Rise of the Seer

by Brandon Barr

  His bearded face looked up at her, and he called out, “The pain will only last for this life.”

  Her head struck the ground at an angle, and then the rest of her, crushing the breath from her lungs. There was an instant of pain and then nothing. Her limbs went cold and dead. She told her body to move, to turn over onto her hands and knees to stand up, but she was unable to move even a finger. She gasped for air. Her heaving attempts at breathing became all encompassing, filling her ears.

  She stared up at the harsh blue sky; it was all she could do.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  AVEN

  Aven cried out and tried to lunge forward, but Pike jerked him back by the hair and pressed harder with his sword—hard enough that Aven felt blood running down his neck.

  “Not so fast,” Pike growled.

  “Let me go!” Aven yelled. “I have to go to her!”

  Disregarding the pain, his own life—everything but his fear for his twin—Aven elbowed Pike in the gut as hard as he could. The air whooshed out of Pike, and he lost his hold on Aven. Aven bolted to the front of the pavilion.

  He was brought up short by the sight of Winter lying in the dirt like a broken doll. Her head was bent at an unnatural angle, and he knew instantly that her neck was broken.

  Before he could recover enough to jump down and go to her, Pike grabbed him by the hair and once again put the sword to his throat. “Caught me off-guard,” he panted, still getting his breath back. “I didn’t know you still had any fight left in you.”

  Aven tried to elbow him again, but Pike was ready for it this time, and he turned enough that Aven’s blow glanced off harmlessly.

  “Not this time,” Pike hissed. Moving too quickly for Aven to respond, he pulled the sword away and slammed the hilt into Aven’s temple. Pain exploded through Aven’s head, and his vision went blurry. The strength left his muscles, and he sagged in Pike’s grip.

  “I told you you’d pay,” Pike said, putting the blade back against his throat. “Knowing that you get to see your sister like this only makes it all the better. Look at her. I think she’s really hurt bad, don’t you? She’s not moving at all.”

  Winter lay motionless on the ground, her head still twisted at that unnatural angle. The only sign she was still alive was the barely visible rise and fall of her chest. The sight hurt more than anything Pike could have done to him with his sword. Seeing his sister like that, injured, afraid, alone—it struck Aven down somewhere deep, somewhere primal. With everything in him, he wanted to go to her.

  “That was beautiful, wasn’t it?” said Pike in his ear. “Seeing her fly through the air like that? Delightful.”

  Aven tried to claw at Pike’s face, but he was weak from the blow to his temple, and his effort yielded nothing but a contemptuous laugh from Pike. He cracked Aven again with the hilt of his sword, making the world tilt crazily around Aven. Unconsciousness beckoned, and it was only by a supreme effort of will that Aven fought it off.

  Pike’s lips brushed against Aven’s ear. “I’m starting to think she’s paralyzed. After I kill you and saw off your head, would you mind if I took her for myself? I have this thing for plain-faced girls with bent noses. She could be like a little pet, and I wouldn’t have to worry about her running away.”

  Fire boiled through Aven’s veins. It was a rage beyond anything he’d ever felt before. Intense. Murderous. He didn’t just want to kill Pike, he wanted him to die in agony. He wanted to be the source of his pain.

  Right then, he hated Pike in a way he’d never dreamed possible.

  The Baron was yelling something, and people in the crowd were shouting back. Blades were drawn, and the first screams rose, but none of it mattered to Aven. All that mattered was his sister’s broken form and his hatred for the one who held him. He had to get away from Pike. He had to go to her. He had to protect her.

  All at once, he remembered the dagger. Blindly, he reached for it, his fingers closing on the smooth leather grip. Sliding it from his shirt, he admired the lethal weight of it. Nothing had ever felt so good in his hand before.

  Pike was saying something else. His words were cut off as Aven slashed at his face, wanting only to shut that hateful mouth forever.

  There was a sudden impact and a scream from Pike. Pike let go of Aven and fell backward, dropping his sword, his hands coming up to his face.

  Aven spared him no more than a glance. He poised to jump down to his sister when one of the soldiers on the pavilion ran at him, swinging his sword at Aven’s head. Aven threw up his arm, felt the intense pain as the blade bit deep into his forearm. He fell backward off the pavilion before the man could strike him again.

  He hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the wind from his lungs. For a moment, he could only lie there, bleeding, half-stunned. Then he rolled onto his side and forced himself onto his hands and knees. His arm screamed with pain when he put weight on it, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting to Winter.

  The pain was hellish, and he wasn’t strong enough to stand, but he found he could crawl. It would have to do. By then, there were people all around, men grunting and swearing as they fought. Screams of pain. A man tripped over him and fell. Another man collapsed beside him, blood spurting from his neck. Aven saw none of it. His gaze was locked on his sister the whole time.

  Somewhere the Baron was shouting, “Kill them! Kill them all!”

  But he didn’t care.

  Aven reached his sister and looked into her eyes. She was looking back at him. Some of the weight lifted off his heart then. She was still alive. He tried to smile at her, but he was having trouble moving his mouth, for some reason.

  “I’m here,” he whispered. “I came for you.”

  Winter blinked, but other than that, she didn’t move. Gently, he rolled her into a more natural position and cradled her head in his lap. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “So, so sorry.”

  Her eyes held so much sorrow. He pushed her hair back from her face, his tears falling on her cheeks.

  Her eyes closed, and the pain in his chest suddenly became unbearable. He clutched her to him and screamed his pain into the world, the sound lost in the killing and dying all around him. He heard a loud roar and looked up.

  Gray Bear was standing nearby. A crossbow quarrel was stuck in his shoulder, but it didn’t seem to be slowing him down any. He was swinging a huge, double-bitted ax, hacking at two soldiers who were facing him.

  Aven hated him.

  Why couldn’t he have gone along? Why couldn’t he have accepted the Baron’s offer? The man’s ideals had devoured his sister, just as those same ideals had devoured his parents and the woman he loved.

  If Winter had simply let Gray Bear and the other rebels die as they chose, if his parents had only remained satisfied with the life they had, none of this would have happened.

  “Gray Bear!” he heard the Baron scream. “I’m going to decorate the fortress gate with your head!”

  The Baron was still on the pavilion, a knot of soldiers around him, protecting him with their shields and their bodies. But when he yelled at Gray Bear he moved forward, leaving their protection.

  In the next instant something flashed through the air, so fast Aven wasn’t sure he actually saw it.

  The Baron dropped his sword, his hands going to his throat, to the arrow that was stuck there. He pulled feebly at it, blood spraying everywhere, his mouth working…

  Then he tumbled to the ground, landing near Aven and Winter.

  A roar went up from the farmers, and the soldiers hesitated.

  Rose, spattered with the Baron’s blood, seemed disoriented for a moment. Then she bared her teeth suddenly like a wild dog, screamed a command to the soldiers to follow her, and leaped off the pavilion into the fray.

  The farmers’ triumph was bound to be short-lived, Aven saw. There were too many soldiers, and they lacked the proper weapons. More fell with every moment.

  Aven readied himself for the inevitable, bending ove
r his sister, trying to protect her with his arms.

  Distantly, above the sounds of battle, he heard a strange rumbling. The day fell into shadow as something passed in front of the sun.

  Aven raised his head, trying to see what it was. He had an impression of something huge in the sky overhead, the sunlight glinting off it. But he couldn’t make his eyes focus. He’d lost too much blood and, with it, the last of his strength.

  He slumped on top of Winter. His eyes closed.

  …Winter…

  She was his last thought before he slipped into a cocoon of darkness.

  HEARTH

  I cannot imagine the Makers being pleased when they look upon the wars we have with one another. I can, however, imagine that their hearts ache for us to be reconciled.

  I harbor no ill against you or your people, and indeed, if your kingdom is suffering, I believe it should break my heart, as it would if my own people were suffering.

  You see, we are the same. I did not choose my mother or the Hold as my home. So why should I align myself so fervently by the kingdom I was birthed in?

  Are we not the same, created by the Makers?

  It is because of these personal reflections that I write you. Can our two kingdoms work as if we were brother and sister?

  Our only enemy is the Beast, Isolaug. Let us fight him, hand in hand.

  -Monaiella to King Tapherd of the Verdlands, Chronicles of the Age of Primacy, Vol. 5

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  MELUSCIA

  “I’ve had enough,” said Meluscia. “I’m perfectly fine.”

  The physicker protested, and continued to wave a twig of pungent incense before her nose. Heulan lost all beside the bed she sat upon. Mica and Tanaclast had returned to the stables.

  Meluscia pushed away the physicker’s hand and stood. “I said enough!”

  Heulan gently touched her shoulder.

  Meluscia stared out at the doorway. “Please, Heulan, say nothing of this to Father. I only came here because you were so insistent.”

  The last thing she wanted was to confirm her father’s conviction that she was weak. Not now. It didn’t matter if her hopes for the throne were over. If he was soon to pass from this life, she wanted him to do so remembering her strength and boldness. Perhaps even doubting his choice for the throne.

  Heulan nodded. “I won’t say a word of it.”

  She made for the door.

  “Where are you going?” asked Heulan.

  “Somewhere,” she said. She knew his question was one of concern for her, not worry over where she went. “I just need to think. Thank you, Heulan, for your help today.”

  The darkness outside the well-lit physicker’s room wrapped around her like a welcoming friend. Not far down the passage, she slunk against a cleft in the wall where the shadows were deepest between the mounted torches.

  She stared at the opposite wall, the occasional figure passing by. She gathered her thoughts in the dark silence and pictured herself like an autumn leaf clinging to a branch. What would happen when her father passed? She might be torn free from all that she’d known. What would she do with her life? Where would she go?

  The questions cascaded down from her mind into her soul.

  A hot flame glowed to life inside her. Every rope tying her down had been severed. Soon, she would be without a father and sent from the home she’d known her entire life to live wherever Valcere deemed fit for her. Would he take away her apprenticeship at the Scriptorium? It would be his prerogative, seeing as an apprenticeship was normally reserved for the son or daughter of a Luminar. Or given to a Regent’s child in cases where a Luminess sat upon the throne.

  So many unknowns lay before her.

  As much as she loved the commoners in her kingdom, she never envisioned becoming one. Her life’s mission had always been on a grand scale, like those found in tomes of history in the Scriptorium.

  The fire inside burned hotter, less controlled.

  No. Her heart felt called to her people. She would not abandon them. What if she were to act against Valcere? What if she were to go to the site of the skirmishes between the Verdlands and the Hold? Go to the burnt farms of King Feaor’s people?

  If she went, she would use the only weapons she had. Her words. Perhaps that’s what she should have done all along? She still had power. Her father wasn’t dead yet.

  She drew her hand through her hair, disquieted by her own bold thoughts. An alluring scent met her nose.

  Mica’s scent.

  It startled her at first, until she realized where it came from. The sleeve of her dress, from when he had held her in his arms after catching her fall. His words of praise came again into her mind. He admired her, saw her heart for the people. An immediate longing nearly overtook her. To go to the spies’ passage. But the thought was short-lived, for she knew she needed so much more.

  True comfort. Something substantial.

  A warm body to cry against and arms to enfold her.

  Someone who knew her struggle.

  Merely observing the love and affirmation of others made her wilt inside. She needed to be loved. She needed to hear words spoken to her.

  Figures passed before her, faces dimly lit. She imagined each had a home to return to, with friends and family waiting. A young woman carrying clothes. A boy adding pitch to the torches, travelers from within their realm seeking audience with the Luminar.

  How surprised they would be to see Valcere…

  Her fingers slipped into a pocket in the folds of her dress, touching the crumpled letter from Adulyyn. The feel of it helped focus her mind on the most pressing matter. She had to find a way to retain her power. A journey to the Verdlands was an act of desperation. A choice saved to the very last. A possibility took shape in her mind.

  After another moment, the possibility had grown into a plan. She left the shadowy cleft and stepped out into the hallway.

  Valcere shared her father’s grudges, and from her limited experience, his stubbornness too, but she had nothing to lose.

  Perhaps the man could be reasoned with.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  MELUSCIA

  Valcere seemed very comfortable on her father’s onyx throne, as if he had been sitting there for years. Meluscia waited at the back of the room, gazing at the petitioners seated on cushions, waiting to be heard. Many of them had come to Trigon before, and were likely disappointed to find him absent. Some would have to acquaint Valcere with a long history of prior judgments that Trigon would have already known well.

  Her eyes fell to the floor a moment. She would have known their history. Meluscia imagined herself in Valcere’s position. He had never sat in, as she had, to listen to petitioners with her father. She was certain some would have been more pleased to find her seated as judge.

  Truly, she did have something to offer Valcere…her knowledge of the histories, her experience with petitioners. But would he embrace her help?

  The petitioner that stood before the throne bowed and turned to leave. Meluscia stepped into the throne room and made her way toward Valcere. If she was not going to be Luminess, there was still a chance that she could help her people find peace. But that would depend on the man before her.

  She reached the four steps at the base of the throne and met the eyes of the man who would rule instead of her. She was surprised to find a slight scowl on his face, as if her position as daughter to the Luminary did not give her priority in the hall.

  “Judge Valcere, I need to speak with you,” she said, as humbly as she could. Seated beside him, where Meluscia normally sat during her father’s judgments, were three other men, long trusted soldiers of her father. Rivdon, Osiiun and Almon. Of the three, Rivdon was the only one she knew and respected. If it were Rivdon on the throne, the Hold would be in safe hands. She hoped his presence was an advantage, no matter how small. A smile touched his lips as she glanced up at him, but his eyes held concern.

  “You came to speak. So speak,” said Valcere.<
br />
  Meluscia turned, and signaled for the singers. The moment she did, Valcere stood and raised his hand.

  “Is this a matter pertaining to the enemies of the Hold?”

  “No, but it is private.”

  Valcere looked out at the rows of cushioned petitioners from where he stood. “There will be no songs in my court except to protect secrets of the Hold from the ears of our enemies. If sparing one’s dignity or staving embarrassment was once an acceptable reason to call the singers, it is no longer. One man’s business may help answer another’s who is waiting to be heard. And when I sit on this throne, my judgments are for all to hear.”

  Valcere sat back upon the throne, crossed his legs, and waited for her to speak.

  Meluscia’s face and limbs burned from the insult. He had made a statement—that the old bloodline of Luminaries was no longer in control of the Hold. She had come to ask for a position in his council, hoping to provide a perspective not already attuned to warfare. Valcere’s disdainful treatment of her had chased that delusion away in an instant, like a childish dream.

  The arrogant posture with which he now glared down at her was all the answer she needed. If only she could leave without giving him the opportunity to disrespect her again.

  She flailed for something appropriate to say. She had other requests of him. She grasped for them now, like parchment blowing about in the wind.

  “I come to ask you favors for after my father passes. I have been Katlel’s acolyte in the Scriptorium for almost a decade now. I seek your approval to retain that duty. And one other request. May Savarah and I remain in the quarters of the Luminary? We have lived there all our lives and we will soon be without family.”

  Valcere leaned back against the throne, resting his chin for a moment on two thick fingers.

  “No,” he finally said. “You are not children that you need coddling. You will be moved to a room in the Nobles’ Corridor or to another, more suitable place outside the Hold. And as to your remaining at the Scriptorium—there again, the answer is no. I should like my sons to have an opportunity to take up an apprenticeship there, just as tradition dictates.”