Eryn could still make out the form of a glimmering black dress, and see random strands of golden hair still attached to the smoldering remains.
"Did I cause this?" she wondered. "Did I kill them?"
She didn't remember anything after seeing the blue crystal glowing. Only that her ears had tingled before she'd passed out. Had she done this with her Curse?
She felt like she should be upset at having killed someone, but the woman, Lia, had killed her brother, and would have killed her too. His soldiers. She knew those were his soldiers back there. They had killed her parents.
"Is it wrong to kill those who have wronged you?" she asked out loud. She didn't think it was.
She was cautious in making her way over to the corpse. She had heard stories that his soldiers were immortal, and couldn't be killed. That even if you cut off their heads, their bodies would still continue to fight. She had never even seen one of his soldiers before yesterday, so she had no idea if any part of the tales were true. They looked dead enough to her, but she couldn't be too careful.
When she got close enough, Eryn put out her toe and lightly kicked the woman's foot. She tried to ignore the smell that was hanging in the air, and the gruesomeness of the scene. She had seen burns before, both the bodies coming off the pyre, and when Papa's assistant Harl had an accident at the forge and lost his entire right arm to the flames. Lia didn't move.
Convinced she was dead, Eryn came closer, leaning over her and looking down. Only small bits remained of the shiny dress, but she saw the shimmer of red in the ash that surrounded the body, up next to the head. She leaned down and picked at it with the tip of Roddin's knife, revealing the crystal eye that had hung from the woman's neck. The necklace must have melted away, but the eye remained.
"I should leave it," she said. "I should leave everything, bury Roddin, and be on my way."
But she didn't. She couldn't. The eye was his symbol, the only thing she even knew about him. She felt like she needed it, as a reminder of who had brought this sudden misery into her life. She caught it on the edge of the knife and lifted it to her, holding it in the sunlight in front of her face.
"You caused this," she said, looking at it. "You took everything I had away from me. By Amman, I will take everything you have away from you."
She knew then that she meant it.
Not only would she survive, but she would find him, and she would end his tyranny, so no others ever had to see their families killed for them, or be killed themselves for nothing more than having the power to help people. Her parents had taught her to be strong, and loving, and just. She would weep for them again, she knew. She would weep a hundred times a hundred times more. But she would also make them proud, and stand up to injustice.
"By Amman, I swear it," she said, putting her free hand to her lips and drawing the sign of Amman to seal the promise.
She took the eye and brought it to the branch of the tree. Then she went back to Roddin and lifted him up, taking the bow and quiver from him, and putting them under the branch as well. After, she went to check on the soldiers.
She was still walking towards them, when she saw it. The staff. It was laying in the grass as though it had been thrown backwards when Lia had fallen. She walked over to it and picked it up. It was lighter than she had thought a staff of metal could be, cool and smooth to the touch. She didn't know of any alloys that were so light, nor did she know of anyone who could mold metal into such a perfect shape. She looked it over curiously, and then shifted her attention to the crystal.
Now that it wasn't glowing, she saw that it wasn't a crystal at all. It was round, dark blue in color, and only the size of a small stone. It had strange, white cloudy swirls that seemed to be floating in it, and small pits in random places on the surface. Eryn stared at it, turning the staff this way and that so she could see it from every angle. Somehow, the stone had created light and heat, enough to burn a hole right through her brother. It could be useful, if she could learn how to make it work.
She decided that she couldn't take the staff. She was afraid that only his soldiers might have such things, and she didn't want to be mistaken as one of his. The stone was small though. If she could free it from the teeth, she would take that.
She laid the staff on the ground and leaned over the end, placing Roddin's knife between the metal teeth and the stone and using her weight as leverage. She flexed her muscles, pulling back. It took some effort, but the prong shifted just enough. The stone fell out, onto the grass.
"I'll never regret going to the forge with Papa," she said. She picked the stone up and held it to her face, spinning it in her fingers. It didn't seem like there was anything special about it, but she knew there was. She held it in her fist and went to look at the soldiers.
Now that they were dead, Eryn didn't find them anywhere near as frightening. In fact, they looked just like any other man who had been burned, except they were both wearing some kind of metal shirts that had melted over them, and metal helms that were now fused to their skulls.
"There were six of them," Eryn said. "What happened to the others?"
She realized then that she might not be as safe as she thought. She bent down over each one, in search of anything that could be useful. Their clothes had all been destroyed, as had their armor and what she thought had been swords. The only thing she found was a single silver coin, with a large round eye stamped on the front. Somehow it had survived the heat that had killed them.
Eryn considered the coin. Most of the villagers in Watertown bartered with one another, but every once in a while a traveler would stop in their town, and the coins were what they would use to pay for a meal and a bed to sleep in. At the end of each month, the villagers would gather up whatever coins they had, and Master Lewyn would ride out with them. A fortnight later, he would return with a cart full of whatever supplies the village had needed. She wished she knew how much value it would have. Sooner or later, she would need a meal and a bed.
She took the coin and walked back over to her meager cache of supplies and placed it there. Then she returned to Roddin. She took his arms, said a short prayer to Amman in her brother's name, and dragged him to the base of the tree. She quickly used the knife to brush aside as much of the loose earth as she could, and then she dropped him in the shallow grave. She said one more prayer to Amman, and then began pushing the dirt over him.
She stopped a moment later. "I'm sorry, Roddin. I'm sorry, Amman," she said. She knelt down and reached for the belt around Roddin's waist, the one that held his knife. "I will need this too."
Once she had removed it, she finished burying him and returned to her supplies, looking them over.
The clothes on her back, a knife, a bow and eight arrows in a quiver, a crystal clasp, the strange stone, and one silver coin. She had no idea how she would survive with so few belongings, but she was determined to do it. She placed the crystal, the stone, and the coin in the quiver with the arrows, and slung it on her back. Then she took Roddin's belt and put it around her waist. The clasp was too large for her, so it hung oddly from her hips, but it was good enough as a place to put the knife, in case she needed it in a hurry.
Ready, she took one last look back at Roddin's grave, and then at Lia's corpse. She didn't fear death, not anymore. She would make him fear her, or die trying.
Chapter 9
When Constable Penticott arrived to lead Silas from his cell, he barely recognized the old man. Gone was the homeless drunkard with the wild beard and the stained, disgusting clothes. In his place was a proud man in black cottons with deep set eyes and a tight, square jaw. He was still an old man, but he looked ten years younger, and he stood with a confidence that reminded Penticott of himself.
"Silas," he said. "You look well."
Silas stared at him for a few seconds, then spoke. "I feel like a new man," he said.
Penticott smiled. "Our baths have been known to do that," he joked. "I'm sure getting away from the ale for a few days hasn't hurt
."
There was no humor in Silas' expression. "It hurt like Heden."
Penticott dropped his eyes, taken off-guard. "In any case, I have good news. Roque has arrived from Elling, and is waiting upstairs with the soldiers. All you need to do is come with us, name Calum as a Cursed, and return here with me. We'll both sign the dispensary documentation, and the reward is yours."
Silas didn't say anything, making the Constable even more uncomfortable.
"Are you feeling all right, Silas?"
"I'm well, Constable," he replied. "I haven't felt this right in years."
"Then follow me." Penticott motioned with his fingers, and they headed for the stairs. "Roque is waiting outside with the horses. You do know how to ride, don't you?"
Silas nodded. It had been a while, but he had ridden before.
They reached the top of the steps, and walked through the offices. When they reached the foyer, the steward handed Penticott his sword.
"Thank you, Malcum," Penticott said, strapping it around his waist. "Perhaps I'll even get to use it."
The steward rang a bell, the twin doors of the office swung open, and Silas got his first look at Roque.
So young, he thought. The Mediator couldn't have been more than twenty years old, with a fresh, pale face, thick lips, and dark hair. He was already astride his black warhorse, his robes swaying rhythmically in a light breeze. He didn't look like a killer, but Silas noted the polished sword tucked into the saddle.
"He looks young, doesn't he?" Penticott whispered. "Mediators don't seem to age like the rest of us. He's nearly forty years old."
Silas could hardly believe it. Penticott motioned him over to the Mediator.
"Sir Roque," Penticott said. "This is Silas Morningstar. He is the one who discovered the boy."
Roque turned his head, gave a half-smile, and held out his hand. "I am grateful for your service to him."
Silas took the man's hand and gave it a light shake. The Mediator was wearing a silver ring that held what looked liked a perfectly round red river stone in it. Silas wasn't sure why, but he felt like he had seen the ring before.
"Shall we?" Penticott asked. He put his foot in the stirrup of another black warhorse and climbed up into the saddle.
"Over here, Morningstar." The guard was holding the reins of a third horse.
Silas walked over, stopping in front of it. He looked it in the eye, sizing it up, and then leaned in to whisper in its ear. "When I say to run, you run." The horse shook its mane, and Silas leaped from stirrup to saddle like an expert.
They rode through the town, Roque, Penticott, Silas, and six of his soldiers. When the townspeople saw them coming, they ran inside and closed the doors. Everyone knew what business the Mediators were in, and none wanted to fall under their gaze.
They stopped a short distance from the Old Oak and Penticott brought his horse even with Silas'. "The two of us and two of the men will confront them. Roque will wait for the signal to come inside."
"What's the signal?" Silas asked.
Penticott held up a round sliver of metal that looked like a coin. "When I tap this, it will send the tap to an identical coin that Roque has around his neck. He will feel the vibration, and know to come."
Silas had never heard of such a device before, and he would have been amazed, but he had other things on his mind.
The Old Oak was on the east bank, in a quieter section of the town. It was one of the larger taverns in Root, with four floors above the main tavern and a separate stable that could house twenty horses. Silas had been there plenty of times before to keep his memories from returning. Seeing it again now, he wished that he could forget once more.
Everything stopped when Penticott, Silas, and the two soldiers walked in. It was mid-afternoon, and the tavern was crowded, but as soon as their boots had fallen onto the wood floor, every head turned their way, and every conversation stopped. Silas scanned the room, finding Selene Hess over in the corner near the back. She was a young woman, almost too young to be a mother, with long blonde hair, a small face, and a petite frame.
"Selene Hess," Penticott announced. "We are looking for Selene Hess."
There were a few heartbeats of silence, and then one of the patrons stood. "She's over there," he said, pointing back to her.
"Selene, my dear," Penticott said, looking at her. "Where is your son?"
Silas could see the fear explode in her eyes. She stood motionless for a second, trying to decide what to do. But he knew what she was going to do. She was going to resist, because she was a mother who loved her son, and she wasn't about to let him take the boy away.
"Somewhere safe," she said. She tried to sound strong, but there was too much fear in her heart.
"You are aware, my dear, that aiding a Cursed is punishable by death?" Penticott started walking towards her, drawing his sword.
"I'll die before I tell you," she croaked, holding her serving tray up to her chest, as if it could protect her.
"I saw the little bastard running around here not two minutes ago," another patron said, an ugly old woman in a worn silk dress. If Selene Hess could have killed someone with a look, it would have been her.
Penticott sheathed his sword and turned back to Silas and the soldiers. "There, that wasn't so hard, was it? Silas, you have claimed that Calum Hess is Cursed. Do you hereby swear upon your life that this is the truth?"
Silas took a deep breath. His throat had gone dry, yet he found himself calm. He looked at Penticott, and then at Selene, and he shook his head. "No," he said. "I..."
Calum Hess burst into the room through the door to the kitchen, his arm out towards the Constable, and a red tear below his eye. Silas watched Penticott get shoved away from Selene by an invisible hand, sending him sprawling onto one of the tables.
"Leave her alone," Calum cried.
"Calum," Selene shouted. She started to run towards him.
Penticott shoved himself from the table and back to his feet, drawing his sword. He turned towards the soldiers. "Burn this entire place down if you have to, but get that boy!" He reached into his pocket, taking out the metal disc.
Calum turned and ran back into the kitchen, Selene right behind him. Silas let out his breath, feeling a calm strength take over. He knew what he had to do.
First, he had to stop Penticott from summoning Roque and the rest of the soldiers. He dropped to his knees and reached back, finding the small dagger that the soldiers kept in their boots. In one smooth motion, he pulled it from its sheathe and flung it at the Constable. The blade was true, impaling his hand and forcing him to drop the disc.
Penticott grasped the wrist of his damaged hand with the other, and turned towards them in time to see Silas dance backwards to get behind the soldiers, and then lash out with his foot, cracking it into the calf of the one on the left and forcing him to fall forward onto his face. The second soldier started to grab for his sword, which gave Silas the opening he needed to spring up and slam his open hand up into the side of the man's head, causing him to collapse.
"Silas?" Penticott said, trying to understand why anyone would defy them. "Get him," he shouted at the people in the tavern. "Get him or you'll be sent to the ore mines."
Silas heard the shouts, and he bent over to take the fallen soldier's sword and made a run for the kitchen. A heavy young man beat him to the door, but he was a merchant, not a soldier, and Silas had no trouble dispatching him by smacking him on the head with the hilt of the sword. He hopped over the man and through the kitchen doors, searching for Calum and Selene.
"Not here," he said, rushing past the cooks and through the rear door, into the back alley. He popped out just in time to see a wisp of golden hair vanish behind the door to the stable. A second later he heard the horses approaching from the front of the building. He had hoped he had damaged the disc, but that didn't seem to be the case.
Silas ran towards the stables, following Calum and Selene. He heard shouting from inside the Old Oak, and then screaming,
and he cursed Penticott for his heavy handedness.
"Stop," came a cry from the end of the alley. Silas turned around to see a soldier there, still on his horse, his bow trained on him.
Silas closed his eyes and took a breath, letting his body remember what his mind couldn't. When he opened them, he ran towards the archer, raising his stolen sword behind his right shoulder.
The soldier fired. Silas skipped to the left and brought the sword down, splitting the arrow and sending it off course. He reached the soldier while he was still trying to string the next one, leaping and planting his foot on the side of the horse, using it as a ladder to get up to the man and bring the sword around through his head. He used his purchase to spin, heading back in the direction of the stable while the now headless corpse tilted and rolled out of the saddle.
Silas was halfway down the alley when Penticott came through the door from the kitchen, slamming into him and sending him tumbling to the ground.
"What in the name of Amman do you think you're doing, Morningstar?" Penticott shouted. He had pulled the dagger from his right hand, but it was still raining blood. He held his sword in his left.
Silas flipped himself over and used the sword to climb to his feet. "What I should have been doing all of these years," he replied. "I don't know who I am, and I don't know everything I've done, but I'm not going to let you take the boy. What he's doing... it isn't right."
Penticott smiled. "That isn't for you to decide." He moved in, swinging his sword awkwardly in his left hand, holding the right close to his chest.
"You can't beat me," Silas said, batting the other man's blade away without effort. "Why are you trying?"
"I'm already dead unless I kill you," he replied. "We serve for life, and failure is forbidden." He stepped forward, making another weak attack. Silas blocked his thrust, kicked the sword out of his hand, and put his own blade to the Constable's throat.
"Do it," Penticott said.
Silas took the blade away and shoved Penticott to the ground. "I won't murder a defenseless man. Not ever again."
Bound (The Divine, Book Four) Page 35
