Faela’s body went rigid and her mumbling became audible. “Can’t stop… quiet… just want … make them…”
“Faela, what’s not quiet?” Mireya asked.
“Make them go away.” She begged in a terrified whisper and a tattoo exploded with a burst of crimson light on her chest.
At once, Jair and Kade’s faces blanched as images and emotions one blurring into the next too fast to differentiate one from another assaulted their minds.
A woman in a gauzy green dress stood on a balcony bathed in moonlight, her cheeks stained with tears. His blood soaking into the wool carpet, a man with silver hair sprawled on the floor of a library, a dagger rolling from his hand. Dagger in hand, a man stood over a woman kneeling before a kitchen hearth. He pressed the burning blade to her upper arm. A scream tore from her throat. Dogs howled as a dark man explained that the crops would not be fit for harvest again this year. Chaos engulfed the inn as arrows rained down from the rafters. Screams cut off as the men around him died. A man rushed the boy, but another soldier pushed him out of the way as the blade caught him across the face. A mother clutched her two-year-old daughter in her arms as her youngest son watched from the porch. She fell to her knees looking up at the man. Her husband and eldest son would never come home.
Relentless, emotions hammered the men, guilt, shame, loss, loathing, despair, fear, panic, terror. All spinning and swirling like a cyclone that they could not escape. The images repeated, looping, trapping them. Dathien looked from the stricken men and back at Mireya.
Mireya’s eyes narrowed and her voice deepened and filled the air. “Stop this nonsense and come back, Faela.”
The incessant murmuring ceased and Faela blinked. Both Kade and Jair gasped as if they had been holding their breath the entire time. Jair doubled over, his hands clutching his knees for support. Kade sank wordlessly to the ground.
Faela registered the stricken faces of the two afflicted men and she shut her eyes to block out the image. “Darkness take me,” she whispered, “not again.”
“It seems really dry for Nabos at this time of year. Shouldn’t we be drenched right now?” Lucien observed looking at the crisp blue sky. “Not that I’m complaining.”
Eve grimaced at the dusty field they passed. The grass had withered to browns, instead of the rich greens typical to the end of summer in this once fertile country. Despite the storm that had passed through a couple days ago, the ground failed to retain the moisture. She knew this country was still recovering from the devastation of the war, but this destruction was new, different. The increasingly deteriorating health of the vegetation and creatures of Nabos worried her.
She lifted her water skin off her back and drained its contents. Midday had just passed and she would have to refill it for the fourth time today.
“This isn’t normal,” she snapped. Since they had entered this blighted territory, she felt as though her vitality had slowly leeched into the ground with every step she took.
“How draining has it been?”
“It must be causing havoc with the reconstruction effort.”
“I didn’t mean for those living in Nabos. I meant you. It’s making me feel uneasy and I have a mediocre talent for green magic.”
Eve raised an eyebrow at the self-deprecation then swallowed, unable to dispel the dryness in her throat. “It feels like someone has wrung all the moisture out of me. I feel like I’ll crumble to dust if there’s a stiff breeze.”
Lucien grunted and nodded, as if he had expected as much.
“What could be causing this?”
“I’ve heard rumors in my travels,” he said squinting his eyes at the stark sunlight beating down on them.
“Rumors?”
“Yeah, that this famine that hit southern Nabos isn’t natural.”
“And this is a side effect,” she said with an irritated snarl. “If its cause were magical, especially green, it’s plausible that it’s causing drought and famine, depending on how it happened.”
“You never answered my question, you know.” Lucien glanced at Eve out of the corner of his eye as she led Kimiko down the dirt-packed road.
“I just did,” Eve said, purposefully misinterpreting his statement.
“No, you just answered my question about this.” He waved his hand to take in nature surrounding them. “You never told me who you’re tracking.”
“That’s Daniyelan business.”
“It seems to be a bit more than that.”
Eve quickened her pace as the village appeared tucked in the bend of the river as they crested one of the many low rolling hills of the plains.
Lucien sighed, but let the matter pass. He knew how futile it would be to push when Eve didn’t want to reveal something.
“When we get to Dalwend,” she said ignoring his observation, “I’ll need to meet with the local magistrate.”
“Yeah, doesn’t seem like a big enough village to warrant anything more than an Daniyelan on circuit.”
Eve nodded. “Restock our supplies while I’m gone. I shouldn’t be long, but we need the rest.”
Lucien grunted in affirmation and began constructing the glamour he would use once Sheridan joined them, turning from a redhead to a blonde once again.
As they got closer to the village, Eve loosened one of her saddlebags and threw it over her shoulder. She turned to Lucien and quirked a smile at his flawless disguise. “You always had a greater skill with glamour spells than I did. We'll meet at the Otter's Tale when I'm done.”
The dank smell of moldering timber clung to the cellar. Sheridan rubbed her arms trying to increase the heat in her slender form. Small puffs of condensation accompanied her breathing. From the rafter above her, a drop of water fell and plopped brazenly onto her cheek. Wiping it away with indignation, Sheridan glared at the offending support beam and promptly sneezed.
“I hate being cold,” she complained to no one.
Nothing about this cellar seemed remarkable to Sheridan. Barrels filled with flour and dried fruits were stacked in the far back corner. From just below the ceiling, sunlight peeked through the single, small, paned window. The slate floor implied the wealth of the building’s owner, though it did little to keep the moisture out.
Nothing about this cellar indicated it as distinctive, but her investigations had led her here. Four days worth of hurling her conscious mind in and out of the past to sift for clues had brought her here. She had sent Wiley back to the temple. There was little he could do while she searched through the past.
Picking an unoccupied corner, she surveyed her view of the room. Nothing obstructed her sight entirely. She nodded once. “This will do.”
As she prepared to stand in one spot for a lengthy period of time, she cracked her neck and loosened her shoulders. Intense violet lines seared across the tops of her cheeks. She blinked. When she opened her eyes, they shimmered behind that same violet sheen.
The water that dripped from the rafters suddenly froze in its descent. Sheridan’s hands rose as she reached past the physical boundaries around her, searching for a specific signature. A length of what appeared to be transparent, shimmering silk lay in her hands and cascaded past her left hand onto the floor. It flowed like water. A stain of bubbly jade writhed several feet down the length. Lifting the liquid material, she touched the end of the length to the wash of dancing green and held them together. The room flashed with purple as if it had been thrust into the heart of an oddly colored sun. Sheridan did not blink as the room re-focused before her.
With her hands bound at her back, a slight woman with wheat-colored hair stood in a simple jade-colored dress, her posture rigid with fear. A stocky man, in the orange uniform of a Daniyelan, paced around the room looking for something.
“Gareth,” the woman said with deliberate slowness, “why have you brought me here?”
“That's none of your concern.”
“I should think it is of grave concern to me.” Though her voice was patient, her hands
shook.
He stopped moving for the first time since Sheridan had entered. He blinked as if the woman’s statement confused him. “Just trust that I'm protecting you, Nessa.”
She spoke each word with care to keep her voice steady. “Protecting me from what?”
A man appeared at the top of the cellar stairs. His features obscured by a black kerchief and hood, he waited.
Scurrying up the staircase, Gareth grasped his arm, his voice hushed. “Well? What of the vote?”
The veiled man shook his head. “He used his veto.”
At hearing the news, Gareth cursed and pushed his stringy hair back.
“You pushed him too far. We are not pleased with the prospect of losing such a valuable asset.” The man's eyes swept down to Nessa. “Clean this up, before it gets worse.”
Gareth nodded and the man disappeared from the landing.
Nessa tried to keep her breathing calm, as Gareth descended back to the cellar.
With a click, Gareth unsheathed his dagger and sighed. “I'm so sorry, Nessa. This was not the result I'd hoped for.”
“Really, Gareth, did you think I wouldn't be able to find you in time?” An arrogant voice echoed in the cellar as it stressed the final word.
His spine straightening, Gareth turned and saw a man in Daniyelan combat gear step out of the shadows of the stairway. Flexible leather armor fit close to his body while twin, curved blades crossed on his back.
“I mean, really, mate. Who thought the 'do what we say or we'll kill the girl' was a good plan?”
“Kaedman!” Nessa's voice carried a deep sense of relief.
“You all right, love?” Though he spoke with a playful tone, his eyes simmered with restrained anger.
Before she could answer, Gareth finally spoke. “I thought we agreed, Kaedman. This law would ensure the safety of the country.”
“I had nothing against the proposed law, Gareth.” Kaedman uncrossed his arms, flexing his fingers in toward his palm. “Have I not supported and encouraged similar measures on the council?”
“Then why veto it?” Gareth yelled as his temper frayed. “You knew of its importance to the Brethren.”
Sheridan's breath caught at the name and the images rippled like the surface of a pond. Reasserting her focus, the room smoothed again.
“Yes and had they simply sought my support instead of trying to force my hand, I would have gladly given it.”
“You know better than most, Kaedman. These lands can no longer be trusted to govern themselves. This was too important to risk your opposition. Or must we lose another Scion, another generation to their folly?”
“But to violate Taronpian sovereignty,” Nessa said, her eyes wide with shock as she looked from Gareth to Kaedman, “what you suggest is treason.”
Gareth's lips curled into a sneer. “My loyalty is to the Orders, to the Brethren, not some petty king or council. They exist only because we allow them to. No king exists that has not been confirmed by the Scion of the Daniyelans. We are the determiners of justice. What law exists without us?”
“Heresy,” Nessa whispered. “You are servants of the Light. You ensure justice, you do not create it.”
“If I have the strength to enforce it, it becomes just.” Gareth sighed. “As your deaths will be just. What's the sacrifice of two to keep millions safe? That's all this test required of you, Kaedman. To see if you understood that sacrifices must be made to attain lasting peace.”
“I understand the meaning of sacrifice, Gareth.” Kaedman’s jaw tightened.
“But don't you see, Hawthorn? Why we did this?” Gareth's gaze settled on Nessa. “No matter the choice you made, you proved yourself true to our cause. For the greater good, you were willing to sacrifice sweet Nessa here.”
Kaedman removed one of the short, curved blades from his back with a soft scraping sound.
Gareth smiled, his eyes hollow and empty. “Oh, and the moment you entered you triggered a time lock on the this room. Don't think us so naïve.” As he said the final word, his eyes disappeared beneath an oily black smoke.
Kaedman swore, but before he could close the gap between himself and Nessa, Gareth twisted his hand and released a roiling black sphere of light. It smashed into Nessa's chest, lifting her from the ground. She hit the wall with a moist crunch and fell to the floor motionless.
Already running, Kaedman unsheathed his second blade. Gareth twisted his hand again and a second ball formed and rocketed toward Kaedman. Each blade glowed in Kaedman's hands and ignited into flame as his eyes shimmered with orange. Crossing the blades in front of him, the black fire splashed against the shield and forced Kaedman back several paces. When he lowered the blades into an offensive stance, Gareth was gone.
Sheathing the blades, he dropped next to Nessa. Reaching under his armor for the vial hanging there, his eyes glimmered red as he checked her. She was alive. Laying her on her side with her cloak balled under her head, he brushed her hair aside and kissed her forehead.
“I’ll be back,” he promised. His eyes unyielding and cold as iron he raced out of the cellar taking the stairs two at a time.
“Kaedman, it burns.” Nessa moaned, reaching out to him with outstretched fingers. Coughing, blood dripped from her mouth and pooled on the ground. She coughed more blood, her whole body shuddering, and then the coughing ceased. Her body lay still.
Tears stained Sheridan’s cheeks as she lowered her hands and pulled apart the two sections of the watery material. The images around her dissolved. Now, she knew.
Faela sucked on her index finger and considered the flavor. “Needs more rosemary,” she decided after a moment.
Mireya peered over Faela’s shoulder. “What’re you making?”
“The simplest food to keep us moving down the road — soup.” Unable to locate her bag, she called, “Jair, you now have a mission.”
“Ooh, I like missions,” Jair responded with an eager hop over some firewood.
“Find my bag.” She ordered as she swept her hand to indicate the disorganized chaos of the emerging camp. “It’s somewhere in this mess.”
“I shan’t fail you.” Jair vowed solemnly, his fist placed firmly over his breast.
Faela chuckled as she stirred the floating contents of the pot.
“Where’d you learn to cook, Faela?” Mireya sprawled haphazardly on the ground. She gnawed on her thumbnail then rolled onto her back. “They tried to teach me at the temple — once.” Mireya shuddered at the memory.
Faela smiled, the gesture softening the constant tension of her features. “It was my teacher, Ianos. My father never cooked. My mother did, but I left home before she could teach me.”
“Ianos taught you to cook?” Mireya looked confused. “But isn’t he the Scion of the Tereskan Order?”
Faela nodded. “But he wasn’t always Scion. Everyone’s story has to start somewhere. His was as a baker’s son. He used to tell me how he missed getting up before the sun, so that everyone would wake to the smells of breads and muffins and pastries. He always wanted to go back there after a new Scion was appointed.” Her smile remained, but her eyes saddened.
Blissfully unaware, Mireya asked, “So, why’d he teach you to cook?”
“Ianos believed that one of the greatest gifts we were given by the Light is food and that sharing a meal with another person is one of the most significant endeavors of human interaction. Also, I couldn’t boil water without burning it.”
Jair returned with a jubilant crow. “Success!”
He presented Faela with her bag on one knee. “Your bag, m’lady.”
“Thanks, Jair.” Faela began searching for a set of small, carved wooden boxes. Finding a pear she had bought from an orchard in Oakdarrow, she tossed it to Jair. “For your troubles.”
“Your kindness is only exceeded by your loveliness.” As pear juice trickled down to his wrist, he flopped next to Mireya. He shook his head in denial. “I refuse to believe that you couldn’t cook.”
“I
t’s true; I was beyond horrid.” A conspiratorial smile spread across Faela’s lips. “When I was little, after I had first come to live at the Tereskan temple in Kilrood, Ianos would attend to his duties within the temple with me tagging along. Usually with my hair horribly disheveled and my face filthy. I had a tendency to find the smallest and dirtiest places to hide. Any way, he always started our days in the kitchens.”
Dipping her pinky into the pot, she sucked off the broth. “Kade and Dathien, if you lads don’t want Jair to eat your share, I suggest you finish setting up camp later.”
Dathien appeared behind Mireya and sat propping his legs on either side of her and rocked forward, draping his arms across his knees.
Kade stepped out of the shadows of the trees. “We’ve ensured that everything’s secure. We were merely enjoying the silence.”
Faela quirked her lips to the side at his choice of words and handed Jair a lightweight wooden bowl, steam rising from its contents. The smell of burning wood settled into the back of her throat. The smell was familiar and reassuring. She could feel some of the strain in her muscles relaxing.
“Well too bad, because Faela was telling Jair and me a story,” Mireya declared as she smiled up at Dathien and snuggled against his bent leg. Dathien winked at her and smoothed her hair back. “She was telling us how she used to begin her days as a seeker in the Tereskan temple.”
Kade settled against his pack with a bowl in hand. “By all means, don’t let me interrupt.”
“Why did he insist on starting your day in the kitchens?” Didn’t you have an eating hall?” Mireya asked as she waved the spoon Dathien had handed her in the air.
Faela shook her head. “Ianos refused to allow anyone within the temple to serve him breakfast if he could help it. He preferred to make his own. Starting his day cooking centered and grounded him he said. But more than that, he used to remind me that this morning ritual connected us to every human being. That no matter how seemingly important or insignificant a man was, we all started our day the same and by making our own breakfast we would remember that we are no different than any other man.”
Shatter (The Children of Man) Page 18
