The Strength to Serve (Echoes of Imara Book 3)

by Claire Frank

  “Wait,” Ara said, raising her voice above the growing wind. “If you kill him, we may not be able to bring Leotan back.”

  Raed kept his spear raised. “We must stop this.”

  Pathius watched Dashal take slow steps backward. All color left his eyes, leaving nothing but a white glow, and his hair whipped around his face as the wind rose. His energy beat at Pathius like heat from the summer sun, but there was a terrible sense of corruption in all that power.

  “No, Raed, please,” Ara said, her voice filled with urgency. “Leotan will not survive.”

  “This has to be stopped,” Raed said.

  A blast of wind nearly knocked Pathius over as the roar grew in his ears. Debris whipped across the ground, and pebbles and twigs pattered his legs. Dashal lifted his arms and a blast of air slammed into Raed, pushing him backward.

  Dust swirled as the gale grew, nearly obscuring Pathius’s vision. He looked from Leotan, lying on the ground in front of Ara, to Dashal, nearly hidden by the thickening cloud. The wind pushed at him, but he Absorbed its energy, settling the tempest immediately in front of him as Raed plunged his spear into the ground, holding onto it to keep from being blown over. Ara might not want Dashal to be killed, but Pathius could feel the madness, a palpable sense of unbalance in Dashal’s energy, and even he knew they had to stop him before he could spread this chaos.

  Pathius moved forward in a pocket of stillness, his mind coming alive as he Absorbed the power of the storm. Dropping his spear, he walked forward, letting energy flow into him as frost covered the ground in his wake. Water sprayed through the air as the wind tore through a stream, and Pathius could no longer tell where Raed was. Ara’s voice floated toward him, but her words were lost in the tempest.

  The power coursing through Dashal made him stand out like a bonfire in an empty field, despite the howling wind thick with dust and debris. His face turned up to the sky and his arms stretched out, the air around him swirling in an enormous cyclone. Pathius halted, ducking as a piece of rock ripped from the ground and hurtled past him with a whoosh of air.

  Dashal is going to tear Imara apart.

  Reaching his hand out toward Dashal, Pathius Absorbed. The energy hit him with staggering force, coursing through him like fire in his veins. He knew the danger of holding too much, and he recoiled from the sense of defilement he felt from Dashal. Was this what the Imarans spoke of? The depths of power taken too far? Pathius Absorbed more, feeling Dashal’s lack of control, and knew he was reaching his limit. But Dashal still burned hot, the air swirling around him in an enormous cyclone.

  Pathius reached out behind him and let Dashal’s power flow through him and surge into the ground. Energy rushed past, pulling at him with its temptation. His mind raced with possibilities, but he fought down the urge to hold onto the raging fire, and let it go. It seared through his body, and he reeled under the pressure that buffeted him.

  Dashal clutched his head with his hands while the wind continued to whirl. Pathius pulled, Absorbing as much as he could hold. As the power flowed into him, he could feel a variation in the rhythm, as if there were something else in all that energy. It called out to him in the chaos, a voice with no words.

  The Imaran, Leotan.

  Pathius felt the voice as it rode the tide, and he pulled it apart, separating the flows of power from each other. Acting on nothing more than instinct, he reached for Leotan’s body and thrust the variant energy into him. The voice rushed past, echoing in his ears as it flew through him, a brief flash of white searing through his eyes.

  Sweat dripped down Pathius’s back and the wind began to die down as he Absorbed Dashal’s power, until the other man crumpled to the ground. Pathius’s breath came in heavy gasps as he Absorbed one last time, pulling enough energy to knock Dashal unconscious.

  Dust hung in the air as the wind stopped and silence stretched over the plateau. Pathius dropped to his knees, panting with exhaustion, his limbs shaking. Raed ran over to Dashal, sprawled on the ground not far from Pathius.

  Raed glanced back at Pathius. “He lives.”

  Pathius nodded, too spent to speak. Touching the ground, he Absorbed enough warmth to take the edge off his exhaustion, but his body still felt weak. He’d never done anything like that before, and the intensity of it left him depleted.

  Hands touched his arms and helped him to his feet. “Are you all right?” Ara asked.

  “I think so.” His legs wobbled as he stood, and Ara clutched at his arms to keep him standing.

  Pathius gradually became aware of other Imarans, some rushing past him toward Dashal, others surrounding Leotan. Several watched him with curious expressions as Ara helped him to the walkway, their eyes following as he passed.

  He let Ara lead him to his dwelling, the small home the Imarans had given him for the duration of his stay. It was well-lit and comfortable, with a separate alcove near the back for sleeping. Ara helped him to his bed and he lay down on the feather mattress, letting the softness cradle his tired body.

  Ara left and his eyes drifted closed, although he could hear her moving about the other room. She returned after a time with steaming mugs of cider, infused with the dried berries and unfamiliar herbs the Imarans drank. Pathius propped himself up and took the mug while Ara hesitated in the small doorway.

  “I did not realize you could do such things,” Ara said.

  Pathius couldn’t tell from her tone whether she was troubled or impressed. “I didn’t either. Not really. What do you think happened?”

  “I cannot say with certainty. I fear that Leotan was within Dashal’s mind. I showed them how I did this with Daro, to help him reconcile the energies within. I suspect Leotan was attempting this and something went wrong. He must have pushed Dashal too far. I do not know why Dashal held so much power, but he had lost control.”

  “I think you’re right,” he said. “I felt something else inside Dashal. I think it was Leotan.”

  “It is likely you saved them both,” Ara said, her voice soft.

  “Something was terribly wrong with Dashal. I know you can see things I can’t, but even I could feel it.”

  “The energy of life is too strong in such quantities. It leads to chaos, and madness.”

  “That’s what happened to me in Caerven, isn’t it?” Pathius asked, his voice quiet. “Did you see me?”

  Ara lowered herself onto the edge of the bed. “I did.”

  Pathius looked up. Her hair was still disheveled from the wind, her cheeks flushed and her eyes vivid silver. “I won’t let that happen again,” he said. “I don’t want to lose myself.”

  The warmth of Ara near him was pleasant, and he sat up to lean closer to her. She exuded a sense of familiarity that spoke to a place deep inside him. He started to reach his hand up to touch her face as she spoke.

  “You have learned much control,” Ara said, standing abruptly, her voice matter-of-fact. “I suspect there is more to your ability than you realize. This is something we must explore, when you have rested.”

  Muttering to herself, she turned and walked away, leaving Pathius alone, his hand still hovering in the air.

  16. THE ROOM OF WINTER

  Isley could smell the fresh bread before the servant even made it to her door. Her stomach growled with hunger, and she rubbed the swell of her belly as she waited. Her small room hadn’t changed, although she was able to go out during certain times of the day. One of the women dressed in beige always accompanied her, which did little to alleviate her feeling of being a prisoner. As her door opened and the smell of cooked meat filled her nose, she figured at least she could be thankful they fed her well.

  Although it had surprised her when the Emperor told her of the child growing within her, her shock had worn off quickly. A part of her had known, but had been too distracted to realize the truth. She carried Pathius’s child. A royal child. Pathius would one day be king, of that she had no doubt, and her son would rule after him. The servants had clicked their tongues and called
it wishful thinking when she assured them the baby would be a boy. It didn’t bother her what they thought. She knew.

  The woman put down the food, then closed the door as she left. Isley picked over the meal, moving bits and pieces of food aside, smelling everything before she put it in her mouth. Something about being with child made her sense of smell far too keen, and the wrong scent caused waves of nausea. She didn’t understand how women the world over could abide allowing themselves to be in this condition more than once. Her own mother had borne four children. The thought was repulsive. She would be far more careful in the future, not to let a man plant his seed in her again. Unless, of course, it was a necessity.

  Why are we here?

  Isley sighed. “You know I can’t answer that, so why do you keep asking?” Often, responding to her voices with another question was effective at quieting them.

  He has a secret.

  “Everyone has secrets,” she said, annoyance leaking into her voice. “Besides, I never know who you mean. Horadrus? Of course he has secrets. He’s the most powerful man in the world. Do you think he got to his position without the need to hide things?”

  Isley paused, waiting for a reply. Her mind went silent, so she finished her meal and waited for one of the servants to fetch her dishes.

  Not long after her meal was finished, two women in beige entered her room, and one busied herself clearing the remnants of Isley’s dinner. The other was Brynn, her usual companion when she was allowed out of her room. Brynn beckoned for her to follow; Isley stood and the baby shifted, sending a flutter of sensation through her. Placing her hand on her belly, she trailed behind Brynn as she made her way up the stairs and through the wide hallways.

  “How is Isley today?” Brynn asked as they walked.

  “I am as well as can be expected,” Isley said. She’d grown accustomed to the thick accent of the Attalonians, and followed their speech with ease.

  Brynn paused outside a door Isley had never been through, but she did not knock. She merely stood, back straight, hands clasped behind, as she faced the door. Isley shifted on her feet, wondering if she should say something, when the door was opened from within and a uniformed guard stepped aside to let them pass.

  A blast of bitterly cold air burst into the hallway and Isley clutched her arms across her body as she followed Brynn inside. The walls seemed to fall away as she entered the cavernous room, the ceiling soaring above her. Large gray rocks were strewn everywhere and her feet crunched on a path of crushed stone. Brynn led her through a maze of boulders and wide planters filled with tall pine trees, their highest branches nearly touching the ceiling. Tall windows along two far walls let in sunlight, and the roof seemed transparent, as if tiled in glass.

  As they walked, Isley reached out to touch a stone set atop a waist high pillar. It sparkled, covered in a sheen of frost, and the air around it bit her hand with cold.

  “No!” Brynn said, smacking her hand away.

  Isley’s mouth dropped open and she clutched her fingers to her chest. “How dare you!”

  “Do not touch this,” Brynn said, her voice lowered. “Unless you would prefer to lose your hand.”

  Isley glanced at the glistening stone. It gave her an odd feeling, the sense that it was something powerful, but she couldn’t place why.

  Listen to her counsel. This burns.

  “I scarcely think it burns. More like freezes,” Isley said, her breath coming out in a cloud.

  Brynn cast her a sidelong glance before continuing down the path. As they walked further into the room, Isley realized there were similar pillars, all topped with a chunk of smooth, frost-covered stone, situated at what appeared to be regular intervals. She kept her hands tucked close to her body, as much for warmth as to avoid accidentally brushing against one of the stones.

  A little surge of nervousness flickered through Isley as the Emperor came into view. He stood with his back to her, his arms relaxed at his sides, facing out the tall windows. The glass was thick and translucent, not nearly as well-made as the thin sheets of clear glass one found in Halthas, but he stood still as if watching.

  Brynn stopped where the path ended and lowered herself to her knees, then bent forward and put her forehead to the ground. Isley followed suit, although her belly had grown large enough she could no longer prostrate herself completely. She was brought before the Emperor once every week or two and he seemed to ignore her inability to bow to his satisfaction. Settling for leaning as far as her belly would allow and tucking her chin so her face remained lowered, she waited on his pleasure.

  “You may leave her with me,” he said. His voice was deep, filling her chest with its resonance.

  Brynn rose and left silently while Isley awaited permission to rise. Every man of power had his preferences for behavior and she knew it was always best to cooperate.

  “Rise,” he said after Brynn’s footsteps had faded.

  Isley pulled herself up from kneeling, balancing against a broad ceramic planter. Gritting her teeth to keep them from chattering, she crossed her arms and stood before her captor.

  “The cold bothers you,” Horadrus said. It didn’t sound like a question so Isley remained still as he made a small gesture with one hand. He stood as if untouched by the cold, dressed in his usual gilded breastplate, his bare arms adorned with gold bands.

  Hands touched Isley from behind and she startled as someone draped a cloak around her shoulders. She pulled it around herself and clutched it closed as she shivered.

  She wasn’t certain if she was permitted to speak freely, but the situation felt rather informal, so she risked a question. “Why is it so cold?”

  “It reminds me of my homeland,” he said as his gaze moved around the room.

  It struck Isley as odd, the idea that this man worshipped by his people as a god-king would claim a homeland. Most Attalonians seemed to believe he’d been sent from some divine paradise to rule over men.

  “Where is your homeland?” she asked.

  “Gone,” he said, and she could tell from the shift in his tone that he would not say more. He turned and walked down the path. Although Isley was uncertain whether she should join him, she followed just behind, holding the cloak closed with one hand as they strolled deeper into the strange room.

  “May I ask a question?” she said after they had walked in silence for a few minutes.

  “You may.”

  “Why did you take me prisoner?” she asked.

  “I brought you here to keep you safe, and to keep the world safe from you,” he said. “This is no prison. You live with me, in my dwelling. Is this unacceptable to you?”

  “This most certainly is a prison. I am kept locked in a cell, and you’ve taken my Wielding abilities from me.” She held up her arms, letting the cloak fall away to reveal the black gauntlets clamped to her forearms. “I can no more remove these than remove my own hand. So yes, in answer to your question, this is unacceptable to me.”

  “I do not blame you for your misunderstanding. You don’t comprehend how dangerous you truly are.”

  “I’m no danger,” she said and lowered her eyes. “I am nothing in comparison to one as great as yourself.”

  “You are more than dangerous,” he said, his voice suddenly quiet. “All of you are a scourge upon the world, something that should have been eradicated long ago.”

  The severity in his voice sent a shiver of fear through Isley. “Who are a scourge? Halthians?”

  He stopped and turned to face her. “Wielders.”

  “Wielders are hardly a scourge. We have done wondrous things in Halthas.”

  “Halthas is my greatest failure.” He turned and resumed his walk.

  Isley continued along the path beside him. The cold air felt unnatural with the sun streaming in through the glass and her feet quickly began to feel sore from the rough ground.

  “Men should never have been trusted to hold the power Wielders do,” he said as they walked. “I have dedicated my entire exist
ence to righting that wrong.”

  “I don’t understand the wrong of which you speak,” Isley said.

  He stopped walking and let out a heavy sigh. “You have lived with the lie that what you are is something to be desired, but the power you can access is far too much for you. My men were able to get to you before you were too far gone, but you, and all the others like you, are still a peril to this world.”

  Anger flashed through her, but she kept her face smooth and her voice even. “I hardly think I could be considered a peril, Eminence.”

  “You will come to understand, with time, and see the generosity of my gift,” he said as he turned to look at her. “I chose you, Isley. You are everything I have worked to prevent, and despite the depths of your power, I hold you in check. Because of me, you are in balance, and as long as you remain here, your power will not threaten. You are among the fortunate. I cannot remain watchful over all Wielders. Most will have to die.”

  Despite her attempt to keep her face serene, she gasped. “You really are going to attack Halthas, aren’t you?”

  “It has already begun. But this is not your concern. Your safety, and the safety of your unborn child, are assured.”

  We are never safe.

  “We will be. I will find a way,” she said and her hand drifted to her belly as the baby kicked. He always grew active in the Emperor’s presence, almost as if he reacted to his voice.

  The Emperor narrowed his eyes at her, turning his gaze to her abdomen. “This is the child of Pathius Meroven, is it not?”

  “Yes.”

  “It is a pity I did not order my men to bring Pathius here, although he may still suit my purposes in Halthas.”

  “Would you shackle him as you have me?”

  He regarded her for a long moment, his unnerving eyes bright. “I have told you, those are for your own protection. And mine.”