Which way was up? Her shoes weighed her down, trousers heavy, shirt billowing around her head. Kicking and stroking, she chose a direction and swam. If the Creator was at all involved in the cares of the sphere, he would surely grant her life.
Her chest started to burn, and she fought off panic. All around her was tossing sea, angry and brutal. This must be why the Deep was referred to as a vast water. The ocean was powerful, and almost sentient, intent on bearing her in its flood.
She was going to die.
The thought surged through her mind and shoved aside all common sense. She fought wildly, desperation seizing her limbs and making her go mad. Could one cry when submerged under water? Maybe, just maybe, if she breathed, it wouldn’t be so bad.
The Deep. Perhaps she could use it to somehow save herself. She grasped it in with great, dragging heaves, delighting in the sudden change from panic to peace. At least if she drowned she wouldn’t be terrified.
Something in the Deep stirred, as if someone else in close proximity was also using it. Then, she was pulled away from the direction she was swimming, yanked as if attached to a cord of incredible strength. Her body was snatched up in a powerful wave of energy. It was as if she was a babe about to touch fire, and her mother had yanked her away. The transition from water to air was quick. Callum’s whole body was thrown into the sky and held aloft. She coughed and sucked in glorious breaths of rain-saturated oxygen, water pouring from her lungs and replaced with life-giving, burning air.
She was rotated and then plopped into the longboat. Trying to sit up and get her bearings, her gaze landed on Nigel and Perion at blade-point, their eyes watching her with worry. All around, Jattalian rowers, oars raised, stared at her with something close to bafflement.
A man rose to his feet, hood hiding his face. He peered down at her as she looked up at him, eyes staring straight into her soul.
“You are a Greigan accessor. How very interesting.” The man was older, perhaps seventy winters, but his body was lean underneath a dark cloak. The Deep pulsated in his chest like a living thing, rotating and spinning in circles. She could almost see it, but of course that was silly. He had released his hold on the Deep as soon as he had rescued her.
“Thank you,” she spluttered, coughing once again. Her lungs burned as if tiny fires were lit inside. How long before that would dissipate? And where was Priva?
“The honor is mine.” The man reached down to help her stand in the middle of the longboat, then gestured at the rowers. They continued as if they were of one mind, movements tightly controlled and synchronous. The longboat shot through the waves as the rain turned to a drizzle.
“Where are we going?” she asked, standing to gaze at the one who could only be the Hooded with as much authority as she could muster given the present circumstances.
“First, we fetch the other accessor, who has been swept away in the current. Then, we head south. After rescuing him, perhaps we can talk.” He cocked his head as if she was some sort of anomaly he wanted to figure out. “How are you even alive, Maja? Did the Finders not murder you?”
“I could ask the same about you.” She tilted her chin, and the Hooded chuckled but didn’t say anything more. Callum sat down in the middle of the longboat, eyeing Nigel and Perion. They both appeared angry, but with blades pointed at their throats, there was little they could do. The only good thing about this was that Priva was possibly alive and hopefully well enough away from here. Assuming he didn’t drown, of course.
This had not been a part of the plan. Somehow, the Hooded must have kept Priva from Sensing them as they approached. Was such a thing even possible? If it wasn’t, then Priva was the absolute worst Sensor in the history of the sphere.
***
Priva Car’abel
Priva was so focused on the storm that when he heard the longboat, it was already too late.
Damn fool! What good were his powers if he was still caught unawares?
A flash of lightning revealed the longboat for a mere second before a wave flipped his boat. Priva dove off, striking for where he hoped the current still flowed. He caught it almost immediately, and it spun him away from the longboat that had somehow paused by the overturned vessel. Someone accessed the Deep, a vast amount, but Priva didn’t wait. He swam with the current as it pulled him south.
Hopefully Callum was okay. Maybe she could escape even if he didn’t.
Priva didn’t dare draw in the Deep. Whoever was using it behind him was strong and would sense it immediately. So he swam as fast as he could, then veered toward land. His best hope for escape was on the sand, not in the sea.
His clothes and shoes were weighing him down, but he had no time to shed them. He let a wave bear him up, pushing him toward the shore. It appeared as if it were miles away. It was probably only a hundred feet, but still a good distance considering his aching limbs felt full of steel. Stroking for all he was worth, another wave propelled him faster toward his destination.
There. Soil shifted under his feet.
One arm, then another. One kick, then another. He’d escaped worse situations in his time.
The Dreads made this seem like child’s play.
The water was now chest high. Then waist high. Staggering, he pushed himself with the last ounce of strength and fell onto his hands and knees in the surf. He crawled forward, gasping and choking, then climbed to his feet and stumbled up the rocky embankment before him. The storm was passing almost as quickly as it had appeared. Could the Hooded control the weather? Was that who was back on the longboat?
Priva shrugged off his cloak and balled it up, placing it under his arm. He had no other supplies save the pouch at his belt. Even his shortblade was back on the boat, or more likely at the bottom of the sea. What would the others do if they somehow escaped?
Head south. Meet him in Crowning. He clambered over the embankment and into the rocky crags of stone jutting from the ground as if to eat him alive. If he wasn’t careful, he could break an ankle or impale himself with one wrong step. Ahead it smoothed out, the waves breaking just below. But if he walked alongside, he would be clearly visible from the sea. He glanced up as the clouds flew by, about to reveal the sun.
Best hurry further inland and hide. Find a cave or move to the road and the trees beyond. It was at least a mile away. Did he have that much time or energy? He looked toward the water, but an outcropping restricted his vision. Shivering as a gust of wind nearly knocked him over, he turned and hastened his steps toward the road. It was the best shot he had.
If his companions died it was on his head. This had been his idea. He hadn’t sensed the Jattalians coming.
He was the worst Sensor in history.
Chapter Twelve
Graissa del’Blyth
Gerard’s stare made Graissa uncomfortable. Did he ever blink? He was harmless, of course. A quick Reading could have told her what his expressions never could. But still, what was it about him that made her trust him?
Maybe it was the fact that he was mad. It was oddly comforting, as if she could trust him for that reason. There was no guile in his manner or words, whereas her countless meetings with the Council were nearly enough to drive her just as mad as Gerard was.
“You mentioned the Mools, Gerard?” she prodded, nodding her head in encouragement. He continued to stare at her, twisting the sack strap in his hands as if unsure what else to say. It was times like this that she strived hardest not to use her power. Not only was there the morality of it, but the ease with which she now found her ability coming to her. There was a seduction, a pull, to drift away into the Deep and just Read.
But she couldn’t. Who knew where that might lead?
“My hands seem to itch,” he finally responded, blank expression turning to bewilderment. “This usually means I have something to say.”
Graissa suppressed a grin, trying to keep her face smooth and respectable. “Take your time. I’m sure you will work it out.”
He bit his lip and stopped
twisting the strap. His brown eyes never left Graissa’s face, and his crumpled brow seeming to shout insecurity. Pity sliced through her. What would it be like, having so many thoughts racing through your mind yet unable to speak them? Gerard was perhaps the smartest man she had ever met. If only that intelligence transferred to social interactions. What banks of knowledge resided behind his bedraggled appearance?
Just went to show you couldn’t judge people by their appearance. How long had she been saying that to anyone who would listen?
Gerard set the sack on a table. Graissa grimaced. Mother hadn’t even bothered to see her now that she was back, instead spending all her time in Vale. Something was going on, but Graissa couldn’t figure out what it was.
The del’Blyth estates were much the same since Graissa had last been there. All that had changed was the freeing of the Mools. Her grimace turned to a small smile. At least there was that.
“The tongue of the Mools is replete,” Gerard said. “What I mean is, it is complicated. My eyes though, they are not fooled.” Gerard edged to a chair and sat down. When was the last time someone as dirty as he had sat in Mother’s sitting room? Probably never.
“What you are saying is, you can understand the entire manuscript? You mentioned before that there is reference to the pithion in Fortress of the Deep.” That is what intrigued her the most. Every time she spoke with Gerard, she tried to pry from that mind of his what it said. It was like trying to talk to a child who is just learning words. Hard, and time consuming, if you wished to know exactly what he or she were trying to say.
“I can,” he replied, sitting up straight as if proud. “But the difficulty lies beyond the tongue. It goes to the core.”
“The meaning of the words?” Best to pry gently, but inside of her the intrigue was building.
“As Matias would say. ‘Look between the lines.’ My fingers strive to do that whenever they are in use.” His eyes roamed about the room, never landing on anything for long. Based upon previous conversations with him, she knew Gerard’s focus wouldn’t last much longer. Graissa ran a hand over her forehead. This was important. Should she just break her own, albeit new, rule of no Reading unless she asked? Would it even be fair to him, since he wouldn’t know how to answer?
“Perhaps you could quote to me the portion about the pithion?” She kept her hands in her lap, tone even and calm. Gerard’s eyes darted to her for a brief second before he looked down to the carpet under his feet.
“The lifekey was riven when the battle commenced. The pithion was born into the wind, and the demon lord had won the hard-fought duel. But from his heart the darkness erupted, spraying across the sky. For behind him on the dawn was the unicorn, absorbing the cost of the lifekey’s demand. The demon plummeted, and the unicorn was gone. Lying broken, the pithion vowed to find his revenge. For if the Reader had not bound him, the battle would have turned in his favor.” Gerard stopped, and for a moment, Graissa couldn’t breathe. Was that it? Surely there was more!
“Matias once said the Reader is the most cursed of all the Stewards.” Gerard stood to his feet and snatched the sack, turning on his heel and leaving the sitting room.
Graissa was almost too stunned to react. Then, jolting up, she followed. Gerard climbed the stairway to the second floor, racing into the library. He looked out the window, and Graissa paused in the doorway, leaving him to his thoughts. He stood like that for a long moment, looking out over the estate gardens.
She trailed into the room and stopped beside him. He was still as a statue, unblinking gaze riveted on the grounds below. The desire to Read him grew and grew, until she might burst from the strain.
No. She would control herself. She’d follow the rule.
It was a dumb rule. How many times had she broken it? Multiple times since entering Vale. But she would not break it with Gerard. He was too pure, too – what? Pitiable.
“The Reader must bind the pithion, save the Watchers, and bear the burdens of the people.” His voice shattered the companionable silence, and Graissa’s heart raced. She had nearly forgotten the Watchers. Just one more thing to add to the list. “Impossible tasks. My feet would not like that burden.”
“Neither would mine,” she answered, voice soft.
He pointed to somewhere in the garden. “The beauty doesn’t lie. Where there is beauty, there is truth.” He turned to stare at her full in the face. “That applies to you, I think.” He turned and left the library. Graissa waited until the front door shut behind him to take her head in her hands, rubbing her temple.
Resisting the call of the Deep to Read was giving her a headache.
***
The Council was in uproar when she arrived for the meeting. Vivian and Moriah were flanking her as she entered through the wide double doors. She had never seen this place, only heard her father describe it. A large, finely carved table dominated the center, a chandelier of a hundred candles overhead. The far wall boasted a huge window overlooking a rose bush, no longer blooming as the air turned cold.
General Forde, blonde hair hanging to his shoulders, was shouting. “Your reign of tyranny is over!” He bent down, shaking a fist directly into Rypen del’Barron’s face. “Step down, or you will be forced!”
“What, you would use force to accomplish your goal?” the Chancellor retorted. Neither of them even glanced at her as she made her way to an empty chair beside Father. He gave her a small, encouraging smile before turning back to the spectacle before him. “That makes you no better than me!”
“At least I didn’t torture a woman!” Forde bellowed.
Uttred del’Waile stepped forward and laid a meaty hand on Forde’s shoulder. “Peace, General.”
Forde shook his hand off, but stalked away from the Chancellor, who sat straight in his chair and glared at Graissa. “Who invited her?”
“I don’t need an invitation anymore,” she retorted, trying and failing to keep the hot anger from her voice as bitterness flared within her. “I for one agree with the General. Your days of tyranny are at an end. Is that not what this Council is deciding this very day?”
“Bring forth your witnesses, then!” The Chancellor looked about the room, which was lined with soldiers, armed and at attention. Was that a flash of fear across his face? But it was gone as soon as it had come.
“Price,” Forde said, nodding at the small woman who stood to the side. Her hands were bandaged. Anger now intermingled with compassion inside of Graissa. A Mool stood at Price’s side, glaring at the Chancellor with eyes of murderous hate.
“I will testify that Rypen del’Barron tortured me, trying to force me to sign a document stating I retracted what I had previously said about the uprising. He demanded that I recant, but when I refused, he removed my fingers one by one.” Price’s face was tranquil, as if she were no longer bothered by what had happened to her.
“Do you have proof?” the Chancellor retorted. “Any witnesses?”
“The constable let you in. And when you left, my fingers were gone. Perhaps we should fetch him and ask?” Her face was a stone mask as she glared at del’Barron.
“Yes. Let’s ask him,” the Chancellor agreed.
“Just have Graissa discern the truth of the matter,” Forde said with a wave of his hand. “I would take her word for it.”
“That is not how the system works!” The Chancellor’s face turned red, eyes flashing. “That upstart’s contention will be brought before the judge and the tribunal.”
“As it should,” Graissa agreed. “But that doesn’t mean my word couldn’t be brought as testimony.”
“Well said!” Forde crossed his arms, glaring at del’Barron. “What say you, Rypen?”
The look crossing his face was of pure, unadulterated disgust. “There is no proof that the girl is the Reader!”
“Then let me prove myself.” Graissa stood, arms dangling at her sides. “All I must do is convince everyone here of my validity, and anyone at the tribunal who wishes, as well.”
The room fell silent. Uttred nodded, face smooth. “Come. Let us gather together and I will speak of what is on my mind to everyone except Graissa. Then she can Read me.”
Graissa sat down as the men moved away. When they returned, Uttred nodded to her.
She tried not to embrace the Deep too fast. The addictive waves of power enveloped her, beckoning. The roar of a thousand minds filled her head, the milling of the city outside the four walls of the Hall, the rushing of thoughts and colors of dreams. She pushed all aside except Uttred, whose mind was filled with a memory. He was walking down a road, carrying a lamb in his arms. It had broken its leg, and his father had told him to kill it. Instead, he carried it to a hidden spot in the woods near his house so he could nurse it back to health.
Now why couldn’t someone like that have been voted as Chancellor? She already knew the answer, though. Rypen del’Barron had somehow rigged the elections.
Graissa released the Deep, reluctant. As it trailed away, she stood tall and told the assembled men what she had seen.
“Didn’t I tell you?” Kole said with a grin. “My daughter is the Reader.”
Even del’Barron looked impressed. But the look faded from his face, replaced with a mixture of anger and fear. “We still need to wait for the tribunal to be assembled! And I refuse to let her defile me by reading my mind! That is no place for a young woman! Imagine what she could do with such unlimited access to the secrets that keep our Land safe?” His eyes darted to Forde. “You would have her know where our troops are located? What their movements –”
“Enough,” Franc del’Niope interjected, cutting off the Chancellor. Normally a soft-spoken man, he was a listener first before a speaker. He reminded her of Father in that way. “Rypen, I’m afraid you are outnumbered. The charges you have levelled against Kole, the uprising, the torture... all these things only suggest that it would be most helpful to have someone who could see the unmitigated truth of the matter. I suggest we take a vote. Who here at the Council would agree that Rypen should be Read?”
The Last Steward Page 12
