Bone Crier's Dawn
Page 28
36
Ailesse
SABINE IS LIMNED IN FAINT silver starlight as she plays the bone flute, but pulsing storm clouds above the inlet creep together and cast a black shadow over her, driving away that beautiful Light.
I stand beside my sister, rubbing her arm, whispering encouraging words, fidgeting as I keep watch on the sea and wait for the Gates to rise. I’m not nervous that she’ll be able to open the Gates—she’s done it twice before. I’m anxious about the immense tasks my friends and I hope to achieve after she does. And I won’t be able to help if I can’t escape the Miroir.
The siren song reverberates in the air and floats across the lapping waves of the sea. When Sabine lends her breath to the last haunting note, the water above the end of the submerged land bridge churns and bubbles. The Gate lifts in a wave three feet above the water and darkens to silky black. It hovers at that height, unable to rise any higher. The lower part of the Gate must be hidden beneath the surface. It doesn’t matter. It’s open.
To the right of the suspended wave, the near-invisible Gates to Paradise barely peek above the water, but the spiral staircase to Elara’s realm can be seen stretching high into the Night Heavens.
I exhale a breath I don’t feel leave my lungs, but I still imagine it gives me relief. “Well done,” I tell Sabine. A fleeting grin crosses her face. She hurriedly wraps the flute in the lambswool Pernelle provides and slips it into a pouch on her own belt. Cas gives her back her staff, and she looks to the cliffs and the cave off the shore, waiting for the dead to arrive.
I take a quick glance myself, then gaze out to the sea to check on Bastien. He’s fifteen yards from the shore, rowing against the tide toward Tyrus’s Gate, which is another twenty-five yards away. None of the Leurress have joined him in his boat, but several keep watch on him. I trust they’ll help if he’s attacked by any Chained.
I don’t rush to meet him at the end of the land bridge. He can’t attempt to free me until my mother takes my place. I turn back to the cliffs and the cave entrance. “Don’t come yet,” I murmur. Sabine needs to position herself near Tyrus’s Gate first.
Deep thrums of music pulse against my ears, throbbing from the depths of the Miroir and the Underworld beneath it. I stiffen and anchor my feet, bracing myself against the powerful urge to wander away in search of the deeper realms of the Underworld. Tyrus’s siren song always grips me by my longing for adventure and draws me closer to him.
But instead of yearning, I’m repulsed with bitterness. It doesn’t seize me with nausea, but I sense its sickness all the same. Tyrus’s spell can’t work on me, not when he’s already trapped me here. I latch onto Elara’s beautiful descant instead, and it instills me with courage. She’s rooting for my friends and me to succeed and save her kingdom.
Forgeron and Estelle appear on opposite sides of the beach. They stare up at the cliffs as the landscape illuminates with an otherworldly glow, overwhelmingly orvande in color, not chazoure. A massive number of imprisoned souls are swarming to the edge of the cliffs that wrap the inlet.
These aren’t the Chained. Forgeron and the jackals must have sent all those souls to the Underworld’s deeper realms. These are the Unchained in the Miroir. I scarcely notice a place where they’re not packed shoulder to shoulder. They’ve been scattered until now, perhaps watching their loved ones, like me. Now they’re desperately amassing at the call of Sabine’s siren song, frantic to escape the Underworld and return to Paradise.
I gasp as they start plunging off the cliffs. They don’t take the time to crawl down headfirst like I’ve seen the Chained do. Instead, dozens of them fall into the sea. Dozens more tumble after them. Some crash onto the shore from a hundred feet above. I wince. I know they can’t die again, but they’ll feel the pain. Won’t they? Maybe not, if I can’t, and I’m orvande like them.
As they flood toward the Gate of water, Sabine and the Ferriers don’t notice them. They can only see the chazoure souls who also start to converge. For a ferrying night, their numbers are significant—some have been loose in the mortal world for longer than a month—but they only look like flickers of lightning against the thunderous storm of the Miroir’s Unchained.
The Leurress in my famille begin ferrying the dead. Most manage them on the shore. They pass them in small groups down the line of ten Ferriers with the best graces to swim at sea. None have rowboats like Bastien. Even if the Leurress kept a supply for rare nights like tonight, I doubt the Ferriers would use them. They’re better able to fight without having to maneuver a boat against the waves at the same time.
Throngs of orvande souls pummel over the Chained, also headed for the bridge’s end, but they’re not tangible to the Leurress or even the chazoure souls they ferry. The orvande souls can’t disturb them or penetrate the Gate of water. Whatever power held my mother back when she was in the Miroir also keeps them at bay, despite their growing numbers. Already, at least two thousand imprisoned Unchained are in the inlet, trying to escape the Underworld. Perhaps Bastien’s father is among them. I’ve yet to see him in this realm.
While Forgeron keeps an eye on me, Estelle dashes along the beach and calls out to the panicked souls. She’s trying to calm them, but they ignore her and continue to flood into the sea. They don’t bob or rock on its waves. They’re not even floating. They sink to the seafloor, while the only ones who break the surface are piled on top of the others.
This is madness. How will I reach Tyrus’s Gate when the time comes? The orvande souls aren’t a disturbance to the Ferriers, but they can restrain me.
I lurch forward as one rams into me from behind. He nearly plows me over in his desperate race toward the Gates. Another one batters against my side when I stumble into her path. I press toward the cliff that backs the shore, hoping I can stay out of the chaos until my mother arrives. But then my keen eyes catch a glimpse of Bastien.
He’s only advanced another fifteen feet in the sea. Two chazoure Chained are in the water surrounding his rowboat, unavoidably drawn to the Underworld, but its pull angers them, and they’re taking out their frustration on him. No Ferriers go to help him. They’re inundated with other souls.
One of the Chained—a man, bearded and thick-armed—grabs the right edge of the boat. Bastien pitches sideways. I shout his name as he scrambles to ground himself in the hull. Rebalanced, he snatches an oar and blindly attacks the Chained, then shoves him off into the water. But the second Chained slips inside the boat without Bastien realizing.
I run toward the sea, doing my best not to trample the orvande souls in my way, but there are too many, and my graced strength overpowers them. I accidentally knock three down and almost barrel into Forgeron. His grim eyes stare back at me. “Take care, Leurress.” His deep voice rumbles against the screeching wails of the dead. “You only have one more chance before you’re Chained. Do not force my hand.”
I pinch my lips together and look past him to Bastien. Still unable to see his opponents, he’s locked in combat with the second chazoure man. They’re wrestling for control of his oar, while the first Chained swims back for the boat again. If the two of them get Bastien into the water, they’ll drown him. The nearest Ferriers don’t notice his trouble. They’re battling more of the powerful Chained.
I meet Forgeron’s eyes again and set my jaw. “I’m not forcing your hand. You have a choice, remember?” Before he can reply, I push past him and hurry toward Bastien.
My progress is difficult among the panicked orvande souls, but I channel my ibex agility and falcon speed. I charge forward and cut through the masses. I’m still not fast enough. Both Chained men are in Bastien’s rowboat now. It’s twenty yards away, drifting with the tide toward the shore, and I’m only knee-deep in the water. A girl with a golden braid streaks past me and dives into the sea. My eyes fly wide. Jules?
She swims toward the rowboat. Her strokes come shaky but determined. I race after her—after Bastien—battling my way through swarms of orvande dead that don’t impede Jules.
She’s too winded to reply. She keeps swimming to him. She ducks through the waves when they crest, but some of the stronger currents hold her underwater. She coughs when she surfaces, arms wildly flailing.
I curse as I fight my way forward, now waist-deep in the sea. Why did Jules come? She’s too weak to help Bastien. I’ve watched her cough up blood for days. She’ll only distract him.
Another wave crashes over her and shoves her underwater again. Bastien watches for too long. The bearded Chained cuffs him across the jaw. He buckles to the hull of the boat and blinks hard.
I shout his name again. I’m neck-deep now. A wave rolls over my head. I try to swim, but I can’t act upon the water. I paddle and kick but can’t propel myself to the surface. I only break above it when a wave barrels past me.
The rowboat keeps drifting toward the shore. Jules is now six feet away from it. I’m twenty. The second Chained man abandons Bastien and jumps after her. He grabs her shoulders and pulls her down.
I take another step, and the seafloor declines steeply. I’m fully underwater now. On instinct, I hold my breath, then catch myself. I don’t need to breathe. Determined, I keep plunging deeper into the sea.
I wrestle past the Unchained. Their orvande limbs and faces flash before me as I push forward. Twelve feet ahead, I find Jules. She’s slowly sinking from the weight of the Chained man. Bubbles stream from her mouth as she thrashes. She stabs him with one of her thin knives. He lets go. She kicks to the surface and gulps in air.
I make it another five feet before I’m barricaded by a wall of orvande souls, piled high on each other. More climb on top of them, frantic to reach Tyrus’s Gate. I do the same, quick and nimble with my ibex grace. When I reach the peak of their writhing bodies, I emerge from the water.
The rowboat is closer, now seven feet away. I can’t see Jules anywhere. Bastien and the bearded Chained are on their knees in the hull, in a tense struggle for the knife. The man is driving it toward Bastien’s throat.
I leap off the piled souls with my falcon grace, hating that I have to use them as leverage to reach Bastien. Just as I spring away, they shift beneath me. I topple and slide underwater.
Jules and the Chained man are below the surface again, twenty feet down. He’s pinning her against the seafloor. My sixth sense drums up my spine as I fight my way toward her.
I grab at the Chained, but I can’t move him like I can the orvande souls. I’m just as intangible to him as I am to Jules when I vainly reach for her, too. Only Bastien can save her. But how can I get to him?
My mind races, thinking through the natural laws of the Miroir. I picture Estelle kicking the sand without disturbing it; somehow that sand still held us on our feet, even though we were in a separate realm. No, the sand didn’t hold us. We stood on it because our minds told us we should.
I can swim. In fact, I don’t even have to.
I imagine myself in the rowboat, and suddenly I’m there beside Bastien.
I strive for calm, despite the blade bearing down on him and almost nicking his neck. Despite Jules, who is seconds from drowning. “Bastien,” I say, and reach for the Light in his soul.
His brows quiver. He hears me.
“Call for Isla,” I tell him. “Ask for help.” I’ve never liked Isla—she’s been my rival since childhood—but she’s the closest Ferrier in the water, and she has wolf-graced ears.
“Isla!” Bastien shouts at once. “Help!” His voice is half- strangled, but twenty-five feet away, Isla turns from the Unchained chazoure soul she’s guiding. Her eyes widen.
I forgive her for every scornful word or look she’s given me as she immediately launches for the rowboat. The swordfish jawbone on her necklace gives her powerful speed in the water. She reaches the boat in mere seconds. She springs inside, yanks the Chained man off Bastien, grabs the knife from his grip, and hurls him toward the path of the Ferriers above the land bridge.
“The knife.” Bastien opens his hand, no time to thank her. Isla passes it. He dives into the water for Jules. Isla dives after him. I direct my mind back to the seafloor, and in a blink, I’m there.
Isla reaches Jules before Bastien does. She wrestles the Chained man off her. Jules is barely conscious. Bastien grabs her, kicks off the seafloor, and swims for the surface. Isla zips up to help them. She seizes Jules’s other limp arm and races them upward for air.
I’m about to follow when I see Forgeron underwater. His blacksmith’s hammer hangs from his belt. He walks on a bed of coral that doesn’t cut him, and he charges toward me, adeptly dodging orvande souls in his way.
Merde.
I think myself back to the surface. He can’t chain me if he can’t catch me.
My surroundings change in a flash. I’m sitting in the rowboat, but Bastien and Jules aren’t in it. They’re at least above water. Isla is still helping them toward the boat.
I scan the depths below and search for Forgeron. An orvande glow flares behind me. I whirl around. The blacksmith is on top of the water—standing on it. From four yards away, he strides a steady course toward me. “You don’t have to do this.” I squirm to my feet. “You can choose who you chain.”
His brows lower in a rigid line. “No, I can’t, and you know why.”
He reaches for me. I flash away before his large hand grabs my arm.
Now I’m near the end of the flooded land bridge—and I’m standing on the water. Panic sets in. I fumble to grab hold of something, but there’s nothing solid nearby. I start to sink, but then I fist my hands and tighten my jaw. Stop, I tell myself. This isn’t really water, not in the Miroir. I’m in a separate place from the Nivous Sea and the inlet and the rainstorm. They can’t overpower me.
I rise up. My feet balance on the surface. I glance around, expecting to find Sabine swimming near the two Gates. She’s matrone. She should be performing the final ferrying. Instead, Pernelle and Roxane are in her position.
I look to the shore and my body goes stiff. Among the masses of orvande and chazoure souls, I spy a viper and bat skull crown, a sheet of raven hair, and epaulettes of eagle owl feathers and talons.
My mother. She’s already here.
She faces Sabine. A few yards away, King Godart turns and locks eyes with Cas across the beach. Both men draw their weapons. No, no, no. This wasn’t the plan. My famille is supposed to be helping Sabine. She can’t drag my mother to Tyrus’s Gate on her own. But the Ferriers are overwhelmed and battling the Chained in their heightened power.
I’m racing across the water toward my sister when Forgeron finds me again. He cuts across my path. “You have chosen your fate. You can’t escape it now.”
I flash back from him ten feet. A split second later, he’s before me again. I try two more times. It’s no use. Now I’m on the far side of the Gate of water, inches from the three-foot wave that hovers above the surface. Forgeron has me backed against it.
“Wait, please!” I hold up my hands, then realize what I’m doing and quickly hide them behind me. But he doesn’t need to grab my hands. He reaches for my neck.
“Forgeron, don’t touch her!”
Estelle.
She appears beside him, and he freezes. “Ailesse is my daughter of daughters,” she says. “She is yours as well.”
Despite my panic, awe fills me. Of course Forgeron is my father, several generations back. Estelle told me she’d never loved another.
“We owe our allegiance to our familles, not Tyrus,” she says.
Forgeron’s brow twists. He won’t look at her. His eyes hold fast on me. “If I disobey him,” he replies, “you will never see your posterity again.”
“I made that choice when I came here. I chose you above all else.” She slips a step closer to him. “Is it not time to let go of the past and embrace the present?”
He clenches his jaw.
“Our daughters are strong, Forgeron. They don’t need me. But you do.”
His chin trembles, but he isn’t deterred. He slowly reaches for me.
“Aurélien.” Estelle’s voice is only a hush, but it carries the weight of countless ages.
Anguish tears across Forgeron’s face. “Do not call me that.”
“It is your name.”
“Not anymore. I’m a blacksmith, a weapon, a forger of chains.”
“You’re my soul’s song. My only love. My life eternal.”
“You’re my father,” I also whisper.
Estelle moves even closer to him, her lithe feet gliding on the water. “Give me your chains, Aurélien. Give Ailesse her life.”
He painstakingly turns to her. “But the jackals . . .”
“You won’t strike your hammer,” she says calmly. “Tyrus can cut us off from the living, but he cannot make you act.”
The tension limning his broad shoulders ebbs. “Estelle,” he murmurs, and tentatively draws nearer to her. Their faces are almost touching. “Are you sure?”
She leans into him and kisses his mouth. His hands reach to cup her face. A slender orvande ring forms around her brow, engraved with beautiful scrollwork. It isn’t a third chain link. It’s a crown for a queen.
Bastien’s rowboat reaches Tyrus’s Gate. He and Jules search for Sabine, but she isn’t there with Odiva. My sister and my mother are fighting on the beach. Cas and Godart are also there, pressing through the masses, intent on dueling each other. The Ferriers battle the chazoure Chained in the sea and on the shore, while the imprisoned Unchained roll toward Tyrus’s Gate. Their bodies clamber over each other like orvande-capped waves.
Urgency seizes me. “I need your help,” I say to Estelle and Aurélien, wishing I didn’t have to interrupt them, especially after how long they’ve waited for this moment.
They pull apart and stare at me and their surroundings, a little disoriented. I imagine what they must be seeing—only me and the trapped Unchained in the barren Miroir, their view of the Ferriers and the inlet and the chazoure souls in the mortal world cut off.