His sister’s opinion differed significantly. “Send her home to her own,” Lela said to Luca in full view of the girl trailing behind him. “She belongs with the boors, not here.”
Through his Mind, Luca could feel Isabelle latching onto the word “boor.” She knew not what it meant, but its intent still rang clear enough. Isabelle’s face soured, and Luca felt relief that his Listener sister could not pierce the girl’s thoughts as he demurred. “We’ll return her to her kin when she’s healthy.”
“That was at least a week past.”
“Then we’ll return her when she’s ready.”
Isabelle seemed indifferent to returning, so Luca looked for anything to rid him of his shadow for even a moment. Remembering his own inability when caring for the girl, Luca requested Jaelle instruct her in the herbal arts imparted to her by her mother. Welcoming any opportunity to fawn over her pet, Jaelle spent weeks showing Isabelle every technique and herb she employed before Simza ended her education.
Although she never said it outright, Luca sensed Simza sided with his sister. With nothing to offer the tribe, the girl just took without giving back. Despite their flush state, the waste was not lost on the wolari, who never gave anything to the gaji for free. Sure it was the girl’s dedication to her savior that anchored her there, Simza concocted a task for him alone. It would take at least a week, he explained to Isabelle, and despite her stoic face, he sensed her panic. So he instructed her to cling to Jaelle, though he strongly suspected she would be gone upon his return.
The mission looked simple enough: Luca to exchange a cache of Covenant currency for hard Newfield tender. Petro, or even Marko, would be worthy of the task, but she had never steered him wrong, so Luca dutifully trotted his horse north to rid Simza of the Ingios girl.
***
Soon as he met the smuggler, Luca knew something was amiss. In the forgotten town of Orono, only a day’s ride from the Rhea capital of Hammond, Luca met his contact Berry Tennant. His occupation earning him an execution if caught, Tennant seemed too sure of himself, but Luca was too weary from his travels to care. Aware of the true reason behind his task, he scarcely thought twice when Tennant instructed him to meet him at a gnarled oak outside of town around midnight. Such clandestine encounters were nothing new, though the additions of Tennant’s three accomplices when Luca arrived caused him pause.
At a distance, they appeared as disheveled as him, but they held themselves too straight for Luca’s liking. He believed smugglers should not draw attention to themselves, but these men cared little who saw them. Yet wanting to be done with the mission and return to Jaelle and comfort her in Isabelle’s loss if nothing else, Luca urged his horse on.
“Thought you lost your way,” Tennant chuckled at Luca’s dismount. “Or your nerve.”
“I’ve spine enough.” Soon as he stood on solid ground, the other three encircled him, and Luca found his hand seeking Bo’s lockblade rather than the notes in his pocket. “Let’s see the lucre.”
Tennant produced the Newfield cash, and Luca breathed a sigh as he revealed his Covenant currency. Soon as he did, he felt the change in Tennant and his companions.
“What’s a lad doing needing such Newfield sums in his Covenant home?”
“Business. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Seems to me there’s something more,” Tennant countered. “Care to tell the whole of it?”
Luca scanned the four with his eyes and Mind. They kept their hands close to their sides, thoughts well-hidden, and gazes on his gads. Suddenly sure no transaction would happen that night, Luca placed the money back in his pocket.
“You know me for a Dobra, an Ikus, in fact, so don’t demand my curse. Let’s be quits and walk away.”
Tennant tittered, pulling a pin topped with a silver bear’s head from his pocket. “Why be quits just when you’re becoming so intriguing? I’m particularly interested in learning what a Dobra has to say so far from home. And an Ikus lad, no less.”
Luca would rather have faced Waer herself than the Home Guard. Worse, his bluff using his tribe’s name had ricocheted on him, endangering Jaelle. These four men must not survive the night if his wolari would remain safe, but the pistol Tennant produced diminished his prospects significantly.
“Acquaint yourself with the earth.”
Luca remained upright, his smirk hiding his terror. “Last chance. Walk away before I call down my curse.”
Tennant laughed good and hard before collapsing.
Equally as surprised as Tennant’s companions, Luca still kept his grin intact. “Any other takers?”
The three shared a glance, and Luca knew it would end in blood.
He was in motion before the other three reached for their pistols. His lockblade barely clicked into place before slicing his first victim, who was still fumbling to remove his weapon from his waist. The second at least cleared his pistol before Luca felled him with an impromptu thrust Erro would have sneered at, but Bo applauded. Wheeling upon the third before his enemies’ Breaths had exited their bodies, Luca found a pistol leveled squarely at his chest.
Judging the distance, Luca recognized his lack of options. The Home Guardsman had the drop on him, but fear flowed through the man’s Mind, and Luca played the last card he had.
“Walk away now,” Luca said with all the confidence he could muster. “The dead Breaths that do my bidding still hunger, and I’m the only thing holding them back. Kill me and they’ll set upon you with a vengeance. You don’t want to die, do you? You want to live?”
“I—”
Appearing from the darkness, Isabelle struck with a surprising surety. Reaching the taller man on an upstroke, the girl buried her ax deep under his chin. Despite the lunacy of the night, Luca still possessed the state of mind to note her weapon was not the stone knife she clutched when he found her, rather a blunted tool stolen from the wolari. It was meant for simply chopping wood, yet she insisted it drink blood that night.
Yanking her weapon free, Isabelle’s gaze fell upon Tennant. The man crawled away as awareness returned, but the girl did not allow it to fully bloom in order for him to reach his discarded pistol before she swung again and cleaved his skull.
=Good.
Luca caught her thought despite not reaching for it, and the realization nauseated him.
***
They left the bodies to rot after acquiring their lucre. The pistols and bear-headed pins he took as well. With their emblems of power gone, Luca hoped his assailants’ identities would just disappear as more casualties of the war. Wondering what the four Home Guardsmen were doing so deep into Eastern territory was bad enough, but he worried more about Isabelle. The horse she revealed was a broken-down thing equal to the offhand ax she acquired, yet she felt no shame for stealing. Her mind was set utterly on keeping Luca alive, the singlemindedness of which worried him to no end. She clearly killed without regret, and Luca questioned what he had unleashed in keeping her alive. Her why for following him took a while to discern. He first suspected it was her fear of being separated from him, but when he broached the subject, she shook her head before babbling away with her Nahut thoughts.
Isabelle did not have the Acwealt words to fully express herself as she launched into a tale of four living ropes winding around Luca. He suspected she meant snakes, but did not interrupt until she said they spat red and became “chat-tah-ren” that devoured him whole.
“Chat-tah-ren?” he asked, but she just repeated the term as if he was the ignorant one. “Think on one and hold the image in your head.”
Isabelle did not, instead pointing to his pocket until he produced the stolen Home Guardsmen’s bear-headed pins.
=Chat-tah-ren.
“And these things you saw, they were in your head while you slept? You dreamed tonight happened yesterday?”
Isabelle latched onto the word dream and nodded as unease licked at Luca. Prophesy was not unheard of in the tales of old, but they were just that—ancient stories. Although
the Dobra threw their bix sticks, no modern man actually believed anyone could foretell the future from dreams. Yet this Ingios girl certainly did, and Luca could not say for sure if she was insane for believing such or he for disbelieving her. Simza obviously possessed the gift of prophesy as she unerringly sent Luca out to areas she had never seen. Even finding Isabelle defied any explanation except premonition, and Luca feared their fates were weaving together at that very moment, if not already cinched into a tangled knot.
Arriving back at the wolari, he hoped Simza would alleviate him of his new shadow. Disobeying the matriarch and stealing from the tribe was more than enough to cast her out, but his matriarch simply looked over the cash, pistols, and silver pins they procured before matching eyes with the girl.
“In all things?” she asked Isabelle in Acwealt.
=In all things.
Luca hoped his matriarch did not catch the girl’s answer, but Simza smiled.
=If with Luca, then in all things.
Chapter 23
Blotmonad 19, 567
Marta hated hope. Every ounce of her rational mind knew her father was dead before stepping into his study, so seeing the gast occupying his chair came as no surprise. Hope should have abandoned her upon that realization, but hope is a cruel and pernicious weed which takes up residence in the heart and is too hardy to be pruned by thought alone.
Instead, to lose all hope, it has to be brutally ripped out by the root through hurt.
Her rational mind doubted she could endure more heartache, but seeing the gast dislodged some last shard to rattle around. The unnatural manifestation took only a semblance of her father’s form. Its stretched three Breaths traced a vague outline similar to a watercolor rendition, focusing more on familiar hints than hard lines. The frame of his face wavered indistinctly, bleeding fading color at the edges of what would have been his chin, his nose, his brows. The mannerisms remained the same though, the gast leaning weightlessly back in the chair as her father always had when summoning Marta into his sanctuary to receive her punishments. The gesture was so lifelike that Marta knew it was no facsimile festation created by a Weaver, rather her father’s erstwhile Breaths unwilling to return to Sol’s flow.
Piecing together the Breaths’ origins, another root tore from her chest as she realized her father was truly dead. Her head had assured her already this was the case, but seeing the evidence before her eyes twisted the knife in an effort to bleed her dry.
Marta looked away, refusing to gaze at the gast. She was utterly unmoored, adrift and unsure as her mind scrabbled for anything solid to gain purchase upon. Seeking any small respite, Marta noticed the sad state of the room. All the drawers to the desk and the cupboards lining the wall yawned open, some even tossed to the side. The priceless books received the same treatment, littering the ground or laying askance in their shelves. The painted family portrait, usually so prominent behind his chair, was also missing, Marta discovering it discarded upon her father’s desk.
Yet upon closer inspection, she realized it was not the portrait she remembered, rather a tintype her eyes had never seen. She recognized the tableau though, and the dress she wore the day she departed for the Auld Lands. It was the last time their family had been whole, and she wondered if that was why it had replaced the painted portrait in this place of honor. Their family was an unhealthy thing, but it had always meant the world to Norwood Childress. Her father took pride in it; always had, and Marta wondered if he still felt this pride when he died.
As if summoned by her thought, the gast appeared beside her, its arms outstretched and offering the embrace her mother denied her.
***
Riding inside the carriage with Simza for the first time, Luca could not tear his eyes from Jaelle anymore than he could disentangle their fingers. Their trip ended up far shorter than expected, Luca coming out of his love-drunk stupor to realize they were still far outside Gatlin.
“The nearest nodus,” Jaelle answered his unsaid question. “We have Ikus work yet to finish tonight.”
Simza had always keep her daughter at arm’s-length when it came to their darker dealings, and so Jaelle taking part in her mother’s clandestine business surprised him. Seeing Jaelle’s smile, Luca realized yet another thing had changed in his absence.
“Bring the girl,” Simza said, rocking back and forth to gain momentum. “The boys will need a few minutes to set everything up, so take your time.”
Soon as the door shut behind her, Luca availed himself to the few delicious moments alone with his love. Despite the desire to drink every inch of her in, he kept his eyes closed so as not to see the unconscious girl slumped in the corner.
***
Marta wanted more than anything to embrace the gast, to give her father the final farewell his death denied her. But Norwood Childress always valued strength over sentiment, so she gathered all her remaining fortitude to turn her back upon it.
“Again you repay a kindness with rudeness. Honestly, I do not know how your father puts up with it.” Marta realized her eyes were clenched when she opened them to see her mother at the threshold. Cecelia Childress’ brow creased as she looked past her daughter and at the ruin of the room. “What kind of mayhem have you made this time?”
Marta could not comprehend the question. An abomination aping the form of her father hovered behind her, yet her mother noted only the mess. Marta saw something frail and feverish behind her mother’s gaze. Her composure covered it well, but her eyes could not disguise what she willfully refused to see.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Clean this up before your father is forced to punish you.”
Childishly, Marta wanted to rage at the unfair threat, but her clarity descended and brought with it a memory: Cyrus once told her she could fight those bigger than her and win, just as she could fight those stronger, yet she could not fight crazy, which her mother clearly was.
“I said clean this up!”
It was not the tone that set Marta’s jaw, rather the mental touch that came with it. She knew it well, Cecelia Childress her first instructor in recognizing a Whisperer’s influence. Next, her mother taught her the strength to resist the influence, which Marta did now by reflex. It was her mother’s training that gave Marta the strength to resist her now.
Cecelia Childress’ sneer reflected Marta’s. “I won’t be able to protect you this time. This time you’ve gone too far, and I won’t be able to hold him back. In fact, I refuse to even attempt it.”
Marta’s rage roared back. “When? When did you ever protect me?”
“After you turned your back on your home. When you betrayed your family. It was all I could do to spare you after you gave away clan secrets to those Eastern animals who chose to turn against their own.”
“Chose?” Marta frothed. “There was no choice! Carmichael saw to that!”
“Don’t you dare! You will not utter another word against your brother or I will cut out your heart! He has been the one true child, loyal above all else. That is why he will take his rightful place at the head of the clan when your father passes on.”
It was no secret Cecelia Childress always favored her eldest child, but at hearing him called loyal and true, Marta went cold. Her rage still burned her belly, the clarity in her head instructing Marta’s hands as if they belonged to another.
Snatching the tintype of her family, she smashed it upon her father’s desk. The protective glass shattered, Marta seized the largest piece. With it tight in her fist, she threw her arms wide, her gesture inviting an embrace.
The abhorrent gast responded immediately, mirroring her motion and advancing upon its end. In spite of her insanity, Cecelia Childress recognized her daughter’s intent.
“Norwood!”
Deaf to her entreaty, the gast’s arms encircled Marta as her arms wound around it. Its stretched Breath weighed no more than smoke against her skin as the anathema wearing her father’s form pressing its cheek to hers. It was nothing like her father’s stead
y touch, but Marta’s chest spasmed. An odd sob escaped her, and fearing a second would usher an unending deluge, she shoved the shard of glass through the gast.
The brush of its Breath retracting across her cheek lasted less than a second, but Marta knew her memory would carry it with her until her death. Opening her eyes, she saw the four Breaths that had once resided in her father’s body split apart and slowly float away.
“Ruin.” Her mother did not wail as Marta expected. Instead, she steadied herself against the desk, the fire recently residing in her eyes burned out as she watched the Breaths depart. “You’ve brought nothing but ruination upon this family—ruin and death.”
The first of the Breaths stole away through the wall to return to the flow, but it was not until the fourth finally departed that Cecelia Childress turned her gaze back upon her middle daughter.
“He will show you no mercy now. Not for this. Not from Carmichael.”
“No, he won’t,” Marta agreed. “Nor will I.”
***
Luca emerged from the carriage a step behind Jaelle with Caddie cradled in his arms. The nearby nodus illuminated the nearby slab with countless swirling colors. The stone was roughly hewn, but the glass sphere atop it that demanded his attention. Simza stood beside it, her bietas relegated to the darkness as Luca had once been on these occasions when Ostelinda’s gift appeared. But now with the delivery of Caddie, he had finally made it fully into the inner circle to behold the matriarch’s secret.
It seemed an ancient thing, the glass thick, dusky, and barely reflecting the movement of the flickering nodus Breaths dancing above it. But upon closer inspection, Luca realized the illusion of movement did not come from the reflections above, rather something stirring within the airless space. The movements called to him, Luca stepping beside it to realize the motions came from four Breaths inside the sphere. He could not ascertain the quartet’s color through the darkened glass as they undulated with a clear intent Luca could not comprehend.
The Imbued Lockblade (Sol's Harvest Book 2) Page 23
