the Emperor can enter, and thus all their plans and practices are carried out in secret." He smiled. "It is also the place where you can truly meet one another."
He looked at Teeth, Siren, and Scholar. "Who would like to go first?"
With no warning, Siren opened her mouth and began to sing. The tune was wordless, just a meandering up and down of notes that had no coherence, no rhythm and no real tune. But they were somehow so beautiful that Sword felt like weeping and laughing and screaming all at once. The sound was every strong emotion she had ever felt, wrapped up in tones that sounded less in her ears than in her soul.
The effect on Garden was more dramatic. Sword's friend screamed and ran toward Siren, who had pulled a small dagger from her fitted hip belt and now held it casually in front of her.
Garden kept screaming. Kept running. And was about to impale herself on the dagger. Sword wanted to stop her, wanted to say something. But she was held in place by the power of Siren's Song.
Then Siren closed her mouth. Garden skidded to a stop with the woman's dagger so close to her stomach that the point pushed in on her clothes.
"Sorry," said Siren. She looked genuinely embarrassed. "But Devar wanted us to really show you what we can do, and it works better on people who aren't ready."
"So you can call people to you?" said Sword. The words came as an act of will; part of her was still struggling to free itself from the effects of Siren's Gift.
Siren nodded. "When I direct it at a certain person or people," she said, nodding at Garden, "I can madden them with a desire to come to me. The others in its range can be kept in place, to some extent. Though many of strong enough will can break out of its spell eventually. Still, to those unready it can be quite… effective." She glanced at the dagger she still held.
"What about you, Teeth?" said Garden. She was white-faced, but seemed determined to keep going. As though this were another test on the path to becoming a Blessed One and she was determined to pass it.
Maybe it is. Are we ever really done with the tests? Are we ever really free?
Teeth smiled. He had devoured the last of the meat, and now bowed in an exaggerated fashion. "Ladies first," he said.
Garden looked around. "I need –"
Devar pointed, and now Sword realized that the weapons weren't the only thing at that side of the room. There were two small potted plants, as well. Which was fitting, because they were definitely weapons under the influence of Garden's Gift.
Garden winked at Sword. Sword smiled, knowing immediately that her friend had a bit of fun planned for Teeth.
"Come with me," she said. She wandered nonchalantly toward the weapons – and the plants. After a moment, Teeth shrugged and followed. The rest of the party did as well, allowing a discrete gap as though all sensed a melee was in the offing.
The plants in the pots were Gods' flowers: blue-white petals with a corona of deep purple filaments inside, both ringing a center of green that jutted out in strangely geometric shapes. There was a post in the center of each pot, and the plants climbed up the posts, nearly obscuring them completely. Sword wondered how the plants could have grown in this place with no windows and only one door, then figured that Devar or one of the other Blessed Ones must have brought them in recently, probably just for this moment.
When she was still a good three rods away from the planters, Garden spun, her hand outstretched in Teeth's direction. The Gods' flowers immediately swelled to monstrous proportions, growing so quickly that if Sword had blinked she would have missed the transformation. The plant already had hundreds of tendrils it used to climb up any available surface, but now those tendrils grew to thick vines that whipped across the gap between the plante
rs and Teeth.
The vines were fast, but Teeth was faster. He opened his mouth, and Sword saw his jaw crack open, seeming to unhinge like that of a snake. He caught the first vine in his mouth and crunched down, severing the vine and leaving the end dead on the floor.
Still, there were more vines, and Garden grinned as they soared through the air and caught Teeth by the arms and legs.
"Give up?" she said sweetly.
"Not even close," he said back with a laugh. He hunched in on himself, and suddenly there was a whirring sound. The noise reminded Sword of the spinning saw the palace smith had in his shop: a serrated circle of metal he had affixed to a table via a metal pin in its center. He asked a Push to enchant two of the serrations, and when they tried to move forward the pin turned forward motion to a forever-spin. The smith used the spinning saw to cut through wood, leather, even some metals.
Garden gasped as she heard the sound, too. Gasped even louder as she saw what Teeth had become. His arms had grown what looked like saw blades along the upper and forearms. His leggings tore as more blades burst from his skin. The teeth of the blades didn't spin like the smith's prized tool, but they seemed to vibrate, moving so fast they were a blur.
The vines on his arms and legs tore to pieces. He grinned as they fell away.
But Garden wasn't done. Another tendril snaked forth and grabbed Teeth around the neck.
Teeth wasn't finished, either. More buzzing, and Sword saw with something bordering on horror that blades had grown from his neck.
Garden touched her flower, an unconscious movement, but Sword wondered how Teeth would fare if Garden sent it at his heart the way she had done to the guardsman at Creed's villa.
Teeth seemed to sense that the stakes had upped. Now covered in blades and spines, he stepped toward Garden, hunched low, with mouth open far too wide to be anything but monstrous.
"Enough," said Devar. "I don't think we need to actually have you kill each other."
And just like that, the serrations disappeared and what was left of the vines retracted to their pots. Sword expected Garden or Teeth – or both – to be glaring at one another. But both were grinning like fools, clearly admiring each other's Gifts.
The Sword Chronicles: Child of the Empire Page 10
