But the man kept running. He lowered his arms, and she saw he was grinning. No, not grinning – he was grinding something between his teeth.
Gods, he bit the rock into pieces in midair!
She looked at her brother. At the war-cars, now nearly completely unburied and inching forward.
At the tents. The refugees near the water.
And she knew what she had to do.
I just deafened my brother. Can I do this?
She stood. She was still wobbly, and the world on her left seemed to be sitting at a diagonal for some reason, but she lurched to her feet. She pushed a cushion of air under Cloud, and he managed to gain his feet as well, though his hands were still clenched in tight fists against his blood-streaming ears.
The man with the ridges on his arms had now grown matching blades on his legs. They were moving, so fast she couldn't see them.
Sword had told them of the Blessed Ones. Enough for Wind to know that Siren and Teeth were here. Perhaps more.
That decided her. There was only one way out.
She ran, air pushing her so fast she managed to get to her brother before Teeth did. She grabbed Cloud. Shook him. His eyes were wild, half-glazed in pain and fear. She shook him again. Signed. Brother. Stay with me.
Stay.
I can't do this without you.
The last drew him in. His face was still whiter than the snow atop the highest peaks, but he nodded. She turned with him. Drew him with her. Away from the still-running Teeth. Away from the war-cars.
For the first time in her adult life, she was running from a fight.
She ran, and Cloud ran, and then her wind caught them and pushed them forward. She didn't allow it to push them into flight though: she was going to need her strength for what came next.
They entered the camp. It was mostly deserted. A few people screamed and ran between the tents, clutching their meager belongings. One old man was running in place, his arms flapping as though he hoped to take flight.
She ran past them. There was no time to save these last.
They would be more screams to haunt her memories.
The first blast came. A burst that disintegrated a trio of tents – and two running refugees – to their right.
She just put her head down. Kept running.
The lake. They had to get there first.
More gunfire came. More tents exploded. More people died.
More silent screams in her mind.
She ignored them.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cloud Sign, What now?
She didn't answer. Just kept running. Hoped he trusted her enough to follow.
They had to go slowly. Not just to avoid the tents that still remained, but because they were zig-zagging to avoid the machines that hunted them. The rumble of the bullets grew heavier, the air grew thick with dust.
Then they were at the water.
Smoke was there. There with perhaps a dozen others. Out of the scores that had been in the camp, these were the survivors.
And Smoke – Smoke who always joked, Smoke who never took anything seriously – looked terrified. In his eyes she saw her own: the fear not for self, but for others. The fear of failure born not of pride, but of the genuine desire to do good by those who relied on you.
She wished she hadn't threatened to cut off his head when he asked for that walk around the waterfall.
What do we do? he asked. Probably screaming the question, but in the blessed silence of her mind she could pretend that he was just asking it, just speaking the words and not shrieking them.
She turned away. Signed to Cloud.
He gaped at her.
Are you mad?
She looked over his shoulder. The war-cars were almost on them.
Trust me.
Cloud looked at her. And for a moment, that moment when she saw utter trust in his eyes, the screams didn't just quiet. They left. There was peace.
He nodded.
His hand speared into the air. Sweat broke out on his brow as he exerted himself to the utmost.
A single strike of lightning – so thick it seemed to come from his arm and chest and even his head – burst out of him. It split in two, then Cloud slumped and would have fallen to the ground if Smoke hadn't scooped him up. But Wind's brother was done. Unconscious.
And she couldn't spare a thought for it.
The lightning had hit the ceiling again. But this time it wasn't the ceiling above the war-cars. This time it was the ceiling of the cave directly over that swirling whirlpool. Then another strike at the spot the waterfall came from.
Huge rocks tumbled down, and when they hit it was with a splash so tremendous that it seemed the entire lake must empty. Everyone was soaked as a huge wave erupted, nearly knocking them off their feet. Wind reached out and grabbed hold of a little child who had been swept away from his mother. The child's name was Chiyo, and he was only three Turns.
Please, let him see four, she thought.
The wave rocked back, and most of the water returned to the lake.
But it was higher.
She looked. And saw what she hoped to see.
The whirlpool at the center – that strange drain that had broken open untold epochs ago, allowing this cave to be created – had stopped spinning. The rocks that Cloud had called down with his lightning had blocked it.
And the waterfall – huge, so massive it was nearly the size of the lake itself – still hurled entire rivers of water into the now-plugged lake with every second. Even more than usual, because Wind's second strike had opened the fissure it streamed through to a huge gap that allowed twice – thrice, four times – the normal amount of water to rush in.
The cave was huge.
And it would flood within minutes.
The refugees kept screaming. Several moved away from the rising water. She gestured them to come closer.
Smoke saw what she was doing. And like Cloud, he trusted.
The water rose.
A huge splash exploded nearby: one of the war-cars was shooting at them. Then more splashes. And more, and more.
She wondered how long the war-cars would be able to stay in the cave before it filled enough that they determined it was too dangerous for them.
She wondered if she could keep the people alive that long.
And after?
Don't think of that.
The few remaining refugees moved toward the water. Feet wet, then shins and knees. The children climbed up the closest adults, few of whom were their parents.
They went deeper.
The war-cars kept firing.
And then, with no warning about what she planned to do, Wind sent a huge gust of wind directly at the group.
And drove them all into the deepest part of the lake.
28
The first explosions rocked Rune. Not just physically, but mentally.
This was the Grand Cathedral. No one had touched these walls during the recorded history of the Empire. Not even during the reign of the Mad Emperor Theros, who had slaughtered the Faithful and the Academics alike, not even then had any soldier of the Empire dared mar this building that so many thought of as a living testament to the Gods.
But now… now the building shook. Great cracks appeared on walls and ceilings, and sheets of stone separated from their moorings and shattered on the floors.
Screaming could be heard everywhere. Not just screams of pain, but of anger and the sheer disbelief of a people who have lived a joyful dream… and been wakened by the drums of war.
Arrow was still looking at the scroll, concentrating so hard on his task that it took a full second before he really shifted his concentration from the ink-covered linen.
"What's going on? What's happ –" he began.
And a huge shard of rock slipped away from its moorings above, slamming down onto him.
He was dead instantly. His head and neck crushed under a piece of stone Rune could tell would have been far too heavy for her to
move even if her friend had only been pinned and not dead.
She screamed. That was the moment she gave herself.
Then she forced herself away from what she had just seen. Away. Away. Awayawayawayawayawaya-
SNAP.
"What's going on?" said Arrow. But this time, this second time, before he continued speaking she darted forward and yanked him away from the table and when the rock fell and shattered all over the spot he had just been sitting it barely missed him.
He looked at her. "Thank you."
She nodded. "Don't die again for a few seconds, at least."
"Sure. Don't you die at all."
"Do my best."
They ran into the hall. As soon as she could she phased into Foresight –
(Go left there's some rubble it's fine we keep moving forward and then a piece of rubble falls and hits me and my arm is broken that can be avoided keep moving forward –)
– and then time ran out. She came back. "Left!"
Gods, what's happening?
She drew her daggers. Not that they would do much against a falling building, but they made her feel better. She used Foresight again.
(Keep left long hall no rocks falling here safe no one getting hurt Arrow stumbles but stays safe there's a door take it I see the way out –)
As always she felt a bit more tired after each look forward, and the trips back were far worse. She had about a dozen looks forward, maybe two trips back, before she'd be too exhausted to function – she'd just stumble to the nearest flat surface and fall asleep.
They went the way she had seen. The way out.
Foresight.
(Straight we get out sunlight bright explosions what in the name of the Netherworlds is that machine it hits Sword then me and –)
"We can't get out this way," she said.
"Why not?"
"Some kind of machine," she said. "That new thing Brother Scieran told us about."
They ran back into the Grand Cathedral.
(Straight again far as we can get just dust no rocks turn left again get outside no machines what did Sister Prasa call them tanks yes tanks we get outside run to a tree –)
They followed her Foresight. Made it to the tree.
Tanks swooped in all around them. Flying up and down, side to side. Destroying all they found. Not just the people who streamed out of the Grand Cathedral, but the structure itself. Pounding it to rubble with great explosions that seemed to go from the top down, as though they were intent on not merely destroying the building, but destroying it so completely that it could never be rebuilt.
She used her Foresight a few more times. They were as safe under the tree as anywhere else. Which wasn't very safe at all.
They cowered.
Foresight.
(Look look run just me this time leave Sword behind don't tell him why he understands he knows I run dodge this explosion see something is it really oh Gods no please –)
She grabbed Arrow's hand. Pulled him with her.
They found what she had already Seen.
Brother Scieran. Hiding behind a bush. Sword was there, too. She had her broken swords in her hands, managing somehow to look both ridiculous and terribly brave as she stood there with mutilated weapons in hand.
Brother Scieran was kneeling. He held Sister Prasa. She was alive, but had two jagged shards of stone buried in her. One in her belly, the other passing through the right side of her chest.
Brother Scieran was sobbing. "Don't," he said. He knelt over her, his tears washing down. "Don't you dare."
She reached a bloody hand to his face. It left a smear on his mail and his cheek. "Don't you dare tell me what to do."
The hand fell away. He caught it. "No. No. No." He shook her arm. Her eyes, which had been glazing, came back a bit. "Marry me."
She smiled. "Now… you ask."
"I can do it. Rune and Sword and Arrow are my witnesses. I'll Bind us myself."
She saw he meant it. "Don't… dare. You'd have to… forsake the priesthood. And… you're needed."
Her eyes fluttered. She spoke, but so quiet she couldn't be heard. Brother Scieran leaned in close to her.
When he leaned back, she was gone.
Rune pushed herself back. Back. Away. Away. Awayawayawayawayawaya-
SNAP.
"I can do it. Rune and Sword and Arrow are my witnesses…."
No use. No use. Netherworlds and Gods be damned, NO USE!
The only thing she accomplished was that she got to watch Sister Prasa die twice.
Sometimes, nothing could be done. Sometimes, the future was a set thing. Sometimes, immutable events were set in motion and the Gods themselves reached in to save some, to call others home.
And sometimes – just sometimes – she hated Them for that.
Brother Scieran straightened. His eyes were dry, his features hard. Rune looked at Arrow, at Sword; saw that they knew it, too. Brother Scieran had just lost a huge part of himself. Perhaps the best part.
Would it heal? Would it come back?
She hoped so. But she couldn't See that far off. Didn't know if she wanted to, for fear of what she might find.
Brother Scieran stood, straight and tall, as though heedless of the mayhem all around.
"This way," he said. He strode toward a copse of trees to their right.
Rune used her Foresight on the way. But as though the Gods had been satisfied at the sacrifice they had just taken, there were no direct attacks on them. The tanks seemed utterly unconcerned with their presence.
The Grand Cathedral was more than half gone.
I was going to study there. To live there. To be happy there.
She almost despaired. Then another thought struck her.
I will still live here. Not to study, not to pray.
To rebuild.
It was a promise made in the long shadow of destruction, in the deep darkness of death. And all the more powerful as such a small ember of brightness in that dark.
It was hope.
Brother Scieran led them to the trees. He never looked back to see if they were followed. Never even looked to one side or another. He just followed a straight line. The message was clear to any who cared to read it: he was going to walk the path he wanted, and Gods take him if that made them angry. He just didn't care.
He got to a particular tree – a large one with a trunk thick and knotted and gnarled. He pressed on it, and a large section of the trunk pushed inward, revealing a cleverly crafted door. The door opened when he pushed it, and Rune saw that beyond it was a ladder leading belowground.
He motioned them to go down. The motion itself was curt. Bereft of the kindness that had graced his every motion until now.
Arrow didn't say anything either. Just nodded. He clambered onto the ladder, then disappeared into the darkness below. Sword followed wordlessly, only pausing to sheathe her broken blades.
Rune stepped forward. Intended to just go. Just get away.
Couldn't.
She stopped by Brother Scieran. Was surprised to find she was crying.
Trying to hold back sobs, she said, "I tried. I tried. I couldn't do anything. I'm so sorry. I tried."
For a moment, the stony expression Brother Scieran wore cracked apart. Grief the equal of any she had ever seen shone through his eyes. It was a terrible sight.
Then, more terrible: the grief disappeared. Locked away – along with everything else. There was only what needed to be done. Only a plan, with no humanity.
"Get under before you're killed," he said quietly. And for a chilling moment she wasn't sure if he meant she would be killed by the tanks… or if he was going to do the job himself.
She almost Looked. Almost jumped ahead to See. But didn't. Again afraid of what she might find.
She went into the tree. Down the ladder. Heard Brother Scieran close the doors behind them.
Darkness ruled. She went down by feel.
As she descended, light grew around her. She passed a glo-globe
, but it was of a strange design. Rounded, but tapering to a kind of point at the bottom, and that point was set into a rope-like cord that disappeared into the wall.
It flickered, as though its spell had begun to run out. She wondered how old this place was.
Mad Emperor Theros.
This place must have been constructed right before the slaughter of the Mad Emperor. She had read that some of the High Priests and Priestesses had seen the madness falling over him and taken steps to preserve the Faith and save as many of their number as possible.
They must have made this place. How, she didn't know. But this was a hideaway designed for secrecy, for safety in any kind of danger.
She found the bottom, and found Arrow and Sword waiting.
A moment later Brother Scieran joined them.
He moved without a word, walking down a long hall. It seemed to go on forever, which was a good thing. The longer they walked, the quieter the explosions grew and the less the ground shook below their feet.
Then they came to a T-intersection. Brother Scieran took the left turn without hesitation.
Another intersection. This time he went right. Left. Left. Right. Two more rights. A left.
Soon Rune was hopelessly lost.
And that's intentional. This place is a maze to keep out anyone who would follow. Only the Faithful will know how to get through here.
At the end of their walk – a walk that had to have gone on for miles – they came to a gate. Thick bars, surrounded by more bars that were embedded in the living rock of the ceiling, walls and floor. It was locked with a trio of huge padlocks.
Brother Scieran withdrew a key from his robes, and turned it in each lock, one after another. The locks themselves looked ancient, as old as Time itself, but the key swiveled cleanly in each, and the shanks popped free of the bodies with nary a sound.
He opened the gate. The gate did squeak a bit, which for some reason made Rune glad. It was as though time hadn't touched this place, other than in the flickering of the strange glo-globes. So to hear the hinges squeal – even a bit – was a reminder that some things were working the way they should. Time moved forward. Things could be made right.
"Why the gate?" asked Sword. The question was quiet, but still carried in the silence of the place.
The Sword Chronicles: Child of the Empire Page 33
