by Becky Allen
“I’m all right,” Jae said, her heart beating too fast. She didn’t crow out the knowledge, since she wasn’t sure if this would last. She had no idea if her other-vision would get stronger, if she’d be as powerful as she had been before, and she knew for sure she wouldn’t be able to count on the magic to save her people. So she kept it to herself.
But with every step, she sensed the steady, glowing earth under her bare feet, and she’d never been so relieved.
Elan didn’t know how many days it had been when he was finally able to stay awake more than asleep. He could stand and pace the length of the tiny, locked room. He could eat and drink on his own. He could talk again.
So he should have expected it when, instead of Andra, two guards came in. He braced himself, but they moved efficiently, not bothering with words. They grabbed him, yanking him upward. He struggled, but he was too weak to shake them off or jerk free. One held him while the other yanked his flailing arms behind him, clapped shackles around his wrists, and shoved him forward. He stumbled, crashed to his knees, and the guards each took one of his shoulders, holding him there.
Only then did Erra walk in. She stared down at him, and he stared up at her.
“Hello, Elan,” she said. “I think it’s time we talk.”
Every day, Jae’s thoughts grew clearer. She still marveled at the idea that the Closest wanted her to lead them, and she was honored that they hadn’t abandoned her even knowing she had no way to protect them. They were still determined to stay with her and protect her and follow her—despite what Lenni had thought, telling the truth hadn’t weakened them at all.
The Closest wanted her to lead them. So she would, and she pledged to herself that, above all else, she would always listen to the Closest. She wouldn’t always be right, but she would do the best she could to always make decisions with the Closest’s needs in mind. Because their needs were hers, too. She was one of them, after all, and if she’d listened to Minn, Minn would still be alive.
It was too late to go back and undo the mistake she’d made by attacking Danardae, or to bring back Minn and the others who had died. It was too late for Elan, though her heart ached when she thought of him. It was raw, like when she’d lost Tal—but different. Tal had been her whole life, until that moment, where Elan was only part of it.
But now, when she thought of how he’d kissed her, she wished desperately that she hadn’t panicked. Or that when he’d tried to talk to her about it, she had known enough to tell him the truth: that she cared for him, too. His absence left her empty the same way her vanished magic did, as if a part of herself was gone.
Now, even though her magic slowly but steadily seemed to be returning, Elan was gone forever. She’d never get to tell him how she felt.
So she mourned him, just as she mourned Tal, and Minn, and the other Closest who’d given their lives for her, and for their freedom. And she kept walking forward.
Every day, she grew more comfortable with the way the other Closest looked at her, spoke with her, hoped for her nods of approval. Every step carried them closer to Aredann, the only home she’d ever known. Every day brought more Closest to their fold, their ranks swelling now to double what they’d been by the central cities, and still growing. And every time she let herself try to use other-vision, she could make out more energy, see further, sense more.
As they crossed from cultivated lands into the open desert, she found she could once again pick out the energy of water in the air. By nightfall, she could feel the air itself, its angry buzzing a reassurance. By noon the next day, she could sense Aredann ahead of them, in all its isolated glory. The reservoir, brimming with water and magic both; the fields, the stones of the estate house. The people.
The Closest sent messengers traveling quicker out ahead, so everyone had gathered by the time their army arrived. Jae’s heart pounded as she saw the gathered group, the familiar faces, Shirrad and Gali standing at the front. Tal’s absence hit her, but it was tangled up with a strange kind of relief. When she and Elan had first come back to Aredann after Tal’s death, she’d thought it would never feel like home again without Tal there. Now, as she looked up at the estate house where she’d lived her entire life, she knew it was home, and though Tal was gone, when she walked its halls, she would remember him and feel him with her.
Jae didn’t have words for it when Shirrad held out her arms, but Jae let Shirrad hug her, and then Gali, and her eyes went damp and watery as they treated her like a friend and sister, until Shirrad finally said, voice thick with emotion, “Welcome home.”
As groups of Closest split off to get to work, building out the town and pitching tents because there was no way Aredann’s few buildings could hold the whole gathered Closest force, Jae and her friends and followers were led inside. Jae walked the familiar halls, hands tracing over the tile mosaics, picking out the imperfections that she’d caused with earthquakes.
“You must need rest,” Shirrad started, but Jae shook her head, walking not toward the kitchen or any of the sleeping quarters, but to a hall that would lead up and out—to the roof.
“There’s something I need to do first,” Jae said. She glanced back at her friends, saw Karr and Gali walking side by side while Lenni followed with Casinn and other Closest. “But it won’t be easy. I may pass out. Please catch me if I do.”
“I don’t understand,” Shirrad said, as they stepped out into the misty day.
Though Aredann was only two stories, this was the highest point around. Jae looked out at the town and the mass of people, into the distance. She shut her eyes and felt, sensed the ground as it spread forward out of her range, reached for as much of its energy as she could.
She didn’t open her eyes, instead using other-vision to see where the crowds ended, give them some room to spread, to measure the span of the fields, the distance to the reservoir…she held it all in her head, this oasis in the desert that would have to become a home not just for her, but for everyone here.
Then, bracing herself and bringing all her willpower to bear, she took the energy of the earth and pulled. There were gasps and shouts of shock—and then applause and cheering. Jae opened her eyes, the world fuzzy around her, and smiled.
A wall ringed the whole estate and town, thick and high enough that the Highest’s forces would need to spend time and lives to breach it. It was the first magic she’d done since Danardae.
Her vision swam and she was dizzy, exhausted. She took a precarious step backward. Gali reached out to grab her, hold her upright, but Jae didn’t pass out, though she needed to rest immediately. But before allowing herself to do so, she took one last look out at Aredann.
She wasn’t precisely safe, but it would do for now. She was home.
Erra stared at Elan, but it was like looking into the face of a stranger. She knew his face so well—it was so similar to her own—but it wasn’t his newly grown beard or too-long hair that had changed it, or even the way his cheeks were gaunt and his skin was dull from fighting off the infection. It was that he didn’t smile; there was nothing naïve in his expression. She’d rarely seen him this serious.
“Well,” she said, oddly at a loss when he didn’t flinch or cower. She half-expected him to start laughing, as if the last few months had all been a joke or a dream. But he didn’t, just stared up at her. Her younger brother, her enemy.
Finally he was the one who broke the silence, asking, “Did you not get any of my messages? Or did you really ignore them?”
“I had no interest in listening to the ranting of a traitor and a madman,” she said.
“I see.” Something in his face hardened. “It’s funny. Everyone in the Order thought I was mad for believing you would listen. Because I did, Erra. I told them again and again—you were lied to, just like I was, and if you heard the truth, you’d never stand for it. I told them, you’re not like Father—”
“Father—my father—is dead,” she interrupted. “Your friends killed him, while you stood there and let it ha
ppen. And yes, I am like him. He didn’t stand for your rebellion, and I won’t, either.”
Elan took a breath, as if steadying himself. He didn’t argue, didn’t plead. Just waited.
“Your friends have lost,” Erra said to his silence. It was frustrating that they hadn’t killed the mage girl and ended the whole cursed rebellion at Danardae, but the mage had lost her power. That was obvious. Gesra said that with enough time and rest, the girl’s power would restore itself, but this time, Erra had finally stayed composed despite the visions. The world had burned around her and she hadn’t cared about anything except reaching the mage. Even if her power did come back, next time, Erra would win.
“I doubt that,” Elan said.
“They may not know it yet,” Erra said. “But their cause is lost. Jae Aredann’s magic is gone, and without her protection, the Closest stand no chance. They’ve retreated—and tomorrow, we will pursue them.”
“You really shouldn’t do that. If you got my other message, then you must have gotten our warning.”
“And dismissed it, just as easily.”
“Then the Highest never told you the truth of the Well,” Elan said. “But Father knew. The War was—”
“You two are dismissed,” Erra said sharply to the guards, cutting him off.
One released Elan, but the other said, “Highest, are you sure it’s safe to…”
“Are you questioning me?” she demanded, and the man actually fell back a step.
“No, Highest, forgive me.” They both fled, and she turned back to Elan.
“So you do know,” he said. “You just don’t want anyone else to. How can you stand there and know our ancestors lied about—”
“The Closest were maniacs,” Erra said, remembering Gesra’s words. “They were selfish; they wouldn’t allow anyone use of the reservoirs. The world needed the water—”
“So you stole it,” Elan said, disgusted. “If the Highest lied about the War, what makes you think they told the truth about the Closest? I’m telling you—I’m telling you the truth. That because they crafted the Well, its binding will unravel without them. The more Closest who die, the weaker it becomes, and if you wage this war on them—”
“They started this,” she interrupted him. “Before the War, when they were cruel. We’re only finishing what our ancestors should have. You know what a threat the Closest are—if we can’t control them, they can’t live.”
He shook his head. “They’re not like that. I used to think…but they aren’t.”
“Everyone knows what they’re like.” Her words were clipped with anger. The Closest were a danger, rebels and traitors, now free to destroy the world her family had worked so hard to protect.
“No. Everyone knows the Highest’s lies about them. Everything about them, the Curse—all of it was a lie. Even if I didn’t believe Jae, it wouldn’t matter, because I heard Father admit it!”
“Stop calling him that!” she half-shouted. “He disowned you. You are nothing but a traitor. Not his son.”
“Not your brother,” Elan said.
She didn’t flinch from the truth in that statement. The man in front of her wasn’t her brother, the smiling, naïve young man who’d been sent to Aredann. The brother she’d loved was gone, and the traitor in front of her was no one.
“The only reason you’re alive now is so I can make that girl watch when I execute you,” Erra said. “You’ll die in front of her—all her people.”
“Do you think that’ll stop her? The only person Jae loved is already dead,” he said. “She’ll mourn me—but she won’t stop, not until you’ve surrendered or you’re dead next to me. And the Highest won’t ever surrender, will they? Not even when it costs you the whole world. Because the Well will dry if you kill the Closest. If you fight them, you curse yourself.”
“We will handle it,” she said. “The Highest will protect our people.”
“You sound like a fanatic, not a leader. The Highest have no idea what they’re doing,” Elan said.
Shock hit Erra, and she let her anger unfurl and slapped him. He rocked on his knees but didn’t recant, though part of her had actually expected him to. It wasn’t rational, but she’d never heard anyone talk about the Highest like that before.
“I’m not the only one who thinks so,” he added. She balled her fist, but he kept talking. “The Twill who’ve joined you might fear the Closest now—but they hated you, just weeks ago. And they will again, when the reservoirs run dry. Even if you win this war, you’ll be fighting another one within years.”
“Enough!” She hadn’t meant to scream, but she couldn’t stop herself. “You are wrong, you’re a liar and a traitor and a vow-breaker. And you’re nothing to me, no one at all. I don’t even know you—I never did.”
She turned away, but not quickly enough.
“But I know you,” he said, his voice steady again. “I do. I think you think you’re just trying to be a fair ruler, and that you do want to protect people. But right now, all you’re protecting is your own power.”
“Power I will use to make peace!” She turned back toward him despite herself. She’d condemned him, this traitor who wore her brother’s face, and now she couldn’t stand to look at him. But she couldn’t just walk away.
“Power you want to use to slaughter people you kept enslaved for generations,” he said. “Because they challenge you. Power our ancestors wielded to force everyone to obey them. Power because you just want power, and you don’t care what you do with it!”
“You’re wrong,” she said.
“If I was wrong about anything, it was about you.” He stared up at her, his face not a mask now, not desperate, but twisted into something much angrier. “I thought you were better than that. But I’m telling you the truth, and if you’re too determined to rebuild a world order that has you at the top, you as Highest, then you’re not. Jae and Lenni were right when they said you wouldn’t understand. That you’d condemn the world rather than let someone else rule it.”
Erra turned away again, not letting him see how much his anger stung. It shouldn’t matter. He was the vow-breaker, not her, and she shouldn’t care what he thought. The only thing that would matter now was that she’d condemned him, that the whole world would see that she had no mercy for their enemies, not even for her brother. They would have faith in her to protect them, and she would keep the peace.
“I warned you,” Elan called from behind her, as she walked through the door. He wasn’t going to stop, so as much as it irked her, she’d let him have the last word for now—it didn’t matter; he’d be executed soon enough. “When the next drought comes and the Well goes dry, remember that I warned you.”
She locked the door behind her.
Jae sat on a cushion in what had once been the Avowed’s private study. Now it was the one room that wasn’t stacked with equipment or food or other supplies, as Closest stockpiled everything they could. Aredann’s resources weren’t exactly vast, but with Jae’s magical coaxing, the fields were yielding far more than they would have naturally, especially in light of overwatering from the storms. Any blankets that weren’t desperately needed were being cleaned and converted to clothes; any older clothing repaired and parceled out to those who needed it. With thousands of people living in an estate and town meant for a quarter of their number, every room was crowded, and everyone was a little hungry and desperate and irritable.
“I admit, I didn’t expect us to have anywhere near enough food,” Lenni said, coming to sit across the small table from Jae. This was their impromptu conference room, where she, Lenni, Palma, Shirrad, Gali, and Karr had taken to meeting. “Your magic can do incredible things, Lady Mage. But it isn’t enough.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Shirrad said. Jae almost smiled at how Shirrad had started speaking like one of the Closest.
“When the Highest arrive, we can’t just hide behind the wall and wait. I know—I know you won’t like that. I know it sounds exactly like what I sai
d about Danardae—”
“Yes, it does,” Jae interrupted. She was not going to rush into anything this time.
“But this is different. When the Highest arrive, they’ll surround us. We’ll be safe within the wall for a time, but we have nowhere to go. No escape. Aredann may be safe, but it’s still going to be a battleground, because sooner or later, either they’ll attack or we’ll run out of supplies. We’ll have to fight eventually. We didn’t at Danardae—I was wrong. But here…I can’t see any other way, and I’d rather fight while we’re well fed and ready.”
“And get it over with,” Karr said, nodding in agreement. “While we’re in a stronger position. They can’t get past the walls, so we can decide when it’s time to fight.”
“But my magic might vanish again,” Jae said. “If we attack and I can’t help…”
“Then I suppose you’re certain they have a way to drain it,” Lenni said.
“It’s happened every time I’ve been near them. At the vow ceremony and the Break it was only a few moments, but after Danardae…”
“Then we can’t strike,” Shirrad said.
“Then we have to,” Karr said. He and Lenni exchanged looks, and Jae wondered when the two of them had become so aligned. Or maybe they always had been. Karr hadn’t been in favor of attacking Danardae, but he hadn’t shied away from the fight, either. “If we can’t rely on your magic, we have to rely on ourselves. They’ll get to the wall and wait, and we’ll take them unaware, and end this war for good.”
“But just ending the war isn’t enough,” Jae said. “We need to know what to do next.”
“Next, we see the Highest executed for their lies and their crimes,” Lenni said.
“Yes, but something needs to come after that, too,” Jae said, pressing again. This was the piece she’d been missing, that she’d never understood. Everyone could agree that they needed to win the war, and that they’d never be ruled over again. But no one knew what that would really mean, how it would work. Jae certainly didn’t. “The world will be in chaos. Everyone who survives will be desperate and terrified. Elan saw that in the cities—how much looting and violence there had been. We can’t allow survivors—on either side—to just destroy themselves.”
