“You have,” Niero said. “In more ways than one.”
The way he said it, I knew that we’d almost lost Vidar. By the look on his face, Niero had felt Vidar’s life slipping away. Perhaps as an angel, he could sense it in a different dimension than we had. I looked over my shoulder to where Chaza’el’s body lay, aching that we could not have saved him too. Ronan put his hand on my shoulder, and I welcomed his wordless reassurance.
“So what shall we do now?” Kapriel said, turning to speak to the rest in the chamber, as well as to us. “The enemy has shown us that we are vulnerable, even here.”
“They’ve declared war,” Killian said, helping Tressa to a bench and wrapping a blanket around her shoulders.
“We need to leave the Citadel,” Keallach put in, lifting one hand up and away. “To remain here is to invite them to continue to come after us. We need to divide and hide, as the Drifters and Aravanders do, making it harder for them to find us and destroy so many of us at once.”
“They would not have been able to harm us here,” said our trainer, rising to his feet, “had they not had the helicopters and missiles. Both their arsenal and such distinctive weapons must be removed if we are to have a hope in this battle.”
“Ivar speaks with wisdom, as does Keallach,” said an elder.
As surprised as I was at praise for Keallach, the use of our trainer’s true name struck me even more. Ronan and I shared a glance. We’d long tried to guess his name as children, but he never told us if we were right or wrong. His identity was hidden for his safety, and that meant going so far as to not use his name. I never knew where he lived, just as I never knew where Ronan lived, or his parents. But the elders knew him. They’d likely commissioned him on the day my parents and Ronan’s arrived with us in their arms.
“We could go east and north, deeper into the cold, to my people,” Barrett said, from halfway up the chamber. “They would welcome you, and the Pacificans would find it a hardship to bear further cold and wet, especially with Hoarfrost upon us. You could spend the season among us, allowing the wounded to heal and welcoming more who seek the Way. We could send out guerrilla parties to destroy the enemy’s helicopters and missiles, assuring a fairer fight come next Harvest.”
“That is what they will expect of you,” Keallach said. “Us,” he quickly amended. “They will assume we will flee. What if we make it look like that’s what we are doing, but catch them by surprise?” He began to pace, drawing each person he looked toward into his words, and I glimpsed the charisma that made him a natural leader. “They expect us to run, but the Maker did not call us to do so. He called us to fight for what is right and true. He called us to fight for what is his—his people.”
I stared at him, his words resonating in a new, impossible way inside me. His people. His children.
“It is true that the Maker calls us as such,” Ivar said gravely, studying the young man from under bushy brows. “But discerning his timing is key. We must not rush to respond to our own agenda or vendetta but, rather, to follow his lead.”
Keallach nodded, accepting the subtle challenge with good grace. He was growing, maturing, before my very eyes, I thought. Maybe we all were.
“There are people here and about us who are called to the Way,” I said, surprised to find myself speaking, but unable to stop. “Everywhere we go, they come to us. Others come to us who have never met us. Some of you came to the Valley that way. But there are others, behind the Wall, who have been imprisoned and enslaved. Even now, whispers of our presence might have reached them, perhaps giving them hope of rescue. Many of them are children, and many will not survive another Hoarfrost, even in Pacifica’s more temperate zone. If we are to take the fight outward, I can’t help but think that saving those children is a part of the Maker’s mission for us.”
“You propose that we march into Pacifica?” Lord Cyrus asked, sitting with his new bride, Justina, up on the left. I was relieved to see them both alive.
“We are still many, even after the carnage of this day,” I said.
“And we shall grow, exponentially,” Kapriel said, nodding.
“There are many more,” Azarel said. “In and around the Great Expanse. And word has reached us that Georgii Post is ripe for a turn in command. If we were to stop there en route, I’m confident we could take that city first and free her people to follow us into Pacifica.”
“Those helicopters would not have reached the Citadel had Keallach been in full command of his gifting,” Kapriel said gently, steadily looking at his brother. “Between us, if Keallach were granted his full gifting—”
“You can’t be serious,” Ronan barked, frowning at Keallach. “It is too soon.”
Others around him, including Azarel and Bellona, agreed.
“If I advocate for him,” Kapriel said, turning slowly to look at one face after another, drawing them in, “who can truly argue? Keallach’s choices have been the source of much pain in this room, but I suspect that no one has suffered more because of them than I.”
Keallach’s head dropped to his chest, and he closed his eyes, as if trying to bear the weight of his guilt again.
“But this is a new man before us,” Kapriel went on, stepping forward to put one hand on his brother’s shoulder. “The man that the Maker breathed into life on the morning he breathed life into the rest of the Ailith.”
The room grew silent, and Keallach’s chin slowly rose again.
“Kapriel, are you certain?” Azarel asked, so quietly that only a few of us heard.
He nodded, staring at his brother.
“I myself am not certain,” Keallach whispered.
“Sometimes it takes a vote of confidence from another to push us over the edge of indecision,” Kapriel said. “I see you, brother. I know there still is a struggle within you. But there is not one of us here who is purely good, is there?” He looked around to Vidar, Tressa, and me. To the Knights. “If the Community had forced any of us to wait until there was no trace of darkness within us, no self-serving impulse, no desire to have our own way, would we have our armbands yet?”
I swallowed hard. It was true.
“If he has found it in his heart to forgive Keallach, how can we not?” Azarel said, her voice uncommonly soft, as if half present, half in the past. She’d been there, with them. “I say bless him, grant him his armband, and ask the Maker to bestow his full gifting at last. With the two of them together”—she paused to wave at the twins—“we could take the battle to Pacifica.”
Ronan clamped his mouth shut, and I knew the agitation and trepidation within him. But I also understood the truth of her words. If Keallach could press people to act in a certain way—as well as physically move objects simply with a thought—and Kapriel commanded the skies, then helicopters and missiles ceased to be a concern.
Cyrus rose. “Pacifica is in a weakened, volatile position,” he said. “The Council of Six is down to four, with Broderick dead and me here. The emperor himself is absent from his throne,” he went on, walking down the steps, gesturing toward Keallach. “Sethos has undoubtedly tried to keep that quiet, but Keallach has been with us for some time now. I’d wager the rumors are fierce among the nobility by now.”
“Sethos will have no choice but to seize the throne for himself,” Keallach said, nodding in agreement. “Some will take no issue with it. Others will.”
“There will be much vying among the nobility to fill those two places on the Council,” Cyrus said, steepling his fingers, thinking as he paced. “And that will put families in power at odds.”
“And yet those who remain—Fenris, Kendric, Daivat, and Jala—will resist any newcomers to the Council.”
“Leaving the inner circle on defense,” Cyrus concluded. “Pacifica will begin to crumble from within, even as the Way continues to chip away at every inch of the Wall.”
The room seemed to absorb this information. Pacifica, vulnerable?
“What do you say, Vidar?” I asked, edging nearer to hi
m, inclining my head toward the twins. “You are the one who discerns dark from light. What do you sense in our brother today?” Together, we looked toward Keallach. I rubbed my arm cuff and, with relief, felt no cold edge of warning.
Vidar paused and concentrated, never blinking.
Keallach turned to him and squared his shoulders, turning his palms slightly toward him, as if welcoming his internal search. “I have done much to harm many of you and those you loved in my years as leader of Pacifica. But I beg you to finally forgive me and welcome me into your fold for good. Free me to aid you and do my best to atone for my past sins.” As he finished speaking, he looked at his brother. “Or if we must wait, I understand. I submit to you, my brothers and sisters. I submit to you.”
Kapriel held his gaze for a long moment. His arms were folded, and he bent his head as if thinking, second-guessing himself. The rest of us were silent, waiting for his decision first. Azarel was right. If he could forgive his brother, who were we to stand against him?
Kapriel lifted his chin and let his arms fall to his side. He stepped toward Keallach, as did the rest of the Remnants, almost as if we were of one mind. When he reached Keallach, he put his hands on his shoulders. Vidar put a hand on his arm. Tressa, too, a hand. I reached out and touched his other arm, closing my eyes to search him for any emotion that might betray evil intent. The Knights and Azarel and Niero all came around us.
“Maker, show them,” Niero prayed. “Make it clear.”
“Show us,” Tressa whispered. And the rest of us repeated the words.
The air felt supercharged, the room utterly silent, except for the pulsing in my ears.
I concentrated only on Keallach, searched, delved deep within him, half hopeful, half terrified at what I would find. I couldn’t bear more disappointment or sorrow this day.
And there was an edge of darkness. Pride, chiefly, as he struggled to find true humility at the center of our circle. But there it was. A thirst for power.
Yet it was with some relief that I decided the presiding emotions within him were longing, love, and hope.
The same emotions that had first drawn me to him.
When I opened my eyes, I looked to Vidar, and he shook his head slightly, eyes rounded, as if surprised. “There are echoes of the darkness within him,” he said, barely louder than a whisper, “but not much more than I sensed in Dri, after Sethos wormed his way into her heart.”
I felt my cheeks burn a bit at this memory but looked to Keallach, feeling renewed camaraderie with him because of this shared failure. “Sethos is strong, but the Maker is stronger,” I said. “Among us, we can help Keallach learn ways to keep the dark one from his mind and heart.”
“Be certain, Ailith,” Niero warned from over my shoulder. “You all must be of like mind. What you propose could unleash either a true guardian of the Way or a very serious enemy with gifting that equals Kapriel’s.”
“We are certain,” Kapriel said, his tone more confident after our prayer.
“We are certain,” Tressa said.
“We are,” Vidar said.
“Yes,” I breathed in wonder, tears coming to my eyes as hope surged within Keallach, steady and true. “We are.”
CHAPTER
29
KEALLACH
I struggled as I knelt, my bare arm extending toward Raniero to place a hand on his shoulder, preparing to receive the ceremonial cuff. The Ailith knelt in a circle with me, placing their hands on the shoulder of either Remnant or Knight beside them, and there, in that moment, I felt their combined power anew. Part of me wished to confess my original intent in coming here, my desire to infiltrate them. And yet to do so now would mean breaking this momentum, perhaps making them rethink their blessing over me at all. Besides, I had been deeply changed over these days with them. My heart was changed. I no longer wanted to break them apart and take Dri and Kapriel away. I wanted them all with me, forever, whatever that took. Was that not what it meant to be one with them? Was that not all the rationale I needed to serve the Maker alongside of them?
I guessed that Sethos now knew of my change of heart. That was why he had sent Sheolites to kill Dri during the raid, rather than capture her. He wanted to shake me up, remind me of his power. Call me back to him in a fit of rage, if necessary. But I was not going back. Not to him. Not yet.
An elder opened a box and extended it to Cornelius. The room was full, but silent, everyone eager to witness what many had only heard rumors of—a dedication ceremony for a Remnant. I knew I was the last one. Sethos had seen to it that the others were killed.
But mine would. This day. My heart swelled as Cornelius took the hinged cuff from atop the others in the box and turned to me, looking me in the eyes.
“You were once our sworn enemy, Keallach. Your people have murdered our own and made slaves of others. Do you confess those sins?”
“I confess them,” I said, sorrow penetrating my very bones. If I had known, if I had only made myself more aware rather than looking away. If I had pressed in, seen the truth behind Sethos’s lies … “I confess it,” I repeated, “and I wish I had the power to make it right.”
“Only the Maker has that power,” Cornelius said. “But he washes you clean in your confession and takes pleasure in your desire to do right in the future. Do you desire to do right? To serve alongside your Ailith kin, to serve the Maker in all things, setting aside your own agenda in order to serve the Community?”
“I do,” I said, staring at him earnestly. “In every way possible.”
“Do you pledge to stand against the Dark and serve the Light in all ways?”
“I do, with the Maker’s aid.”
“You were born to be one with your brothers and sisters,” Cornelius said, looking around to the others. “And the moment has come at last. Prince Keallach,” he said, leaning closer, “with this cuff you become one with the Ailith and enter into the full breadth of your gifting. May you use that gifting to serve the One who was …”
“The One who is …” joined in the Ailith.
“And the One who is to come,” thundered everyone in the room.
In that moment, Cornelius shut the cuff around my upper arm, and an explosion of heat ran through it and then through my body, making my head spin for a moment. But as it stilled, energy seemed to fill and part from my fingertips and toes, too much within me to be contained. But it wasn’t pure energy, I finally identified, it was pure joy. I shouted out, in exaltation, pulling Kapriel into my arms for a hug, then Niero, despite his reluctance, then the others, ending with Cornelius, whom I pulled close to kiss both cheeks. “Thank you, Father Cornelius. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” he said with a low-timbre laugh. “Thank your Maker.”
“Oh, I do! I will! Forever!”
Entering the Remnants’ fold in full, breathing in the entire blessing of the Maker for the first time ever, feeling the pulsing warmth from the cuff, being surrounded by Ailith … Such pure joy, I thought, such a sense of completion. I blinked back sudden tears in embarrassment. And yet I hadn’t felt such emotion, such pure gladness, such glory, since I’d been a boy.
It was like coming home.
And I’d almost missed it. Never known this peace, this security. This was where I’d belonged all along, in the Community. I felt their embrace, the wash of forgiveness flow around and through me. Hadn’t even the Maker blessed my presence with the searing of the cuff to my skin?
When all had shared their congratulations, even Andriana and Ronan—with a bit more of a stilted hug and arm clasp than the others—Niero circled around and looked at me and my brother.
“It’s time,” Niero said.
“Time?” I repeated blankly.
“I will spend some time with the two of you now. You both have been without a trainer—a blessed trainer—for many years. I would like to gauge where you are and what is needed, both within and without.”
I swallowed hard. Sethos and I had ceased our daily training sess
ions the night of the Call to the Ailith. After that day, when I’d ignored the holy summoning and knew that Sethos had sent his Sheolites out after my brothers and sisters, I simply couldn’t abide training any longer. It felt wrong every time we sparred, every time he tried to work with me on a more primal, emotional, mental, or spiritual front. I supposed now, as we walked, leaving the Citadel, that it had been the Maker continuing to agitate me. To nudge me into acknowledging what I’d known all along. That I belonged here, with my holy kin, rather than in the West, as a pawn of the enemy.
I gave my twin a shy smile and patted him on the back as we walked. It troubled me, the lack of muscle and bulk there, where I had it; his strong but gaunt frame was a daily reminder of what he had endured—because of me. And yet he responded to my touch with nothing but trust and joy in his eyes. “It reassures me, brother,” I said, inclining my head toward Niero, who led us, “to have you with me in this. And what is to come.”
“It is my joy,” he said, eyes soft and warm, “that we are reunited, in body and spirit. All is as it should be.”
I paused, wondering if I had the courage to ask what I needed to ask next. “Kapriel,” I began. “Can you truly forgive me for all I’ve done against you? How I harmed you and the people we loved?” My voice cracked as I uttered the last word, remembering our mother. Our father. That terrible day that Sethos struck them both down.
I’d spent every season since then trying to forget that day. Repeating to myself, over and over, that it was necessary, all of it. Their deaths. Kapriel’s imprisonment.
Kapriel stopped in the passageway and turned to me, putting a hand on each shoulder. “Brother, it was as if you were reborn the day you came to the Valley and joined us. Everything before is forgotten. Don’t you see? The Maker has made a way for all things to be new between us.” His grip tightened. “All things. I forgive you. Let us make our way forward. I believe …” He paused and looked after Niero, who waited for us now, ahead. “I believe,” he resumed, looking me in the eye again, “that Mother and Father would have wanted nothing less for us. Let’s move forward with that thought, as if they had given us their blessing this day. To you, as well as to me. All right?”
Season of Glory Page 22
