Season of Glory

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  “Come along,” called the chief guard. “Inside with you. Stay together. Two by two. Men in formation, with your women behind.” To the guards as they passed by, he said, “Never take your eyes off of them, you hear me? Trust them not for a breath of time. If they are who they say they are …”

  We left him behind and trudged inward through lush desert gardens, full of perfectly formed cacti and palms, all set in ovals filled with white rocks. Ahead, the palace entrance loomed, with multiple balconies on either side, each covered with swooping canopies to guard those who lounged below from the sun. Though the sun had long set by now, people were on each balcony, watching us, covering their mouths as they spoke about us in undertones.

  Two massive wooden doors—twice as tall as I—opened, a servant standing beside each one, at attention, and another wordlessly turning apparently to lead us on. We progressed inward across polished concrete floors, past cavernous rooms that spoke of wealth and privilege, and a shiver ran down my back as I remembered the last palace I had been in—Keallach’s home. Would the Lord of Zanzibar prove as formidable a threat as our lost brother?

  Perhaps more so, I thought grimly. At least Keallach was Ailith at the core of him, and was bent on winning Andriana, if not the rest of us too. This one ahead … Who knew what drove him?

  The guards herded us up several flights of stairs and into the throne room at the end of the hall. We could see a man in a fine robe, chin in hand, staring out the window. On either side of him was a man, one younger, one older. Beyond them were women in a group, all dressed in fine gowns and huddled together, whispering behind their hands to one another as they perused every one of us from head to toe. The rest of the cavernous room was empty, save a dais and three ornately carved chairs.

  We were set into a line, side by side, and then forced to kneel. It felt wrong, vulnerable—alarm bells ringing in my head as a Knight—but then I knew this was the only way. We couldn’t win over the Lord of Zanzibar by physical might. The Maker had led us here. And now, unbelievably, I knew he bade me to stay on my knees.

  Only when we were all kneeling did the lord turn and eye every one of us. He was younger than I expected—no older than his third decade—and handsome in a slight, refined way. His skin was smooth, but his eyes … his eyes were hard. They glinted as they landed on Tressa.

  “You,” he spat out, striding toward her. His male companions—advisors, I assumed—flanked him. “You dare return to my city?” I stiffened, as I’m sure Killian did. How did he manage to stay in place when the warlord threatened his Remnant?

  But Tressa didn’t flinch. “We came to aid your son,” she said, her voice high and clear. “The Maker has sent us.”

  The man’s eyes, cold as granite, slid over the rest of us. “The fabled Remnants and their Knights, willingly surrendering to me?” he asked, crossing his arms. “You think I would trust you with my child? You left my city in tatters the last time you departed. Spreading lies about healing those with the Cancer when we all know it is incurable.”

  “They are not lies,” Tressa returned, with a shake of her head. “The Maker saved many on that day. As he can save your—”

  The lord slapped her savagely before any of us saw it coming. Killian growled and began to rise, but two men behind him shoved him back to his knees. I reached out and grabbed his arm, steadying him, encouraging him to remain down.

  “No one speaks that name in this city,” sneered the lord, leaning down toward her.

  “That is unfortunate,” she returned evenly. “Because it is only by that name that your son shall live to see tomorrow.”

  The lord straightened and looked down his nose at her. “How is it that you know I have a baby son? It has not been announced. Only my closest advisors and these ladies know of it, and they have been in my presence since the child was born only hours ago.”

  “I could have been a day’s journey away, and I would have known you had a baby son with an ailing heart.”

  His eyebrows furrowed. “How do you know it is his heart?”

  “Because the One I serve told me. He has prepared me to heal your child, if you will allow me to do so. My fellow Remnants will aid me.”

  “I can’t allow that,” he scoffed, making a face. “What rumors would that begin? That I allowed the very girl who escaped my walls, the one who refused to become one among my treasured harem, to march into the nursery to try her healing arts on my son?”

  “If you wish for your heir to live, then yes,” she returned.

  “Are you threatening my child?” he cried, leaning closer again. I could feel Killian tense beside me.

  “No, Majesty. I am warning you. The babe has but hours left.”

  “Impossible,” he sneered, crossing his arms. “I have the finest physicians in the city attending him this very moment.”

  “And they shall not save him,” she said. “There is a hole in his heart. That is what likely took your other children too.”

  “And how do you know of them?” he asked, his voice high and crazed. “It is you,” he spat out, inches from her face. “You’ve cast some sort of spell upon my children! Cursed them!”

  “No,” Tressa said. “The only curses upon this house and this city are those that you and your father and your forefathers have welcomed in.”

  “She speaks lies,” said one of the lord’s advisors, edging forward.

  “Hang them all at once, and be done with them,” said the other. “Pacifica will be in our debt.”

  “Except for the girl the emperor seeks,” said the first advisor, moving down the line until he stopped before Andriana.

  It was my turn for my fists to clench. It took everything in me to remain on my knees. “Keallach will no longer be interested in Andriana,” I said. “He wanted her as his wife, but she is my—”

  “And this one,” sniffed the other, stepping toward Kapriel and ignoring me. “The lost prince. There is a ransom upon your head, Highness, as well as the green-eyed girl. One that will be good for the coffers of Zanzibar.” He laughed under his breath, his eyes holding no true mirth. “Imagine such prizes walking right through your gates, m’lord. The emperor will reward you in more ways than one if we deliver these two back to Pacifica and be done with the rest.”

  “You shall not do that,” Tressa said, rising to her feet.

  I resisted the urge to close my eyes as I waited for the lord to strike her again.

  “I shall do whatever I wish,” he said, incredulous, “girl.”

  “But you won’t. Because you want your babe to live. To grow fat and take his first steps and giggle when you make a face at him. You want him to learn what it is to run a city and deal with politics. You want to know what it is to be a father of a living child, and not simply a father with one more tiny casket in his cemetery.”

  A flash of pain crossed his face as if she’d struck him.

  “The Maker has healed many beyond those who have suffered from the Cancer here,” Tressa said. “We have seen a crippled child’s foot straightened. His grandmother and a Drifter chief, both blind, now see. We have watched a woman on the verge of dying from days of poisoning rise and walk again. On and on, this tapestry of healing has been woven until now. Today. When the Maker has chosen your son to save, so that you might know your Creator at last.”

  The lord gaped at her, looking pale and confused.

  “There is a way out of your distress, my lord,” Dri said from beside me.

  “The child can live,” put in Chaza’el. “I have seen it. But only if you allow Tressa to heal him.”

  “Dare to risk it,” Vidar said. “Turn away from the dark ones who cloud your mind.”

  “Why would we risk entering your city?” Niero asked. “And come straight to your gates? Unless we could do as we say?”

  “Silence!” cried the lord, turning away, his head between his hands. But I could hear the choking sound and knew the Remnants had struck a nerve. He cared for this child. Wanted him to live more th
an we might have believed. Needed his heir to live, in this city full of sons.

  His advisors shared a worried look. The older one said to the guards, “Take them all to the wall, except for Prince Kapriel and the one they call Andriana. Take those two to the dungeon.”

  “No,” I said, on my feet, trying to get between Dri and the two nearest guards. The other Knights were doing the same. One guard went to the concrete floor heavily; I thought I heard Tressa cry out. But then more guards arrived, flooding the room, overpowering us. Four men took me down, each sitting on an arm or leg. Killian was still on his feet, wildly striking out.

  “What is the harm in allowing me to try?” Tressa cried, her voice pure anguish and terror as two guards dragged her from the throne room. “My lord, why not allow me to try and save your child?”

  She was at the door when the lord at last raised his head. “Wait,” he called, and his voice rose above the rest of our clamor.

  The guards stilled, and we all gradually looked back.

  His advisors turned to him, their faces awash in fear and frustration.

  “I will give the girl a moment with my child,” he said wearily.

  “My lord …” began one.

  But the lord raised a hand, silencing him. He looked at Tressa, and for the first time I could see the lines of strain about his eyes and mouth. “Come,” he said, walking past her.

  She hesitated until he looked back at her, clearly agitated and perplexed. “We are strongest together, my lord,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “Your child will have the best chance if all the Ailith are in attendance.”

  His eyes hardened, and the muscle in his clenched jaw twitched. “You get one chance at this, girl. If my child dies, so will all of you. Even those the emperor wishes saved.” He waved his hand over us in a dismissive manner, and muttered toward the guards as he passed, “Bring the whole lot of them. What does it matter?”

  We filtered out into the hallway and down a side passage that led to rooms with a more feminine touch. Where he kept his concubines, who were undoubtedly the single biggest symbol of his wealth in this city so in need of women. In one room were five of them, circled around a table, somberly sipping tea from delicate china cups. At the end of the passage, in a room dark but for three candles, sat a woman quietly weeping as she rocked a tiny babe in her arms.

  Even I could feel the love this lord had for the woman—and the ache within him. It took me aback. For all his power and wealth, he had no dominion over life and death. It made sense that it was here that the Maker would pierce his heart.

  The woman stared at us in confusion and pain, tears streaming down her cheeks, as the lord came to stand beside her. She looked up at him and gave her head a small shake of apology, as if warning him that there was no hope. The babe’s time was short. The child was quiet save tiny, frantic breaths. His eyes were closed; his skin fearfully gray; his lips blue. Tressa went to the woman and knelt before her. “My lady, we are the Remnants. And the Maker has sent us here to give you back your son.”

  The pretty woman’s eyebrows knit together, and she searched Tressa’s eyes, as if wondering if she could dare to believe. Then she looked to the Lord of Zanzibar in alarm. It had to be Tressa’s mention of the Maker’s name. But when the lord did not react, she searched the face of everyone else present and landed at last on Tressa again.

  “Please,” Tressa said, lifting her hands as if already cradling the babe. “May I?”

  Swallowing hard, the young mother lifted the tiny boy up, kissed him on the forehead, and then set him in Tressa’s arms. She sank to the floor before her. “Please. Please. I beg you to heal my son.”

  Tressa looked into her eyes. “Believe, my friend. Today, the Maker shall restore your son to you, whole.” She bent her head and began praying as the lady bowed low, giving sway to deep sobs of both fear and fervent hope. The other Remnants put their hands on Tressa’s shoulders and arms as she began to whisper her prayers. We Knights did the same, forming another circle, all praying that the baby would live, and in turn, that his parents would believe. There was no fear within me. The Maker had seen this, from start to finish. And he would not have brought us here, to face such danger, unless he had a plan. A plan to grant life and hope and healing.

  I awaited the child’s hearty cry with such anticipation that it made my skin tingle and my heart pound. Looking around, I saw that my companions smiled too, feeling the same confidence. Vidar’s eyes were wide, and he scanned the room. It was then that I could feel what he so obviously could see—angels slipping between us, around us, above us. Shivers ran down my neck and over my arms, and I wasn’t even ashamed of the tears that slid down my cheeks as Tressa lifted the baby upward. “You brought this child into the world, Maker. We commit his life to you. Move within him. Knit together whatever ails his tiny heart. Make him strong and whole. We claim your healing power on this child, in your name, Maker. The One who was, and is, and is to come.”

  “The One who was, and is, and is to come,” whispered the young mother, rising to stare at Tressa, nodding again, as if accepting it as truth. Trembling, she turned to take her lord’s hand, and I could see that he, too, now had tears streaming down his face.

  “The One who was, and is, and is to come,” he repeated, sinking to his knees. The young mother did the same beside him, looking up at their child, for the moment utterly broken, yet utterly hopeful.

  “Yes,” Tressa said, laughing under her breath as she wept, lowering the child back into the cradle of her arms, kissing him on the forehead, and returning him to his parents. “That is the One who has restored your child to you. I beg you to honor this gift, my lord and lady. Forever.”

  The little boy, now pink and squirming, gathered himself up for a proper cry, mewling with the strength of a healthy newborn. His parents laughed, eyebrows high in surprise, looking at each other, then to the baby, then back to us. The lord rose—wiping his wet face with the backs of his hands—and helped the mother of his child up to her feet, then reached out to Tressa.

  “I am overwhelmed,” he said to her, then glanced at Kapriel. “At once aghast at all I have done and failed to do. I didn’t know. Could not imagine … My friends,” he said, desperation weaving his brows together, “forgive me for wanting you dead. For any harm I did to you or yours. I did not recognize you for who you were … servants of …”

  “The Most High,” Kapriel said gently.

  The lord nodded and then bent his head a moment. “Does your Maker … Is there room for one such as I among your people? Can you ever accommodate one as friend who was once your mortal enemy?”

  Kapriel stepped forward, and Tressa looped her hand through the crook of his arm. They shared a smile before looking back to the lord. “There is always room in the Maker’s kingdom,” Kapriel said.

  The lord thoughtfully took his son from the young mother’s arms and knelt again before Kapriel. The woman did the same. “From this day forward, I am in the Remnants’ debt. All I am, all I have is yours to use as you wish. I, Lord Darcel, swear allegiance to you, the true Prince of Pacifica.”

  “As do I, Lady Shabana of Zanzibar,” she said.

  Kapriel smiled and laid a hand on each of their shoulders. “Allegiance to the Maker and his people is the best place to start. But that will demand some sacrifices. Are you ready to change the very face of Zanzibar? Change the laws to abide by the Maker’s ways?”

  The lord faltered a moment, looked down to his child, and then looked up in agreement. “I am.”

  “Then rise, brother. We will serve the people of the Way together.”

  CHAPTER

  18

  ANDRIANA

  We have to get out of here,” Ronan said in my ear. As the day of feast celebrating the safe arrival—and healing—of Lord Darcel’s heir wore on, we’d thought the press of the peoples’ need would wane, but it simply swelled. More and more of the ill were brought to see Tressa, and hundreds of others begged for a word or a praye
r with one of us. Kapriel called upon the clouds to build and build into a terrifying, swirling mass that looked as if it might sweep us away, and then with a wave of his hand, it became awash in the colors of a rainbow and then dissolved into mist. Chaza’el shared visions of what he saw in Zanzibar’s future—a great city with many towns surrounding it, living no longer in fear, but in strength. Vidar located three men and a woman beset with demons, and together, we freed them.

  By evening, we were aware that pilgrims were coming to us from outside the city, summoned by the stories of miracles and hope. Only the closing gates stemmed the tide for the night.

  “It’s good, though, right?” I said, wading down the street, the Knights doing their best to press the people back as we made our way to the relative sanctuary of the palace. “All of these people,” I said, gesturing over their heads—sending many people into gasps of hysteria, as if my mere action held some sort of miraculous power—“they will protect us, if the need arises.”

  “We think,” Ronan said. “They’re in the infancy of their faith,” he went on. “And no infant is trained to go head to head with a Sheolite scout, let alone a tracker.” His eyes traced the lines of the rooftops, searching for any lurking enemies, even as we spoke.

  His barely disguised mention of Sethos sent a shiver down my spine. He was right. We had to go. We all knew it. It was a heady experience, being here during this time of transformation. Seeing a city change before our very eyes, between one sunset and another. Horrible laws had been abolished. Women freed. Men incarcerated for abuse. People of all ages healed. The broken were forgiven. Families discovered new hope. My heart felt at once full and yet weary, as if I could not take in one more ounce of the Maker’s glory, his ability to take something that was so dark and release a hidden light.

  We’d lost Tressa and Killian in the crowds, but up ahead I could still see Vidar and Bellona. I noticed Vidar studying the city wall above us. No longer did the guards patrol with a stance that said they wanted to keep others out; they patrolled to keep order, as best they could, among the people that thronged the city streets. The marketplace and pubs and inns swelled with activity, and merchants left their stores at night beaming. Free trade and more traffic made for far better commerce; however, we also knew that those of the underworld had slipped in among the pilgrims, pickpocketing and robbing both the wealthy and the poor.