Let alone one of the flying tanks.
She and the others helped him cover the vehicle completely, trying to arrange the brush so it looked as much like a natural overgrowth as possible. But she feared it wasn't a very good job, and looked overhead constantly to see if something might be passing by.
Arrow had a pair of guns in holsters at his side. His hands kept dropping to them, and she knew he was thinking the same thing. Though what he could possibly do against tanks with a pair of handguns, she didn't know.
As soon as they were done, Brother Scieran said, "Inside." A single word, but that with what he had just said was music. She had worried he might stop talking completely – like Wind and Cloud.
Gods, please protect them, too.
The inside of the cathedral was as rundown as the outside. It had to have been ten years since anyone set foot in this place. Dust carpeted the floor, and the pews had been knocked askew, clearly moved to make room for squatters after the small space fell into disuse. A charred spot at the front marked where someone – or someones – had cooked food and kept warm. A fire, right on the cathedral floor.
Sword was still relatively new to the whole idea of religion – it wasn't like they had gotten time off to attend church in the kennels, and the "Gods" were usually only referred to in conjunction with cursings and a stiff beating. Still, to see this dark spot on the floor… it felt wrong. Disrespectful, if not outright blasphemous.
To the Nethers, Brother Scieran's got me halfway to donning the Chain.
She looked at her friend. He was peering around the cathedral. Not looking at it with an eye of love, but simply as one looking for useful articles. She suspected he would happily put a fire in here as well – or set fire to the entire place, with a full congregation inside – if it meant he could get Sister Prasa back.
"What now?" asked Rune.
"We wait," said Brother Scieran. Again, the words were short and the tone curt, but his speech was infinitely better than his silence.
"For what?"
"For any survivors," said Brother Scieran.
"And then what?" asked Arrow.
Don't push him. Not now. Let's just wait. Give him a few minutes.
Brother Scieran looked at them. His face was empty of expression, but somehow that emptiness conveyed a rage, a murderous impulse Sword would have thought impossible from him.
"And then," he finally said, "when we figure out what we have left, we figure out how we use it to kill the Emperor. And any who stand with him."
FOUR: child of the empire
"The power to rule is bestowed by birth. The right to rule is a gift of the Gods."
- Emperor Eka, First Rules and
Commandments of the Ascension
1
Sword asked Brother Scieran two things:
"What do we do?"
"Are you all right?"
To the first, she received a single word: "Wait." To the second, nothing at all. She felt nearly as bad as she had when she saw Scholar fall. Like a friend had died. She hadn't known Sister Prasa well enough to really grieve for the woman, but she knew this man – and feared the difference in him was permanent.
"Let him be. Let him go through what he must," said Father Inmil at one point.
"What are we doing here?" she said.
Brother Inmil shook his head. "Waiting to find out."
"Find out what?"
"Everything. Anything."
And then he was silent, as well. He joined Brother Scieran on one of the pews, and the two men sat quietly for as long as Sword could stand to watch.
Gods save me from the still of the righteous.
But she couldn't blame him. Couldn't blame any of them. She had gone from Dog to Blessed to Cursed. A course from nothing to family to yet another family of a different – and, in many ways, better – kind.
But these people had lost their best beloveds.
Gods, of course they have.
She suddenly understood what they were going through. It wasn't just Sister Prasa. It was the entire community that had grown up around the Grand Cathedral. It was the building itself, which had meant so much to these men. It was all they had fought for over many years – decades – crushed in moments.
I'd have trouble talking, too.
She went outside. Rune and Arrow were working together – Rune picking wild berries while Arrow scanned the skies and the woods with his preternatural sight. Every so often Rune would shimmer, though whether she was playing forward to see if she could find something easier or redoing something in reverse that had already gone wrong, Sword could not tell.
She felt alone.
She wondered about Armor. What Teeth and Siren and Garden were doing.
She thought of Devar.
At that thought, almost as though the idea itself had torn his attention from the heavens, Arrow looked at her. "He loves you, you know."
She started. For a moment she wondered if Arrow had a Second Gift, and if it was mind reading.
She almost said, "Who, Devar?" but managed to cut off the inquiry after the first word.
"Brother Scieran." She blushed. Arrow didn't notice. Looking at the sky again, then eyeing the woods. "He got quiet like this once before. A few years ago. We lost someone on a botched job. Her name was Fire. Never saw what happened, she just didn't show at the appointed meeting place after it was over, and news came a few days later that a girl matching her description had been beheaded and quartered in front of the palace. Brother Scieran didn't speak more than three words a day for a week. And this is likely to be worse."
He looked back at her. Smiled a wan smile. Again she was surprised at how the expression changed his face – made it from a thing nearly homely to something… not handsome, exactly. But good. Worthy. Attractive in an earthy, sincere way.
"Don't mistake his quiet for anger. At least, not anger at you," he continued. "He shares all the credit for his successes, and hoardes the blame for the failures of all those around him. Right now he's enraged that he failed to turn the tide of the Empire single-handed." He smiled. And this time the smile was a bit wider. It brightened his face even more. "But he'll never direct one bit of anger at you. Because he loves you. You're one of us."
Sword's blush returned. In her life, the only other person she could remember talking to her like this was Armor. And that had been different. Father to daughter. Teacher to student. This was more intimate somehow – even though Rune was still near by and doing a terrible job at pretending not to listen to the conversation.
Sword opened her mouth to say something. She wasn't sure what. She just felt like something should be said. She wiped her hair back, suddenly very aware how dirty she felt, how dusty and sweat-crusted her skin. "I –" she began.
"You know, I –" Sword said at the same time.
"Sorry, you –"
"No, you –"
"Gods, people," said Rune, "go find a quiet spot to make eyes, would you?" she tossed a handful of berries onto a handkerchief that had been laid out nearby. "Some people are trying to work and figure out how to save the world."
This time, Sword was relieved to see Arrow blushing as well.
Then he stiffened. He was looking over her shoulder, and must have seen something in the woods.
Her hands dropped and she pulled her swords free – what was left of them. Still, even six inches of broken blade in each hand was more than enough to send her Gift thrumming through her. More than enough to kill just about any enemy.
And she almost hoped it was an enemy. Because it would be nice to kill someone – anyone – who had caused her friends so much pain.
Almost as fast as she drew her swords, Arrow had his guns in hand. Pointed directly into the trees, and ready to kill the first dozen people to come.
But it wasn't a dozen people. It was just one. An old man with a long gray braid down his back, dressed as one of the Temple Faithful. The wolf-headed canes he held wobbled as he planted each one forward a ste
p at a time, but it was clear from the way he was pulling himself through the brush that he would get where he intended to be – or would die trying.
"Father Akiro!" shouted Rune. She dropped the berries she had on her kerchief, then ran to the old man and engulfed him in an embrace that left purple berry-stains on his white robe. He didn't seem to notice the mess – or mind if he did – just wrapped an arm around her as well. They rocked back and forth, and then Arrow was there as well. He didn't bother trying to separate Rune from the High Priest, but folded them both in his strong arms.
Brother Akiro looked between them. Caught Sword's gaze with eyes that were weary and bloodshot, but still managed to twinkle. "You going to just stand there, girl?" he shouted. "Give an old man a hug. It adds years to what very short life I've left."
And without knowing quite how, she found herself in the middle of the group. Not really sure who was holding who, or who initiated the hugging or how it all came together. But she knew she was with friends.
Another set of arms came around them. Then another. Brother Scieran and Father Inmil had come out and wordlessly clasped their arms around the tight knot of people.
Suddenly, Sword was crying. Sobbing. She was near the center of the group, and her legs loosed and she would have fell but they held her. She couldn't fall when she had such strong arms around her, such warm hands to hold her high.
She heard other cries, the sounds of sobs from Rune, from Arrow. She didn't know if any of the priests wept out their pain. Perhaps they were waiting until later, able to put off their grief longer than the young. Perhaps that was part of growing up – to put away yourself until you were no longer needed by others.
Or maybe they were just so close to the Gods that they didn't need to cry.
Whatever it was, the old men in the circle held the young people up, and let them weep, and when the weeping was done they all walked to the Small Cathedral together. Sword found herself holding hands with Brother Scieran on one side, with Arrow on the other.
She was glad.
When they got in the Small Cathedral, the mood changed. The grieving was put aside once more. There was work to be done.
"What news?" asked Brother Scieran.
Father Akiro sighed. "You do get right to the point. Rude."
"Father…," Brother Scieran began threateningly.
Father Akiro held up a cane. "Don't you take that tone with me. You may be in the Council and a member of the Order of Chain and have all manner of fancy titles, but I remember a young man who could barely get through the First Story without stuttering." Brother Scieran blinked, surprised by the rejoinder. Then Father Akiro rubbed his eyes. "Still, it's been a long couple of days, so I'll forgive you. If you'll just let me sit down first."
Nonplused, Brother Scieran gestured the frail old man to the nearest pew.
Sword wondered how the man had managed to travel from wherever he had been – Gods knew how far away – through miles in the forest to get here. He had to have the will of… of….
A righteous man.
Would Teeth or Siren have done this? Maybe.
Armor? I hope so.
Devar?
She had no answer. But she looked at Arrow again for some reason, and again found herself blushing.
Father Akiro harrumphed, and when she returned her gaze to him, she found him staring at her. She couldn't tell if he looked irritated or amused at her inattention.
"Sorry," she mumbled.
Father Akiro waved off the apology. "Like I said. Long day. We're all cranky." Then he looked from her to Arrow and a sly smile lit his lips. "And I wasn't always this old, you know."
Then his expression changed. All frivolity fell from him as he looked around at the small group. "But we've reason to be cranky. And as bad as you think it is, things are really quite a bit worse."
2
The Chancellor was furious.
Don't they know? Don't the fools understand?
He had planned this for years – nearly a century. Orchestrated this era, this age when he would make the Empire his, and would make it….
What?
Sometimes he forgot. Actually forgot. Like the years – long years, wonderful years, eternal years – had somehow pushed memory into the clouds below the mountain.
And now, when he was finally ready, finally prepared….
And it wasn't even the Cursed Ones. Not just them. It was everything. It was the death of two of his Blessed – he hadn't anticipated either Scholar's death or the suicide of Garden, and that troubled him. He had known that Armor would be a problem from the start, but killing his daughter and putting his wife under threat – a plan with a long eye, the kind the Chancellor preferred – was working perfectly.
But he was tired. Much as he hated to admit it, it was all taking a toll. The business with the Ears had been hard. Using his Gift to co-opt their minds, one by one, until he owned them utterly and completely, and knew every plan of the Council of Faith, of the Order of Chain, of the Cursed Ones. Then taking his resources and moving them from where he wanted them and dealing with those… those nuisances.
To the Netherworld with them all.
And now this. Now this.
He burst into the room where several men stood. The Imperial Guard were stationed close enough to Malal that the Emperor would feel protected. And maybe that was what was making him so difficult to control these days.
Or maybe it was one of the Guard in particular – the man had his black helm off, as only he among the Guard was permitted – and was leaning toward the Emperor.
"… Whatever your Majesty wishes, of course." The Captain straightened when the Chancellor approached. He replaced his helm, and now only the single red stripe on his right shoulder distinguished him as someone apart from the rest.
I'll replace him when my plan is done. I'll replace them all.
Or simply rid myself of them and have no Guard at all. For what need has the God of the world of any guard?
The notion pleased him.
The Captain spoke. "His majesty desires to leave this place."
The Chancellor stared at the Captain, utterly shocked that the man would dare – dare! – speak to him.
Dead. All dead and they don't even know it yet.
Just as soon as all this business is done.
He waved the Captain off. The man did not leave. "He feels unprotected in this place. Away from the palace, he feels vulnerable, and I am inclined to agree. Sir." The last word was delivered with just enough of a pause that the Chancellor knew it came with the bare minimum of respect.
He almost killed him right there. The only reason he didn't was that it might make what came next more difficult.
He looked at Malal. The boy looked pitiful, an orphan with no family –
(No family but me, his father and God.)
– and now crushed between the only two men who had ever really spoken to him in his very young adulthood.
The Chancellor's eyes blazed. A fire that he knew only the boy would see. "We need to stay."
For a moment –
(What? He can't. Can't resist!)
– it looked like Malal might actually refuse. Instead, he merely managed, "Is there no other way?"
The Chancellor shook his head. "You know there is not." And his eyes blazed with that invisible fire that was part of his Gift. Malal's back firmed and he waved his own hand to the Captain of the Guard.
"We stay," said the Emperor. "And you are not to bring up the matter again."
The Chancellor smiled. But he had noticed. Yes, he had noticed.
So it wasn't Malal who brought up the idea of leaving. It was the Captain.
Interesting.
Yes, they'll all die. And smile as they are sacrificed to their new God.
His smile grew wider as he looked at Malal.
Him, too.
And Malal simply smiled back.
3
Sword waited with baited breath after Father Akiro'
s announcement. She sensed in him a playful spirit, but there was nothing of the imp in him now. There was only a resignation, and a weariness that aged him visibly.
"How bad are things, really?" asked Father Inmil.
"The Grand Cathedral is gone," said Father Akiro. "Most of the Council dead or in hiding. They're not going to be coming here anytime soon."
"What about the Order of Chain?" asked Brother Scieran. His voice was strange. Low and strained as it had been since the attack. But there was something more. Something Sword didn't understand.
Rune phased in and out. "Wait –" she began. "Don't –"
Father Akiro looked at her. "Rude girl," he said. It was an attempt at a joke. Then he hitched a long sigh and paused – a pause outside her ability to change, and said, "The Order of Chain is gone. The keep where they cloister and train was utterly demolished by the Emperor's war machines."
Brother Scieran threw back his head and screamed. A shriek that shook the timbers of the Small Cathedral, that shivered dust from the rafters and frightened the small creatures that had found their way into this place in the years that humanity had abandoned it.
Sword didn't understand. She knew this was terrible news… but he had to have thought it a possibility, didn't he?
Then Rune, crying again, lay a hand on Brother Scieran's shoulder. "It doesn't matter if you were Bound. She was yours, truly as any."
With that, Sword remembered Sister Prasa's final words. Refusing to be Bound to Brother Scieran.
"Don't… dare. You'd have to… forsake the priesthood. And… you're needed."
She had thought he would have to be a part of the Council. But there was no Council.
She had thought he would have to command the Order of Chain. But there was no Order of Chain.
He could have left. In that final moment, they could have been Bound. Not High Priest and High Priestess, but simply man and woman, husband and wife.
The Sword Chronicles: Child of the Empire Page 35
