He looked up at her, his gaze haunted. Then he looked away. “You don’t know…I never told you.”
“No, I don’t know. Tell me.” Her words were sharper than she’d intended, but she couldn’t seem to stop them.
“This is all my fault. I never listen, I just charge ahead and now…and now…”
“What are you talking about? What’s your fault?”
Rome put his face in his hands. “Quyloc told me not to do it. I should have listened to him. I never do.”
She knelt beside him. “You’re not making any sense.”
“I pulled it out of the wall. That’s what made the prison crack. I didn’t know what it was, just a weird thing sticking out of a wall, but Quyloc knew. He said no, but I did it anyway. I brought this on. I’ve killed you both. I’ve killed everybody.”
The despair and self-hatred in his voice hurt to listen to. Bonnie felt tears in her eyes. She tried to pull him to her, but he resisted. “What are you talking about? What was sticking out of a wall?”
Rome gestured vaguely at the black axe.
“That was stuck in the wall of the prison? Melekath’s prison?”
Rome nodded. “When I pulled it out, I cracked the prison. That’s how Melekath and his Children were able to escape. I should have listened to Quyloc, but I wanted it so badly. I wanted revenge on King Rix and I ignored everything else.”
There was nothing for Bonnie to say. She knelt there beside him, clinging to his arm, afraid they would both drown.
Nineteen
Netra heard the cheering and felt the pressure inside her ease as the Children retreated, but she was too tired to stand up and see for herself. Instead she just sat there with her eyes closed, leaning against the battlements, wrestling with the mix of relief and shame that roiled within her.
What did I do to those soldiers? Are they all dead?
She felt hollow, empty.
She felt hungry.
She tried to focus on Shorn. She did it for him. She would do anything for him. She could still vividly picture that moment when he went down under that mob of Children. She’d been sure he was going to die and she just lost it. The thought of him dying—the one bit of stability in a world gone crazy—pushed her over the edge.
She still wasn’t entirely sure what it was she did. It had all happened so fast.
She remembered that from beyond she’d seen the scabbed-over akirmas of the Children converging on him. His alien akirma held against them for a moment, but it was soon pierced in numerous areas and his Heartglow began to flicker dangerously.
That was when it happened. She would have unflinchingly given every scrap of Selfsong within her to save him, but she knew instinctively that it wouldn’t be enough, that the Children would consume it as fast as she gave it to him.
But hers was not the only Song in the area.
Aided by the hunger that lurked always inside her, she’d simply reached out and taken it. She’d ripped it away and dumped it into Shorn.
She’d saved Shorn’s life, but at what price?
She opened her eyes, fearing she would see herself surrounded by the shrunken husks of her victims. Soldiers pointing their weapons at her, faces filled with mixed hatred and fear.
But there were no bodies. She saw a soldier being helped down the stairs, and one who was unconscious being carried, but no bodies.
A vast sense of relief rolled over her.
She was trying to stand up when someone approached.
“You want a hand?”
She looked up and saw a soldier, an older man with curly brown hair and a leathery face, bending over her, his hand outstretched.
She looked at his hand, surprised. Had she heard him right? The hand wasn’t withdrawn. Cautiously, she reached out. “Yes. Yes, I would.”
He pulled her to her feet. Her legs were unsteady and she had to hold onto his arm to stay up. “Let me help you down the steps. They’re steep and we wouldn’t want you pitching off the edge. It’s a nasty fall.”
“Why are you helping me?” she asked.
“You’re on our side, aren’t you?” He sounded confused by her question.
“But…after what I did.”
He stopped and looked at her. “Honestly, I don’t know what you did. But I guess it was no more than you had to.”
“I could have killed those men.”
“True,” he conceded.
“Aren’t you afraid?”
“Yep. But it’s not you I’m afraid of.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “It’s them. C’mon now. Let’s get you off this wall.”
Still holding her arm, he guided her over to the top of the stairs and there he stopped once again. She followed his gaze and saw he was looking at Rome, kneeling before the FirstMother. Her sulbit was bent over his hand.
“I don’t see how what you did is any different from that,” he said. “Except some of who’ve given to those things have died.” He shrugged. “It’s war. People die in war. If they didn’t, we’d have to call it something else.”
But do we have to become like those we’re fighting against?
The words were on her lips, but she kept them in. She couldn’t bear to say them aloud. She couldn’t bear to acknowledge her fear out loud. Because the truth was that she was not so different from the Children. She could steal someone’s life and she didn’t even need to touch them to do it. The difference was that for them it was a compulsion, while for her it was a choice.
The soldier helped her down the stairs. Netra let go of his arm and discovered that she could stand on her own.
He looked her over. “You’re not going to make it far on your own. I’ll get you a ride.” He walked away before she could respond.
She stood there, weaving slightly. People, soldiers mostly, hurried around her, going about their various duties. It seemed to her that they were all giving her a wide berth. She suddenly felt very alone.
The soldier returned. Behind him came an old man leading a pony pulling a small cart, of the sort used to haul firewood or vegetables about the city. “I’m sorry,” the soldier apologized. “This is all I can find.”
“It’s fine, really.” She felt embarrassed, ashamed even, by his solicitude. She was a fraud. The feeling grew worse when the old man pulled off his hat and touched his forehead in a gesture of respect. She wanted to run away, but she was too weak so she allowed the soldier to guide her to the back of the cart and help her in. He saluted her, the old man chirped to the pony, and the cart started away.
She sat on the back of the cart and wished the cart could just keep on going and take her far away from everything. There were a fair number of people in the streets. None of them seemed to notice her. She took some comfort from that.
At some point she felt Shorn’s presence and looked up as the big warrior came jogging out of a side street. The pony sidestepped fearfully as he came running up, but the old man calmed it with a word and a touch on the animal’s head.
“I was scared,” she said, close to crying with relief. “I thought you were…you were going to…” She couldn’t say the words.
“How many died?”
She flinched before his words. His voice sounded accusatory. “None. I think.”
“And you? How are you now?”
She lowered her head. “I’m okay.” She could feel his eyes on her. She took a deep breath. “I’m hungry. But it is under control, I promise you.”
“Are you sure?”
Suddenly she was angry. She looked up at him. “Why are you doing this? I saved your life. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“It does,” he said. “But not if the price is losing you.”
Her anger evaporated. “I’m afraid, Shorn, and I’m so tired.”
He put his hand on her shoulder. “I do not think this will last much longer.”
His words chilled her, but they were no more than what was already in her heart.
The cart stopped outside the gates to
the Tender estate and before Netra could move Shorn had picked her up out of the cart. “Put me down, Shorn,” she told him. “I don’t need to be carried.”
At first she thought he was going to ignore her, but then he set her down reluctantly. She thanked the old man and, followed closely by Shorn, walked through the gates. The guards stared at them, but neither said anything. Word of how Shorn had fought Heram singlehandedly was going to spread fast throughout the city.
The sun had set and Netra stopped on the broad carriage way, wondering where she should go. She’d seen the barracks where most of the Tenders slept, but no one had actually told her she could stay there.
Then Cara came hurrying up. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re safe!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around Netra. “I was going to come looking for you.” She pulled back and took in Netra’s haggard look. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“I don’t know. I need to sit down. I need to rest. I don’t want to see anyone right now.”
“I have just the place,” Cara said, taking her hand. She led her to the back of the estate. Set just back in the trees was a small hut. Cara opened the door of the hut and pulled out two old, wooden chairs. Netra sat down gratefully. Cara looked at the other chair and then at Shorn, a doubtful look on her face. “I’m not sure if it will hold you, Shorn, but you are welcome to it. I don’t have anything else.”
Shorn shook his head and walked off a short way, where he sat down with his back against a tree trunk.
Cara pulled the chair close to Netra and sat down. “What happened?”
Netra leaned back and rubbed her eyes. “Heram was breaking down the gates, but the FirstMother didn’t have the barrier up yet. So Shorn jumped down off the wall and attacked him. But there were too many of them. They almost killed Shorn. I thought they were going to. I lost control…” Her words trailed off.
“Are you saying you were able to stop the Children somehow?”
“No. That’s not it. I gave Shorn some extra Song, enough that he could fight them off.”
“I don’t understand. You gave him Song? How?”
“I don’t exactly know,” Netra admitted. “It was something like what happens in healing, but it was more than that.”
“So you shared your Song with him?”
Netra didn’t want to talk about this. She knew where it would lead. She just wanted to sleep. But she also needed to let it out and Cara deserved to know the truth about her. “No. I took…I took from the soldiers around me and gave that to him.”
Cara’s eyes grew very wide. “Where in the world did you learn to do that?”
“It’s just something I learned along the way. I’ve been through a lot since I left the Haven.”
“You didn’t take enough to kill them I hope?”
“I don’t think so.”
Then Cara reacted in an unexpected way. Her eyes grew very bright and she leaned closer.
“This is amazing!”
“What?”
“You just proved what Ricarn has been saying all along. She keeps telling me that Tenders don’t need sulbits to manipulate Song. We don’t need anything. The ability is naturally within us.” Cara squeezed her arm. “And it proves what I’ve been saying all along: You’re special. I always knew you were special. I always knew—”
Netra cut her off. The words were like knives. “Stop. Please don’t say that.”
“Say what? The truth? You are special.”
“I’m not special. Really, I’m not.”
“But you are!” Cara cried. “Why, even with their sulbits I bet—”
“Stop saying that!” Netra snapped, more harshly than she’d intended.
Cara sat back, dismay on her face. “Why…what’s wrong?”
Netra bit her lip. She wanted to say nothing, because she knew that once she started, she wouldn’t be able to stop the words from pouring out of her. “Because believing that I’m special is what caused all this.” Her voice broke and she angrily fought the tears that threatened. “I believed I was chosen by the Mother. I believed that I was her champion. That’s why we’re all in danger right now. Because I was arrogant and stupid and…” She had to pause to get control of herself. “It would have been better if Tharn had killed me at Treeside.”
“How can you say that?” Cara’s look was one of total confusion. “I don’t understand why you would say that.”
Netra looked down at the ground, trying to get up the courage to say the words. “I freed Melekath,” she said in a small voice, wrapping her arms around herself.
“You…” Cara frowned, unable to wrap herself around the idea. “You freed Melekath?” She swallowed visibly. “How is that even possible?”
“I broke the prison. It was cracked, but he couldn’t get out until I took hold of a trunk line and I used the power within it. It’s because of me that Melekath and his Children are free. All those people in Thrikyl, they’re all dead because of me.”
Cara shook her head. “No. I still don’t believe it. No one could do that.”
And then Netra told her the rest of the story in a rush of words and emotions. How everywhere she turned she saw only death and destruction until she thought she might go mad from it. Then the final straw came when she arrived at the Haven and found Siena and Brelisha killed by Tharn.
“I went crazy when I found them,” Netra said. “That’s when I really began to hate.” Her voice took on an edge. The hatred was not gone. “The next day I met Jolene. She told me of her visions. She was convinced that Xochitl was being kept prisoner by Melekath.” More anger filled her. Some at Melekath, most at herself. “That’s when I knew I had to free her. And why did I believe that?” she asked mockingly. “Because I was convinced that I was special. I was the chosen one. I was the one who would save Xochitl so that she could save the world.”
Shorn had stood up, and looked like he might approach the two women, but then he stayed where he was, watching.
“I still don’t see how you were able to take hold of a trunk line,” Cara said.
“I did it with stolen Song.” Netra was shaking now. She drove her fingernails into the palms of her hands, trying to use the pain to get hold of herself. “I’m no better than the Children.”
“You stole Song?”
“The first time was on the Plateau. I took some from a deer. I did it to save Shorn. After I met Jolene and started heading for the prison I stole some more, just animals at first. I told myself it couldn’t be helped, that sacrifices had to be made for the greater good.”
“Only animals at first?” Cara had her hand over her mouth.
“I found a Crodin camp at the edge of the Gur al Krin. I drained them. Every one of them.” Netra was panting. She couldn’t bear to look into her friend’s eyes, knowing what she would see there. “That time I didn’t even bother to justify what I’d done. I did it because I was crazy and because it felt good. I liked it. I still do.”
Cara had pulled back and Netra was perversely glad of it. She didn’t want Cara stained by what she’d done. At the same time, she felt as if her heart would break. More than anyone else in the world, she cared what Cara thought of her.
Shorn took a step closer, then hesitated, indecision on his rough features.
Netra risked a glance at Cara and was surprised at what she saw. Cara no longer had her hand over her mouth. She was sitting up very straight and there was pain in her eyes, pain for Netra. Where was the revulsion? Where was the condemnation?
Netra got to her feet and loomed over Cara, grim and terrible. “Don’t you understand? I killed an entire camp. I drank them dry and I left them dead.” She spoke the words harshly, lashing Cara with them, wanting to drive her away and at the same time crying out for her to stay.
Still Cara didn’t look away. She didn’t wring her hands. She didn’t cry. She just stared up at Netra.
“Then I used the life I had stolen from them and I broke the prison. I freed Melekath and the Children. I did it. Me. Now y
ou know. Do you still think I’m special?”
All three of them hung there then, frozen in some terrible tableau. Netra waited for what had to come next. Cara would pull back from her in horror. It was only what she deserved.
But Cara refused to cooperate. She stood. She started to pull at the braid that was no longer there, then dropped her hands to her sides.
“No. You’re not special.”
Netra felt herself collapsing inside. She thought she might fall down. So much depended on Cara.
“You’re just Netra. My oldest, dearest friend.”
Netra put her hand on the chair, trying to keep herself upright.
“You made terrible mistakes. People have died. More will die.”
Netra sagged down onto the chair. It was too much. She could not survive this.
Cara moved closer, and put her hand on her shoulder. “You’re my oldest, dearest friend,” she repeated. “Nothing can change that. I can’t imagine what you went through. So I wouldn’t dare to judge you. All I can do is keep saying that you’re my friend and I love you.” She took hold of Netra’s chin and turned her face up. “I forgive you, Netra. I forgive you for being lost and afraid and desperate. I forgive you for being human.”
Then she knelt and drew Netra into a hug. She did not let go for a long time.
Twenty
“So what is your plan?” Heram demanded. Darkness was falling. Reyna had a small hand mirror that she’d recovered from a wagon with a broken axle that had been abandoned beside the road and she was staring into it. A few of the Children huddled miserably nearby. The rest were wandering around near the city gates. Now and then one of them tested the barrier and yelped in pain. They were watched warily by a handful of soldiers on top of the wall.
“See the river over there?” She pointed. A line of trees—except near the city walls, where they’d been cut down—marked the banks of the Cron River as it exited the city and made a lazy curve through the countryside before dumping into the sea.
Heram looked at the river, then back to her, no comprehension showing on his face. “So?”
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