“What is this?”
“Our past and our future,” Simza answered. “The hand that has guided us since our inception. She has risen us up from nothing and will make us saviors of Ayr. She is our all.”
“She?” Luca asked. “Where is she?”
“Within the sphere. The first matriarch resides within.”
“Ikus herself,” Jaelle echoed reverently.
The idea proved too big for Luca to digest, his mind chewing it over before the full scope of their words struck. Then the terrible rumors of his tribe’s consorting with Waer suddenly did not seem so outlandish; they were but iterations of the truth. The idea of his tribe keeping their progenitor captive rather than allowing her to join Sol’s flow these untold millennia nearly crushed his resolve.
But it was clearly true. The ancient glass looked old enough to equal the Biba Sacara, and the full weight of Simza’s pronouncement spun Luca’s head.
“We can’t,” he stuttered. “The Renders, they’d hunt us to the end of Ayr if they knew. To keep… to keep Ikus herself… Truly such a sin stains us all…”
To his dismay, both Simza and Jaelle sniggered. “She chooses this existence, Luca. Like any luz jar, there is a lid, and we open it every day to allow her to escape if she so chooses.”
“In fact,” Jaelle added smugly, “the orb was her design.”
Luca felt sick to his Soul at their heresy. He cared nothing for the scriptures, but one could not disregard certain natural laws; the keeping of Breath outside of Sol’s flow for centuries on end was a sin too obvious to ignore. He wanted to run, to flee the blasphemy, but then he heard it call his name.
***
Marta strode away from her father’s study. Her father was dead, her mother plainly insane and swearing revenge, but she felt astoundingly calm. It was a new form of clarity unfamiliar to her, one born from indifference. In the heart of her father’s former power, she saw the truth: the last strands of familial bonds chaining her to the clan were severed. The Cildra held no further sway over her, and she owed them nothing now. Even Carmichael’s current mission and hidden directive to prevent a second civil war was voided, his clandestine schemes unable to interest her one iota. She was free from their unhealthy machinations and could live out her short life however she chose until the clan brought its vengeance to bear.
They certainly would. Of that she possessed no doubt. She had betrayed them not once, but many times, and only wondered why she survived this long without Norwood Childress’ personal protection. The coating of dust in his study denoted he had been dead a long while, which meant it was not his hand shielding her these two years since the Grand War.
Marta’s steady gait stuttered. The entrance hall awaited, and she knew if she crossed the threshold, it would be for the last time, but she found her feet leaden as her new indifferent lucidity dug up another corpse: Her father’s study had been ransacked long ago if the dust was any indication. Something of import was sought, and most likely found, before locking it up again. No one but family members ever entered his sanctuary, and suddenly, Marta heard Oleander’s voice:
I found his family tree for the clan. He has everyone marked, just like he does with his dogs in the kennels.
Her feet ached to escape, but Marta found herself anchored only inches from the door. She had been amazed at the time by her sister’s audacity in risking Father’s displeasure by secretly entering his sanctuary, but if her younger sister had dared to enter the lion’s den, it stood to reason her older brother would have as well. To them, who never faced punishment there, the study would have been a wonderland of treasures to hunt.
The whole thing had Carmichael’s stink about it, and Marta found her traitorous feet turning against her will.
***
=You have served well, Luca, favored son.
The air did not stir at the utterance, but Luca’s Mind reverberated with the unspoken thought loud enough to buckle his knees and force his hands over his ears.
=Rise, Luca, true Ikus to the marrow. Rise and behold your maker. Rise and see what beget the blood that flows in your veins.
His body trembling, Luca obeyed, regaining his feet to stagger to the orb. The Breaths within heaved, the motion making him sick with awe and dread. Next to the sphere, he found his hands peeling from his ears to alight upon the glass cold enough to sear his skin.
=I have known you through ages, Luca, a true servant no matter the form you wore. Arisbe Ferrar, Eda Tramacchi, and Boikiria Ghedina, I have depended always upon you.
Luca knew the names Arisbe Ferrar and Boikiria Ghedina, but the identity of Eda Tramacchi eluded him. But he also knew what the Breaths of Ikus said were true. He had always been a loyal servant of the tribe, even before his birth.
=I am proud. From nothing you have risen to shake the present day. Few will know the part you played this turn upon the flow, but all of Ayr will be better for it. Do you understand?
Tears of joy ran down Luca’s cheeks as he nodded. He felt no shame at his tears nor surprise as Simza and Jaelle appeared at either shoulder, their faces kind and knowing. This was the true secret the matriarch held, one too grand and dark to share with any but her direct descendants. And now, with this secret bestowed upon him, Luca was fully family.
“Only one last thing required of you,” Simza said.
Her nod drew his attention to the second sphere behind the first. Constructed of a thinner more-modern membrane, it sat on a smaller base. Studying it closer, Luca recognized the material as steelglys, the Ingios black stones holding the empty sphere in place. Some of the glyphs etched into the glass reflected the warding designs painted upon the wolari’s wagons, but others appeared more ordered and almost geomantic. He could not fathom them, but certainly recognized the altar beside the new orb. Stained black from the sacrificial blood running down it for centuries on end, the dagger atop it gleamed a far too bright.
Luca groaned as his eyes flicked to the unconscious Caddie.
***
Like the rest of the house, the servants’ quarters slumbered under a layer of decay, but Marta knew where her answers lay as she rapped on the door. With no answer forthcoming, she knocked again, louder.
“I’m at arms with a pistol!” The pretty servant girl called clearly through the old oak door. Marta did not bother to raise her voice, instead letting her dead intent convey her threat.
“You know who I am. You know what I’ll do to you. You have until five to fire into the floor.”
Never one to torture needlessly, Marta still felt disappointment at the report of the gun before reaching her five-count and unlocking the door with her open palm. The servant girl sat on the bed across the room, her hands and smoking pistol clasped in her lap. Head down, her eyes still darted to the intruder. There was intelligence there, Marta was sure, and fear as well. But the girl held herself together, which connoted training and experience.
“Home Guard or Cildra?” Marta asked tonelessly. The girl hesitated too long and Marta took a step.
“There’s no difference these days, not for a long time.”
Marta’s mind reeled at the revelation, but she kept her face stony. “How long?”
“Since the morning after the airships and Frost unsheathed his knives.” The girl’s eyes probed Marta, seeking understanding and finding none. “You don’t know about the cull?”
“No,” she replied truthfully, though she suspected she already knew the story.
“The Home Guard came for the elders the next morning. All of them. Frost’s agents collected them and said they obeyed him now. They accepted within the week.”
“Impossible. Every Cildra’s loyalty is to the clan.”
“Your father had just died, and no one knew what to do. The first who refused, they executed. Same with the second. The third agreed, and since that day, we’ve served the nation of Newfield.”
“You lie. The elders in the Auld Lands would not stand for it.”
“No, they didn
’t. They sent messages over the ley then in person. It was our job to ferret their agents out and execute them before they even delivered their messages. They called out for aid with the old words, but we refused to listen. Since then, we’ve had no contact with the Auld Land elders. Not since we started serving Frost.”
“Carmichael,” Marta spat. “If you do his work here, you know his real name. Do not insult us both by pretending.”
The girl nodded quickly, reminding Marta of a dog unsure of why it had been struck and wagging its tail as if that could somehow attenuate any additional pain. It almost made her pity the girl, but she shoved the pity away.
“Carmichael left you here in his own home, so you must know his mind. Why allow the gast and risk a Render’s investigation?”
“He doesn’t fear the Renders. He doesn’t fear anyone.”
“Then why watch this house? Why leave you here?”
“Because he cares for your mother,” the girl offered. But even Marta could tell she was holding something back. She stepped forward again, and again the girl flinched.
“Because I’m not Blessed and he doesn’t need me. Since that first week, he’s not sent a fruitless Cildra into the field. We guard, if we’re lucky.”
“You were lucky to guard a madwoman and a gast from me?”
“It wasn’t you he was worried about. At least I don’t think.” The girl could barely meet Marta’s gaze, looking out the corner of her eye as if expecting a blow. Marta was tempted to feed one to her just to change her expression, but held her hand as the girl continued. “He said to watch for his sister if she ever came home, but he never mentioned you by name.”
“So?”
“So wouldn’t he just say your name, Marta? You are the most famous Childress now.”
Marta considered the girl’s words, finally nodding to herself. “How did he die?”
“Who? There have been many deaths.”
“My father.”
“The airships. He didn’t even make it to the cull, was caught out in his kennels and burned along with the dogs. But that doesn’t make sense.” The girl suddenly met Marta’s gaze directly, as if daring her. Marta felt stupid when she realized why.
“How long did it take the airships to get here?”
The girl smiled thinly. “A day.”
“And word of them would have arrived long before.” Marta sounded the thought out, the implication almost too terrible to utter out loud. “Father would not have been at his kennels if he knew what was coming. He would have known.”
“Yes. The story certainly seems curious upon closer inspection.”
“They why tell it to me?”
The girl began to look away again, but Marta shook her head, keeping her gaze affixed. “Because I was raised for fealty to my family. Your brother, what he’s done, he’s no kin to me. He may lead the clan, but he’s no Cildra.”
“I fear you may overestimate the clan. Carmichael may be the most Cildra of all of us. What will you report to him?”
“That you came, destroyed the gast, then moved on. Unless you’d like me to relay anything else.”
“Tell him he’s a monster, and I will no longer serve a monster.”
***
“Monstrous,” Luca muttered. “To murder a child? Such a sin will stain our Souls, one and all.”
“No.” Jaelle shook her head emphatically. “It’s not a sin. It’s what needs to be. The sacrifice for Sol that will save us all.”
“It’s what we’ve been working on for centuries.” Simza took up her daughter’s thread, spinning it to her own end. “Yes, the cost is dear, but what we will create… Luca, you must trust in the hand that has guided us from the beginning. I too had my doubts when this gift landed in our laps. I feared it would turn to a curse with what she asked, but you must obey Ikus.”
Her look implored him, and Luca’s heart went out to her. But more than that, her Mind was open to his Listener talents, and he could sense she meant every world. Every fiber of him wanted to believe, to trust his matriarch, and for a moment, he gave himself to the notion. Then the finality of what they asked crashed down upon him again.
“A child though. How can you be sure?”
=Because time is a rope twined over itself. Each strand seems unique, but coils over the others the same way countless others have again and again since the first moment they braided together. There is no flow to Sol’s design, rather a circle that runs over and over again. It is only when one is removed from the lie that the truth can be gleaned. Only outside the flow can the course be diverted.
Each word resounded with serenity, calming Luca until he was overcome with an oblivious, bovine acceptance. He did not notice when he began to smile, only that Jaelle’s own reflected his as she took his hand.
“Just this,” she whispered, “and we’ll be wed. Just one last slice and we’ll all be free.”
She released his hand, and Luca longed to catch it again. Instead, he found his lockblade awaiting him. Understanding as to the machine he took a small part in creating suddenly bloomed in his Mind: its wires funneled freed Breaths down the line and into the orb itself. Such an existence would not be so bad, he assured himself; the entity Ikus chose this state each and every day. There would be peace and perspective outside Sol’s ceaseless flow, and it was his job to provide that same peace for the girl.
Unaware when he hauled the comatose child up by the hair, Luca discovered her neck invitingly exposed. His blade was suddenly extended, ready to bite. All it would take was another flick of his wrist to sever the strands of life, but before he could, his eyes caught the blue open orbs staring at him.
***
The stolen horse hastened Marta’s return down the Coak Line. Though decrepit, the stables still kept two mounts, Marta availing herself to the first. She could have brought the second along for Luca and Isabelle, but decided they were quits. They were hired with her brother’s money to assist bringing Caddie to her father, and Marta had no desire to carry out the task any longer.
Freed of her family, Marta felt deliciously weightless, able to steer her course wherever she chose. She could even toss Carmichael’s mission aside and disappear entirely. In doing so, she would thwart her brother in a way he would never expect, which would surely irritate him until his end.
But to do so, she needed to find her daughter.
***
“No,” Luca whispered, gathering strength with his second attempt. “No.”
Jaelle and Simza exchanged glances, his love then approaching with her hand outstretched like one would a spooked steed. “In the end, this is a little thing. Simply pruning one limb so the forest can continue to flourish. Luca, my love, do this for me, for us.”
His heart melted and was nearly fully hers until she went on. “Do this for Ikus.”
“But how does she know?” Anguish inflected Luca’s voice. “How can she be sure? We hold a child’s life in our hands!”
Jaelle stopped dead, her face falling. “You always had a big heart. It’s that big heart I cherish, and I would not ask this of you.”
“No,” Simza agreed before whistling shrilly. “Let another swing the blade.”
Marko and Petro appeared, each with weapon at the ready, their eyes trained on Luca with his open lockblade and limp girl in hand. Simza’s voice was calm and commanding. “Take the girl and place her on the altar. I’ll take care of the rest myself.”
“No.”
To his surprise, Luca found himself falling back, his lockblade raised to ward his bietala off. “No. You will not touch her tonight. Not ever.”
The four spread out, Simza’s bietas looking from Luca to matriarch and back. Only Jaelle fully met his gaze.
“Please, my love, my heart, please. You don’t need to do anything but step aside.”
“No. It takes but one step to start down the path to evil, yet it takes but one more to leave it. This here, this is evil no matter what you call it. Please, Jaelle, let us step off
together.”
His entreaty froze them all there, and for a moment, Luca dared to hope she might depart the dark path they had both been set upon for these many years. Then Petro advanced and Luca’s hope disappeared as Bo’s training took over.
“Luca,” Marko pleaded, “my bieta… brother, don’t make us do this.”
Despite Marko’s appeal, the two moved as one to close the distance from either side. Dropping Caddie’s arm, Luca pressed forward to meet their rush before it truly began. His motion caught them flat-footed, Luca engaging Marko before the man even knew to be afraid. Praying to end the fight with just blood, Luca slashed the bieta’s scalp to signify his superiority.
Although not trained by Bo, Marko knew enough not to be stopped by a single strike and brought his own blow low and aimed for Luca’s groin. Such a strike was meant to maim under the best situation, no matter how slow, and Luca responded by reflex. Sidestepping the knife, he wheeled fluidly and slipped his blade under Marko’s armpit. Imre Erro had drilled the attack into him for hours on end, the strike a killing blow that would end the lad in minutes.
Petro closed the distance, Luca luring him farther in by keeping his bloodied blade low. Overzealous, Petro stuck with a plodding slice Luca stepped in on, crashing into the bieta. Already off balance, Petro flew backward, Luca slashing his blade through the man’s throat even as he fell. The blood gushed as Petro hit the ground, but Luca barely saw as he turned away from his friend, flicking his own lockblade to remove any blood before it stained the blade farther.
Jaelle gaped in horror at her fiancé ending two lives in the span of as many breaths. Simza’s face was much more resolute as she ignored the inglorious end to her two bietas at the hand of her former.
“Step away,” she commanded. Even beaten, she imperiously stared him down, and Luca loved her for that.
But he no longer believed her.
“I said step away,” she bellowed, rising her hand high. Glinting in her fist, Luca recognized the luz jar containing the stolen Render Breath.
The Imbued Lockblade (Sol's Harvest Book 2) Page 24
