The Last Steward

by Janelle Garrett

  No one answered him. Myra’s soft eyes were sad and gentle. Malok shuffled on his feet and looked away.

  The door to the chamber opened, and Broad came out. His face was grim. “The Elders have decided to help you find any word or mention of the closing of the Rift. Several have some ideas of where to look. However, they will not help you take down the web. They know they cannot stop you, but they insist they will not assist you in your endeavor.”

  “And you? You’re a Webmaster,” Myra said, standing. She brushed her skirts with light fingers. “Surely you know how.”

  “I do.” He turned to Malok. “I know all you have to do is See me to know how it is done. But I will tell you this. It cannot be accomplished without death.”

  “What do you mean?” Brate asked as his heart quickened.

  “Someone must die.” He shrugged. “The force of the Deep is so powerful that it will kill you. That energy must be funneled into someone else, otherwise it would destroy the sphere.” He kicked at a stone by his feet. “So, unless one of you is willing...” His voice faded away. He nodded to Malok and then stepped back inside.

  “He speaks the truth,” Malok muttered. He looked at Brate. “What are we going to do?”

  A rock settled into the pit of Brate’s stomach. That was the question indeed.

  Chapter Thirty

  Malok Mountain Keeper

  Light and shadow. The war seethed below the surfaces of Malok’s soul, tearing at him, calling him, beckoning with cords so strong his body might rip apart. Flesh was nothing. Soul and mind were everything, so all-encompassing—

  “Malok!” The voice wrenched him from sleep. The strings of light disappeared into a dark haze before his eyes. Myra was shaking him, hand firm, tone urgent. “Wake up!”

  He was drenched in sweat. Muscles taut, his body shook and his mind swirled. Confusion wreaked havoc in his brain. Where was he? He sat up in bed, swinging his legs over the side to lay his feet firm on the ground. Something real, something he could touch. Cold seeped through his skin, and he embraced it. It was orienting.

  He was in the Scrape Lands. The Elders – they had refused to help tear down the web. Yes. That was truth.

  “You were screaming,” Myra said softly, sitting beside him. “Are you okay?” She was shrouded in a brown robe too big for her. The light filtering in through the window was brighter than moonlight but not quite full-fledged sunlight. Dawn, then. Her dark eyes wreathed at the corners with concern.

  “I don’t know,” he said, running a hand over his eyes. Was this it? The beginning of the madness?

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured, laying a cold hand on his bare shoulder. “I wish I knew how to help you.”

  The door creaked open. Brate’s head popped in, and when his gaze fell on them, he grinned and stepped further in. He certainly appeared pleased about something. Malok’s dark mood didn’t match Brate’s sprite steps across the stone floor.

  “I think I did something unprecedented.” Brate stopped before them, crossing his arms and rocking back on his heels. “I figured out a way to transport.”

  “You already did that.” Myra dropped her hand from Malok’s shoulder to turn her full attention on Brate.

  “Yes, I know.” Brate waved a hand. “I created a portal that will remain open in the Void.”

  What was he blabbering about? What void? The darkness of the in-between, where he brought them when they travelled?

  “What are you talking about?” Myra shifted, pulling her robe tighter around her chest.

  “Come, let me show you.” Brate gestured and turned for the door. Malok sighed, glancing at Myra. Her eyes reflected his own confusion.

  ***

  The day dawned warm and inviting. Birds chirruped in the trees while a gentle breeze played with the grass like fingers through a lover’s hair. Malok cracked his neck, planting his feet firm in the soil. Brate waited on the edges of the village, watching the sun as it rose. As Myra and Malok approached, he turned to grin at them again.

  “Take my hand.” He reached for them. Something within Malok almost resisted. What was Brate playing at?

  But he reached for him anyway, as did Myra. The Deep surged as Brate pulled it in.

  The darkness enveloped them. Below Malok’s feet was the Void, and a hole appeared in front of his face. It shot off into the dark, seemingly without end.

  Malok tried to speak, but it was as if sound didn’t exist here. His tongue flapped useless in his mouth. Then they were wrapped in energy and propelled down the tunnel, black flashing by as if at great speed. The only way he knew he was moving was because his body coiled and changed. Pressure settling in his blood, heart pounding, Malok gripped Myra and Brate’s hands as if his life depended on it. Maybe it did.

  They stopped almost as soon as they started moving. His stomach roiled and churned, bile rising to his throat. Swallowing, Malok blinked. Brate pulled them toward a door where mist crept into the Void. The tunnel shot behind them, and at the far end he could make out the light of the village.

  Malok stepped out into a glade surrounded by a thick wood. In the center stood a well in full sunlight, stones shimmering as if pierced by a thousand shards of glass. Swirling in the forest was a darkness blocking the sun, mist ebbing and flowing but not entering the clearing.

  “Where have you brought us, Brate?” Myra asked.

  “I don’t know.” Brate shrugged, eyes searching the periphery of the clearing. “I willed to be brought to Isa.”

  ***

  Ezra Carp

  Ezra pulled his horse to a halt. Ahead, Isa dismounted and gestured for the others to do the same. Fletcher, Cranson, Tiger, and Feral shifted uneasily before doing as commanded. Ezra couldn’t blame them. Ahead, the Dreadwood loomed dark and foreboding. It was as if something watched them from the trees, but there was no movement. No breeze rustled the boughs or brush.

  Why had Ezra come, after all? It was more than simple curiosity at this point. Isa’s words held power, command, and authority. He spoke of change, peace, and war. And then there was the ever present feeling of the Deep emanating from his being, even when he wasn’t accessing it.

  This whole journey Ezra had been on his heels. Disoriented. The mission to stop Pol was still important, yes. But not as important as figuring out the man in front of him. All else could wait. For a while, at least.

  “Why are we here again?” Feral asked, yellowed teeth bared as he frowned. Ezra placed a hand on his shoulder to give him courage. Whatever the case, Isa knew exactly what he was doing. Didn’t they trust that? They had been with him longer than he had.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Cranson said. “Isa is going to destroy this place. Obviously. Right?” He turned hopeful eyes to him.

  “Yes,” Isa answered, but his face was grave. He pat the horse on the neck with a soft hand before turning to them. His shoulders set back as if he were gathering his courage. “Stick close to me. And don’t speak. Leave your weapons.”

  The others glanced at each other. Ezra nodded before dropping his hand from Feral’s shoulder. Isa turned back to the Dreadwood, slapped the horse on the rump to send it trotting away, and headed for the woods.

  Ezra didn’t hesitate to follow. Wherever this man led, he would go. For now. There was too much intrigue, too much authority within him, not to.

  The woods closed in around him like a living thing. Vines snaked across overhead, the limbs of the trees so thick they blocked out all sunlight. Ezra raised an arm to push reaching boughs aside, shaking his head as a vine drooped low and brushed his face and neck as he passed. The men were quiet behind him, the only sound the tromp of their feet and inhalation of their lungs. His own heart beat loud in his ears and firm in his chest.

  He glanced about, but it was so dark the trees and brush were hard to make out. Isa’s steady shoulders marched ahead, neither turning right nor left. He pushed a way through, and Ezra followed in his footsteps.

  Something skittered in the trees overhead. It
was like claws over wood, but much too loud to be a squirrel. Sweat snaked down his face as he glanced up. Nothing was there. Perhaps it had been his imagination?

  The further in they went, the more oppressive the heat became. It was a thick heat, full of moisture and steam. A mist began to form, swirling and dissipating almost as soon as it appeared. Isa stopped and looked about before again striking off, due north. It was as if an arrow pointed the way, so confident was his stride.

  The scattering in the trees overhead made Ezra look again. He craned his neck and strained his eyes, but again there was nothing. Yet the sound increased, and the tree limbs ruffled as if many creatures followed overhead. Rumor had it that creatures called Watchers resided here, under the dominion of the Dreads. He had always assumed it was just hearsay. Maybe he should rethink that presumption.

  “Liar take this heat,” Tiger muttered. The others shushed him, and irritation nudged at Ezra’s mind. It was almost disrespectful to pollute the silence with speech.

  Isa made no move to stop, and no move to reprimand Tiger. He just kept on. How much farther? The heat was annoying, and they only had a small amount of water.

  Eventually a trickling filtered through ahead. It sounded like a stream. As they drew closer, the skittering in the trees was more noticeable, and Ezra glanced up.

  Yellow eyes stared down. His heart threatened to climb from his throat. Hundreds of burly creatures hung from the limbs, too far up to distinguish what they looked like, exactly. Isa didn’t seem to notice. Should Ezra say something? Warn him?

  The trees thinned out as a stream came into view. It was small, maybe a few paces wide. As they drew closer, the beasts in the trees scampered down to splay across the path. Isa stopped, and Ezra had a better view of them.

  The creatures were knee-high, speckled and spotted, and their mouths were sewn shut. How strange. What was their function?

  “What in the Creator’s —” Cranson started, but Isa raised a hand. Cranson cut off what he was going to say.

  Ezra resisted the urge to pull in the Deep. It was the only protection he had, since Isa hadn’t let them bring weapons. But surely the creatures, if they had meant harm, would have attacked before now.

  “Watchers,” Tiger muttered.

  Isa bent down and reached a hand forward. Several Watchers scampered to him without hesitation. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small knife. Ezra was behind him, so he couldn’t see exactly what he was doing, but in a few seconds Isa stood holding a string in his hands.

  Ezra scooted around. A Watcher was raising its clawed hands to its mouth where the string had been. No longer sewn shut, its mouth bared into a very human-like grin. It set up on its hind legs, cocking a head at Isa.

  “You freed me,” it said in Common. Ezra jumped back as the other men cursed. The beast spoke?

  “I can do more than that,” Isa responded, and laid a hand on the beast’s head. Its skin stretched taut as its bones grew. Shooting upward, it morphed and shifted. The transformation was so quick Ezra almost missed it.

  A woman stood, covered in pelts and skins for clothing. Her skin was withered and dark, and she was old. Very old. Blinking, her eyes were still yellow. She ran her hands over her skin, a wide grin sweeping across her face. Turning to the other Watchers, she laughed and spun back to Isa.

  “Can you free them, too?”

  “That is a job for a different Steward,” Isa responded.

  “The Reader,” the woman said, glancing back to the others. “She is not with you. Swift-in-the-Trees returned, but the Dreads were angry. They killed him for leaving before we could find out where she was.”

  “The time will come soon, don’t fear,” Isa said, dropping the string to the ground and pounding it into the leaves and soil with his heel. “I am making all things new.”

  “How did you do that?” Ezra couldn’t help but ask, heart still pounding. “You didn’t access the Deep.”

  Isa turned to grin at him. “Why can you still not understand? I command the Deep.”

  “Yes, yes, just like any other accessor!” Ezra said, stifling irritation.

  “No. My power is much different, much older than any other accessor. Much wilder, much cleaner.”

  “I don’t understand.” Ezra ran a hand over his brow. Brick this heat.

  “Who do you think I am, Ezra?” Isa’s brown eyes glinted with amusement, and something more. What was it? If Ezra could figure that out, he could figure out the man himself.

  “You’re a carpenter and a powerful accessor. But beyond that? You speak in riddles.”

  Isa shrugged and turned back to the pelted woman. “Gather the Watchers. Tell them to wait at the edge of the wood. When the time comes, you may leave this place behind and run for the Reader.”

  “We are bound here,” the woman responded.

  “What is your name?” Isa asked, seeming to ignore the woman’s confusion.

  “Pelt,” she said as if it was obvious.

  “Trust me, Pelt. You will know.”

  Pelt seemed to take Isa at his word. With a nod, a look to Ezra and the others, and then a gesture of her hand, she pushed through the wood. The Watchers followed, some in the trees and some on the ground. Ezra moved to the side, uncertain. He wouldn’t put it past them to leap and gouge out his eyes.

  “They won’t harm you,” Isa said, and Ezra shrugged and then set off after him as he moved forward. The others followed.

  “Why are we here?” Ezra asked, and Isa sighed in what seemed to be annoyance.

  “If you don’t know who I am, then you won’t understand.”

  “Try me.” Ezra fought the overwhelming urge to shake Isa until the answers fell out of him. But it was nonsense. Even with his increased accessing ability from the globe under his skin, he stood no chance against Isa’s power. It would be like a newborn colt challenging a wild stallion for control of his herd.

  “Remember when we stopped in Cutter’s Mill?” Isa asked. Ezra’s mind shot to the small city that had turned out in droves to welcome them. Isa’s fame had spread. He was known to heal with a simple touch of his hand, and when he did, Ezra had never been able to sense the Deep at work. Isa had built a name for himself in just a few short months since leaving his home and going about his work as a carpenter. While Brate was stirring the Lands with his power and word was spread of the Stewards, Isa had quietly worked and healed and taught in small villages and towns.

  What was it Justice had said? He was the Last Steward?

  “Yes. You healed with enchantments I couldn’t even sense.”

  “Remember the crowds and how they pushed around us? They wanted me because I could give them something physical.”

  “But you have more to give than that,” Tiger said with a grunt.

  “What do you mean?” Isa asked, stopping and wiping sweat from his brow.

  “You’re always telling us that it isn’t just the physical that needs tending to. It’s in here,” and he tapped his chest.

  “Exactly.” Isa nodded and then glanced up as if searching for something. “See how the light tries to break through but it can’t?”

  Ezra followed his gaze. The trees blocked out the sun, yes, but the leaves and limbs were still brighter up top as if the light was going to break through at any time.

  “The light has broken through already,” Isa said, looking back at them. “But the trees just don’t know it yet.” He turned back and pushed through the stream. Ezra hurried to keep up, the water soaking through the tops of his boots. It was cold, but a welcome change from the damp heat. The others tramped through, splashing and generally making a ruckus. There was no way the Dreads wouldn’t know they were here. If that was Isa’s plan all along. Did he want to speak with them?

  Eventually the wood thinned again, and just at the right time. Ezra’s temper was beginning to rise, and fatigue pulled at his limbs. He was used to travel, but this? It was miserable. And Isa had refused to speak again.

  A voice echo
ed ahead. It was familiar.

  “... know...willed...Isa...” was all he could make out.

  Isa led them into a clearing. Across it stood Malok, Myra, and Brate, eyes searching the perimeter. Ezra’s heart surged as Myra’s eyes turned to them, and as they landed on him, they lit up. Did she feel something for him, then? He tore his gaze away. In the middle of the clearing stood a glistening well, sun shining in bright glory from above.

  “Isa!” Brate grinned, waving a hand. He laughed and elbowed Malok. “See? I told you I did something amazing.” He set off through the clearing toward them. Ezra waited, for Isa had stopped. He looked around as if waiting for something. But what?

  “You’re the man! From the dream!” Malok gasped, raising a hand as his face turned white. He stared at Isa with something close to fear.

  Brate ground to a halt, eyes going wide at something behind them. Ezra turned, gasping and pulling in the Deep.

  A Dread wavered on the edge of the clearing. At least, he assumed it was a Dread. It was tall, waving as if in a breeze. A projection, ghostlike, with long limbs and fingers, green tinging its skin, and morose features. His first instinct was to go to Myra and protect her, but he stifled it. She would need no help.

  “Alpheus,” Isa said, unperturbed.

  The Dread grimaced so horribly its face contorted into something dark and terrible. Its eyes flamed red for an instant. Or had Ezra only imagined it? Lips bared into a snarl.

  “What do you want? Where is your payment?” it asked, floating forward. Ezra backed up as the others scrambled away. He could sense Brate pull in the Deep. Ezra clung to it for dear life. What should he do? Fight? Run?

  Isa stood firm, crossing his arms. “Did you bring the grune-breths, Malok?”

  “Yes,” Malok said, stepping forward. Ezra glanced over as Brate shot Malok a frown.

  “Did you See this?” Brate asked, face flushed. Why was he angry?

  “I have seen much, Bender,” Malok responded, but his tone was soft and weary. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a pouch. Something bulged inside. “Only nine, Isa.” His eyes glittered. Were those tears?