Season of Glory

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  He shrugged, sharing in my misery, and then slowly nodded. “About twenty. Mines. Lumberyards. Factories. And quarries like this.”

  “Pacifica’s hunger for labor such as this can only grow,” Niero muttered, looking down upon the yard from Cyrus’s other side.

  Cyrus shook his head, and I could see the tears in his eyes. “This is not what the king and queen wanted for Pacifica. It’s not what the Maker wants. But you have to know … neither Keallach nor the Council was fully informed on facilities such as these.” He paused. “I mean, I knew they were out there, that it was where we sent the unclaimed children. But we thought …” He swallowed hard and tried to gather himself. “We thought they were more … humane. It was only recently that I investigated it for myself.”

  I swallowed hard, again, and stared at them all. Hundreds of miserable, young souls. I thought of Palace Pacifica and how Keallach was so proud of his reconstructed buildings. Had those stones been hewn by slaves such as these? How could he not have known?

  Or had he?

  It just wasn’t possible. That he’d known. He couldn’t have deceived me so.

  He was imperfect, yes. But there was good in him, I thought.

  I felt the heat of Ronan’s stare and glanced his way. There was a measure of triumph in him, gloating, as well as anger that made the muscles in his jaw twitch. It made me angry in response. We had no time for petty jealousies!

  I took a breath. Ronan would remember that I loved him, in time. For my own part, I needed to get over my irritation at his childishness. I focused on the workers below again.

  “We need to free them,” I said to Niero.

  “We do,” he said evenly. “But not now. If we free them now, Pacifica will know exactly where we are and will capture us within the day.”

  My eyes returned to the misery before us. If Kapriel and Chaza’el and Tressa were here, we’d have the collective power to level this camp, to take down the guards one by one.

  A young man about our age said something to the guard I was eyeing, appearing to ask a question. The guard wheeled about and sneered at him. We all stilled as the man’s hand went to his whip and casually pulled it from the strap at his belt. He ran his fingers over the coils as he circled the boy, whom another guard forced to his knees.

  Dimly, I heard Niero muttering prayers to the Maker to intervene, to stop the guard, to still his hand and put the whip away. As he prayed, I felt my thumping heart slow and a peace wash over me. Below us, the guard with the whip looked up, as if he’d heard something on the breeze. He stiffened and then turned partway around, then back, as if arguing with himself about what to do next.

  Niero was still praying, hands cupped open, head bowed. The guard gestured with the whip to the boy, and with eyes wide, the young man rose and walked away, looking over his shoulder with fear. The two guards exchanged heated words, nearly coming to blows for a moment, but then the second one backed away, shaking his head. He called out to the gathered kids, who were watching it all unfold, and gestured for them to disperse. But instead they formed into lines and headed toward the long, narrow buildings that I assumed were their barracks.

  I turned to Niero and blinked several times, laughing under my breath. He had a slightly smug, sly smile on his face. “I think they’re calling it a day,” he said.

  I laughed with him and shook my head. It was perfect. The only solution. Thank you, Maker, for guiding him, I prayed silently. For guiding us all. Show us how we help free these children. Soon. We wanted to get out of Pacifica alive, but I knew we couldn’t forget what we’d seen.

  We wound our way out of the canyon, quiet and each lost in our own thoughts. Any good humor we’d had over the guard’s “intervention” was soon lost to the overwhelming burden we’d just taken on. I thought about the young man, so narrowly saved from what I assumed would have been a brutal whipping. If we hadn’t been there …

  But we had. At just the right moment. No matter how hard it was to observe, it was what I had needed, and without further word, I knew it was what my fellow Ailith had known I needed to see too.

  Keallach may or may not have known that this sort of camp existed in his country. But I knew why the others found it impossible to believe that he was innocent of such knowledge. In the end, I too held him responsible.

  As we hiked eastward, a rare desert goat startled from his hiding place. As he fled, Bellona swiftly took him down with a single arrow. We all cheered, as the supplies we’d taken from Galen’s were long gone. That night, as we sat around a small fire cooking skewers of meat, Niero looked to each of us. “We’re near the Wall. By sundown tomorrow, we’ll reach the tunnel we used to enter Pacifica.”

  “And then what?” Vidar asked, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes and swallowing his bite of food before continuing. “You weren’t serious when you mentioned Zanzibar.”

  I started in surprise. “Zanzibar?” Obviously they had discussed this when I wasn’t around.

  “I was serious,” Niero returned.

  “Oh, Killian is going to love that,” Vidar said. Killian, a Knight, and Tressa, his Remnant, had grown up in the evil city. The rest of us had been called there earlier to find them and had barely escaped with our lives.

  Niero ignored him, poking a stick in the fire and turning the embers beneath another skewer, dollops of sizzling fat dropping to the hot rocks below. Never had I tasted anything as delicious as that desert goat. I tried to concentrate on it and the present moment, even as the mention of Zanzibar in the future made my heart beat faster.

  “We will face whatever comes, in whatever city we’re sent to, together,” Niero said with a firm nod, “trusting that the Maker is sending us there for a reason. But first, we will join the other Ailith and get Dri’s parents to the Valley. I think we would benefit from the elders’ counsel.”

  “We’re going home?” Vidar asked, his mouth dropping open, brown eyes rounding with hope.

  “To … the Valley?” I sputtered, glancing at Ronan. His eyes shifted to me too, and I sensed a bit of a thaw in the look he gave me.

  “For a time, yes,” Niero said, smiling slightly. “There we’ll find strength in gathering with them, in order to face what lies ahead.”

  CHAPTER

  4

  ANDRIANA

  It came as some surprise to me that a group of outlaw Pacificans were running a smuggling operation beneath the Wall. Their clothing was unmistakable, even if it was tattered and dirty. I suppose I’d thought of them all as mindless—willing to do whatever the emperor or Council told them to do. Seeing some think for themselves and act on their own impulses, even if it was to do something illegal, left me oddly spirited.

  Sethos’s reach was long, but it did not yet cover all.

  There were only about ten of them at the Wall, with four guarding the tunnel that went below it. Many men and women came and went along the rocky path, carrying sacks or leading sturdy horses with barrels or boxes strapped across their backs. As we got closer, we saw massive bags of flour and rice go by and smelled the yeasty odor of beer from a passing barrel. Others carried boxes of fruits and vegetables. If the Hoodite farmer, Dagan, had been with us, we would’ve had to physically hold him back. Even my mouth was watering. As good as the goat meat had been, it was all we’d eaten in days.

  “We will gain more by befriending them than trying to deceive them and failing,” Niero said as we drew nearer. “The coin I carry will ensure their willingness to aid us.”

  “Or I can,” I said.

  Niero eyed me a moment and then assented. “You’re right. Come. You too, Ronan. The rest of you wait here.”

  We ignored the two men who closed in behind us as we climbed the rocky hill to the others who stood, gazing down at us, clearly in charge. All of them carried guns and swords at their hips. We’d seen enough open crates of bullets that we had no doubt the swords were only worn as backup.

  “Why not just give them a flash of your wings?” I said under my breath
to Niero. “Why bother negotiating at all? Why not just command them?”

  He shifted his dark eyes to me. “Because that is not my purpose here.”

  I stifled a sigh. As we got closer, the man in charge looked each of us up and down, giving me an extra long look until Ronan cleared his throat. “Who are you?” grunted a smaller, broad-shouldered man in back, edging between two bigger men in front.

  “We are travelers, friend,” Niero said, “seeking passage beneath the Wall and across the Great Expanse. We came through here a week ago.” He glanced over his shoulder. “It appears you’re loading a convoy. Perhaps we can be a part of your load.”

  The small man’s eyes narrowed, and he smirked toward his companions. “We are not operating in human cargo.” His eyes moved back to me, as if thinking about the trade in women in Zanzibar, and in response, Ronan stood taller, his shoulder moving slightly in front of me.

  “I’m certain you are not averse to any sort of cargo, if the price is right,” Niero returned.

  The man edged between me and Niero to look at the others beyond us. “You are many. You would displace much of my cargo.”

  I took the opportunity to touch the man’s arm, willing him to feel what I felt at that moment—protection, care, generosity.

  He flinched and shied away from me, back toward the other men, who had tensed at his response. “What did you just do?” He rubbed his arm as if it ached or felt strange.

  “What?” I asked innocently, shaking my head in confusion. But I’d seen the momentary softening along the hard lines around his eyes and mouth. Felt a flash of warmth and goodwill.

  He scowled and shook his head. “What are your names? Why are you sneaking out of Pacifica and across the Great Expanse?”

  “All you need to know is that we are of the Valley and wish to return home,” Niero said.

  The man squinted his eyes up at Niero. “The Valley is far. My cargo train stops at Castle Vega.”

  “We merely ask for safe passage there,” Niero said. “And a fair price for that passage.”

  The man crossed his arms and then cradled his chin, looking me over again. “I might be able to help,” he said, and then swore, rubbing his forehead as if it ached. Even now, the seeds of compassion I’d planted were growing within him. I fought to keep a small smile of triumph from my face.

  He scowled. “How did the lot of you—Valley dwellers—end up in Pacifica?”

  “It’s better for you not to know,” Niero said. “If we could, would we not simply be riding a transport out, rather than seeking to travel with you?”

  “You will tell me who you are,” he sneered, “and what you were up to in Pacifica, or there will be no passage for you through the Wall.”

  “I think the Maker has hinted who we are,” Niero said with a sigh. He jutted out his chin. “Deep within you.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed.

  “This woman is one of the prophesied Remnants,” Niero said, gesturing toward me. “Andriana of the Valley. And this is her Knight of the Last Order, Ronan of the Valley. Andriana was kidnapped by the emperor of Pacifica, but we retrieved her from the palace.” Niero lifted his chin as Ronan crossed his arms. “You do not really wish to come against us. Even now, you feel the call of the Way within, urging you to aid us.”

  The small man’s eyes narrowed again, but I could feel the growing awe within him. He believed us. Knew it was true. He swallowed hard and then gave us a dismissive gesture. “Go. But I’ll send you in a Jeep. I will not risk my entire cargo train if the Pacificans are on the hunt for you.”

  “But Boss—” complained one of the giant men beside him.

  “Make it so!” yelled the leader, sticking out his chin. “Go and speak with Joauquin. Inform him of the change.”

  “Thank you,” Ronan said, ignoring the disgruntled man who left us and reaching an arm toward the boss.

  The smaller man pulled back, not accepting the gesture. “I don’t want your friendship. I don’t want your money.” He leaned forward then. “But if you are who you say you are, there will come a day when I ask you to return this favor.”

  Ronan dropped his arm and smiled a little. “And when that day comes, I think you’ll find you won’t need us to grant it. You’ll be seeking something greater. The Way is—”

  “No, no!” said the short man, putting up his hands. “I already taunt the Pacifican guards with my trade. I don’t need Sheolites breathing down my neck. Be away from here. Quickly.”

  Ronan and I turned to go, with Niero following. I felt an urgency to depart before the boss changed his mind. Before he thought of capturing us and trying to take us to some other location to garner favor with the Pacificans. To do so would mean exposing his whole black market trade, of course, so it wasn’t likely to happen. But as we passed underneath the weight of the giant wall, through a tunnel only wide and tall enough for the horses, I knew that it was the Maker who had made this gate open to us. I only needed to trust the One who had breathed life into us and placed this call in our hearts to follow where he led.

  Why was it that I so frequently gave in to doubt rather than trusting what I knew to be true?

  “Doubt your doubts,” Niero whispered to me as we emerged on the other side, “trust what you believe.”

  I blinked at him, surprised again at his seeming ability to read my mind. But now, after what I knew about him, I understood. Perhaps he could.

  KEALLACH

  They kept it from me until I returned. But as soon as we pulled up in front of the palace, I knew.

  She was gone.

  The realization stole the breath from my chest.

  “Majesty?” Sethos said, leaning down to peer at me, still in the car.

  “She’s gone,” I whispered. “Andriana.” My strength returned to me in a rush, and I scrambled from the car and turned in a circle, as if I could sense which direction she’d gone. My hands went to my hair, and I turned in another slow circle. But it was no use. She was too far.

  “Andriana is gone,” I said, my voice high and fragile, even to my own ears.

  “Come with me, Majesty,” Sethos said, taking my arm and urging me up the marble steps.

  “How?” I muttered. “How could she have gotten away?” Even as I said it, I hated the words. Who was I to keep a woman here against her will? Why was it that I so loved her, needed her, wanted her, that I was willing to imprison her until she felt the same for me?

  “There was an attack on the palace,” Sethos said as we entered through the towering doors, passing lines of bowing servants.

  “Wait,” I said, pulling up short. “You knew? You knew?” I turned toward him and took his red robe in my fists, studying his face.

  He’d known.

  “Leave us,” I growled, power and fury surging through me. I barely had the patience to wait as the servants scrambled away and my guards closed the door before I narrowed my eyes at my trainer and shouted, “How long? How long have you known? When did it happen?”

  “Three days ago.”

  I let out a cry of rage and slammed Sethos into the wall. Though he was larger than I, he allowed it. “Why? Why did you keep it from me?”

  “Your attention was needed at the border, Majesty. And I had hoped the Council would succeed in finding Andriana and the traitor, Cyrus, and bring them here for you to consider proper retribution.” He let out a small sigh. “Unfortunately, it seems my faith in them was misplaced. Lord Jala was injured in the attack, and the others—”

  My anger sagged. “What? Cyrus? A traitor? And Maximillian. He was hurt?”

  “Yes. Severely. I can take you to him now—if you would only release me, Majesty.”

  I loosened my hold on his cape and let my hands drop, feeling suddenly like a defeated boy caught doing something horrible. “You should have told me, Sethos.” I shook my head and rubbed my temples, feeling a familiar ache return behind my eyes.

  “Yes,” he said. “I see that now. Forgive me.”

 
; “Take me to Max,” I said, feeling lost, empty. I glanced up and around the marble foyer, sensing the structure as a cold, sterile cell, now that I knew Andriana wasn’t within it. While she’d been here, I’d felt such hope, such warmth. It was if her mere presence had made it more a home than a palace.

  I turned to follow Sethos, who moved down the south wing to our small palace hospital. I tried to hurry, but my legs felt like weights.

  What had I been thinking, leaving her here alone? And after she and I had our … misunderstanding. When I’d tried to get her to acknowledge what I knew she had to be feeling, that what was between us was love. The purest understanding, the closest I’d felt to the Maker in all my life. The culmination of an ancient destiny, just as Sethos had said. All of it had been falling into place so rapidly that I’d gotten ahead of myself. Pressed her. If I’d been more patient, would she have gone? Even if they hadn’t come for her? Maybe she hadn’t had a choice …

  My eyes narrowed.

  Ronan.

  Of course it had been Ronan. Only he would have had the power to wrench her from my home. From what we had been building together. When she had been so close to acknowledging it.

  Hate lashed through me. I wanted him dead. He was a Knight, but he was no brother to me. Only the enemy. Only a barrier to what I might have with Andriana—what was meant to be.

  My mind moved to the other puzzle. “Tell me what you must about Lord Cyrus,” I said, trying to keep my tone light (as Sethos himself had taught me to do) as if all of this hadn’t thrown me.

  “Of course. It appears that he fell for a courtesan in Castle Vega, a follower of the Way.”

  I sniffed and frowned. Surely it had taken more than that to convince Cyrus to leave my side. To aid Andriana in escaping.

  “Who else was here? Who helped her escape?”

  “Ronan, her Knight. The one they call Niero,” he said, with particular venom in his tone before he caught himself. “Others—Vidar and Bellona—were seen in the tunnels as they fled.”

  “The guards were that close to them?” I said, pausing to face him again. “Close enough to see them, and yet they still escaped?”