He repeated the question in Venthic.
“Na qabir,” one of the men growled. Too many.
Darien sagged, understanding. He gestured in vain at a shovel on the ground. “Are you finding anyone alive?”
The man looked at him then glanced down at the sleeping body of his injured comrade. He strode forward and took Darien by the arm, pulling him away.
Darien allowed the man to guide him down the riverbed, away from the killing ground. He followed the soldier without question, slogging through mucky filth.
They trudged past bodies covered in thick layers of blood and dust. Some had obviously been struck when the mountain fell. Others looked to have either been suffocated or drowned. It was hard to say. The soldier he followed skirted a pond that used to be part of the watercourse. A small child lay dead on the far side of it, face down in the mud.
Darien thought of his own son, who had died in his arms.
Then he thought of Azár.
He swallowed against a tight ball of grief. He had ordered Sayeed to get his wife through first.
He paused over the body of the child, then dropped to a crouch. Setting a hand on the boy’s back, he confirmed what he already knew. There was nothing he could do. Everything had a limit, even him. The gods had seen fit to give him the power to bring death. But those same gods had denied him the power to bring life.
“Come.”
He glanced up at the soldier, who motioned brusquely for him to follow. Darien heaved himself up off the ground, leaving the child where he lay. They wandered further down the riverway, past mounds of piled bodies.
Eventually, they came to a bend in the canyon where many people had gathered, most of them casualties. Men and women had been laid out in rows along the canyon walls, while others tended the injured. More victims were being carried in, as the dead were dragged away.
Darien looked around the site, at the number of wounded, and felt despair. He had already overextended himself. He didn’t have much left to give. He looked at his guide, who beckoned him toward the injured.
Darien nodded wearily, and walked to the nearest victim. He knelt at the man’s side, probing his body as the harsh soldier glared down at his back. He closed his eyes, resigned. He would heal as many as he could. It was all he could do. He would heal until he collapsed.
He tugged at the magic field, filling his mind, emptying his thoughts, and began.
He had no idea how long he’d been asleep. Darien awoke naked and comfortable on a soft mattress, a mass of thick covers pulled over his body. He didn’t want to open his eyes. He wanted to just keep sleeping. The covers were soft, the mattress warm and comforting. He felt a light touch, a hand stroking back his hair. Darien opened his eyes and gazed upward, frozen by the vision that confronted him.
“I thought you were dead,” he whispered.
Seeing him awake, Azár smiled. “I thought you were too.”
27
Shahin Son of Marthax
Naia gazed at Quin, considering his features. He was very obviously not a man of the Rhen. His bronze complexion and thick black hair seemed exotic to her. And yet, strangely, there were many things about Quin that didn’t seem foreign at all.
“How did you come by your name?” she asked, jumping down from the counter she’d been sitting on.
Quin turned to glance up at her as he swept his pack up off the floor. “What do you mean?”
Naia shrugged, moving out of the kitchen stall. “Quinlan is a Rhenic name. You weren’t born in the Rhen… So how did you come by it?”
Quin took her arm, guiding her out of the stall and back toward the entrance to the courtyard. Sunlight streamed down from a clear sky as leaves twirled from the branches above them. The walls of the castle gleamed in the light, making her squint. So much sun … on an isle encased by winter.
“Quinlan Reis was the name they gave me at the Lyceum. It wasn’t my birth name.”
Naia frowned at him. “What was wrong with your birth name?”
Quin thrust his hands into his pockets, explaining, “It was just something that was in fashion at the time. My brother and I were born to a nomadic culture, you see. When we were brought to the Lyceum, they gave us new names. Rhenic names.”
Naia frowned harder, studying Quin’s face. “That makes no sense. I thought the Lyceum was more advanced than Aerysius?”
“Oh, it was, definitely,” Quin agreed. “Have no doubt! But Southern culture was something of a style that swept through Northern society for a time. Southern dress, Southern ways … Southern names. It was just something that people did, especially in the larger cities. Surnames became very popular, even though we’d never used them before. It was a way of distinguishing civil society from the ‘unwashed masses’ of the interior. Which was ironic, really. The people of the cities hated the nomads and their ways, but they also envied them. I think they realized, deep down inside, that it was a better way to live, both physically and spiritually. And yet they detested them just the same. It was all rather perplexing and contrived.”
They reached a large door that led into the interior of the castle. Quin shoved it open with his hand, swinging it inward.
“What was your given name?” Naia asked. “Before they changed it?”
“Shahin. Shahin son of Marthax.” Quin held the door open for her.
Naia smiled, liking the sound of the name. She looked Quin over closely. He looked nothing like a man of the Rhen. He didn’t look like a man named Quin, she decided.
“What?” he demanded, seeming put off by her attention.
“Shahin,” Naia repeated, feeling the sound of the name on her tongue. She smiled. “I like it. It suits you better.”
Quin shook his head, looking regretful he had told her. “No. It’s been too long. I’m not that person anymore. You see, they didn’t just change my name. They took everything from me. They changed me into someone else entirely. Now I’m just Quinlan Reis. That’s it. Nothing more.”
The way he said it saddened Naia. It was as though he felt reduced by his Rhenic name. Or not worthy of the name his own father had bestowed upon him. The longer she knew Quin, the more she realized how broken he was. She’d never met another man who so utterly despised himself.
“Very well, then. Quin.” Naia tried to smile, but couldn’t make it work. The expression faltered on her face then drifted away.
Quin opened another door, standing to the side and ushering her past. They entered a spacious hall carpeted by patterned rugs, the stone walls relieved by bright streaks of woven tapestries. There was an odor to the place, like must or old neglect.
Movement from across the room caught her eye. Naia looked over to see Tsula emerging from a narrow side-corridor. The woman wore a striking robe of emerald green with a matching headwrap. She glided toward them through clusters of furniture and stopped in front of them, hands on her hips, surveying them down the length of her nose. Naia found it hard to suffer that stare, resisting the impulse to cringe away from it.
“Are you ready to begin your work?” the woman inquired of Quin, who responded only with a nod. Her eyes flicked toward Naia. “Is she going with you?”
Quin nodded again. “I told you: I need her for moral support.”
Naia stood in silence, watching the conversation as much as listening to it. She considered herself fairly adept at gauging a person’s emotions by the look on their face, and Tsula’s was practically shouting. Naia sensed the Harbinger held a deep disdain for her. She couldn’t imagine why.
“You’re not an Arcanist,” Quin snapped. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
The remark prompted Tsula to arch a quizzical eyebrow in Quin’s direction. Beneath it, her gaze slid sideways to fix on Naia. At last, she issued a curt nod.
“Then let us go.” She turned her back on them and retraced her steps across the room.
Naia wasn’t sure what to make of the confrontation. She stood there until she felt Quin’s fingers lace throug
h her own, prompting her forward. His face was rigid with anger. He said nothing as they followed Tsula out of the hall and onto a wide balcony.
Warm sunlight slanted down on them, glaring off the stone sides of the castle. Naia had to squint, shielding her eyes with her hand. Ahead of them, Tsula paused beside a curving balustrade that edged the balcony. A breeze washed over them, fluttering Naia’s hair. Despite the warmth of the sunlight, the mountain air was cold. Tsula made a sweeping gesture with her hand, inviting them to join her. Naia moved forward alongside Quin, feeling almost hesitant.
They stopped before the balustrade and looked over.
Naia’s fingers tightened reflexively on Quin’s. She forgot to breathe for a moment, so staggered was she by the view. Athera’s Crescent stretched before her, consuming the entire valley below. It was enormous, like a concave basin of polished silver that spanned the bowl-shaped valley from mountaintop to mountaintop. Its metallic sheen seemed more liquid than solid, running in soft currents like quicksilver.
Except for the places that were dark.
Huge fragments like jagged shards of broken glass fractured the Crescent, places where the liquid texture ran black with emptiness. The Crescent was broken, Naia realized. Broken in fundamental ways. The quicksilver surface of the dish roiled with vitality, its surface dappled with energies that swarmed across it, activating other currents… Until one of the dark fragments broke the pattern. Then the dance of energy ground to a halt.
Quin dropped Naia’s hand and swept his hat off his head, running a hand back through his hair, his expression vacuous. At last, he turned to Tsula with a look of gaping disbelief, gesturing downward with his hat.
“You expect me to repair that?”
The woman’s eyebrows raised. “If you can.” Her expression didn’t change. “If you cannot, then the entire world is surely doomed.”
Quin stood there, hat in hand, eyes studying the Crescent in frantic thought. His upper lip gave a slight twitch. At last he blinked and muttered, “Well, this is one honey of a pickle.” Then he replaced his hat back on his head and adjusted the brim. He looked down at his boots. Then he glanced back up at Tsula.
“Where are the conduits?”
The fire in his eyes and the resolve in his voice filled Naia with a warm surge of pride. She realized she had faith in this man, though she didn’t know why. He was quietly confident, unassuming. Nevertheless, she felt certain that if anyone could repair the Crescent, it was Quin.
“This way.” Tsula turned and walked past them, making her way toward the corner of the balcony. Quin followed her, leading Naia by the hand toward a broad staircase that led down from the castle into the bowl-shaped valley.
Naia paused at the top of the steps, her hand lingering on the rough stone of the balustrade. Quin paused, his eyes following hers. There was one single flight of steps all the way down into the mouth of an enormous cave that gaped up at them from below. Many smaller caves opened up to either side.
“Lava tubes?” Quin wondered aloud. He held his hat against a sudden gust of air that whipped at them from the Crescent. There, in the shadow of the mountain, it was much colder than on the balcony. The wind carried with it an arctic chill.
“That is the entrance to the conduits,” Tsula said without looking back, never pausing in her stride. Her long gown billowed behind her as she descended the relentless flight of stairs, hand trailing along the stone bannister.
Naia followed at Quin’s side as the woman led them down the mountain, hugging herself against the bite of the cold. Every so often, she glanced down at Athera’s Crescent, which glowed metallically beneath them like a living thing. Its features swirled and churned around the places of fractured darkness.
A shadow fell over them, the air turning chill. Naia looked up, seeing that their path had been swallowed by the jagged mouth of the cave. Goosebumps broke out across her skin. She hugged her cloak more firmly around her. A glowing white mist bloomed beneath Quin’s feet, wandering ahead of them to light their way.
Up ahead, the stairs leveled out into a ramp that descended into the depths of the cavern. Quin’s magelight confronted the shadows, overwhelming them. It lit the walls of the cavern before them, casting distorted streaks of light. The cave narrowed, the ceiling closing in over their heads. A narrow stream converged on their path, carving its course alongside their trail, ever downward into the depths of the earth. The sound of its trickling was the only noise in the world, other than the sounds of their own footfalls.
Abruptly, Tsula drew to a halt. She turned back around. Her eyes moved slowly from Naia to Quin.
“I will accompany you no further,” she said. “Up ahead, the cavern forks. You must stay to the right. It will take you down to a chamber where you can access the conduits.”
“What am I supposed to do down there?” Quin asked.
The woman shrugged dismissively. “Either fail or succeed. What will be is already written, Grand Master Quinlan.”
Quin made a face. “In other words, you don’t have the faintest idea what I’m supposed to do.”
Tsula was unruffled by the comment. “I am a Harbinger, Quinlan Reis. I interpret readings from the Crescent. It is not my job to tinker with the bowels of it.”
Quin smirked and reached out to take Naia’s hand. “Very well then. Madam.” He touched his hat in Tsula’s direction. “I guess I’ll go tinker with some bowels.”
He started forward, brushing past the woman. Naia started after him but stopped, releasing Quin’s hand. She turned around.
“Why do you fear me?” she asked the Harbinger.
Tsula looked at her with a sobering expression. “I do not fear you. I merely despise what you are.”
“Why? What do you think I am?”
“Surely you must know.”
“No. I do not.” Naia clasped her hands in front of her. She glanced at Quin, who had paused and was waiting for her.
“You are a chimera,” Tsula pronounced, eyes narrowing in accusation.
Naia had never heard the term before. She had no idea what it meant. “A what?”
“A portent of disaster,” the woman clarified.
“Why would you say such a thing?”
“Because I know what you are, and what you’ve been. And what you may become.” Tsula stared at her with flat black eyes that held no mercy.
“Don’t say another word.” Quin walked forward, one finger raised in warning. He glared at Tsula with danger in his eyes.
The woman turned to look at him. She gazed at him in contemptuous silence as he lingered with his finger held in front of her face. Under her breath, she muttered, “Peace be with you, Quinlan Reis.” She swept past him, her long gown rustling as she made her way back the way they had come.
When she was gone, Naia turned to Quin. “What did she mean? About what might I become?”
Quin lowered his finger, still glaring after the woman. “I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. Neither do you,” he snapped. He adjusted his hat. “She’s a Harbinger. Her job is to sort through occurrences and possibilities. I don’t know what she’s seen, but whatever it is, it doesn’t have to happen. She’s not an oracle; she can’t foretell the future.”
Naia peered at him. “Is that not what a Harbinger does?”
Quin’s smoldering glare flicked back in Tsula’s direction. He paced away, hands in his pockets, then paced back, taking a swipe at the ground with his foot. “No. All she can do is forecast the likelihood of events. And I’m not sure how effectively she can do that, with the Crescent as broken as it is.”
Naia considered his words. She couldn’t help but think that there was something Quin was holding back. “What is a chimera?”
He glanced back down the slope of the cavern, his eyes bypassing her. “Another myth like Hapselon,” he said. “A mismatched creature made up of the parts of many different beasts. A hybrid, of sorts.”
“A hybrid,” Naia said, her eyes widening in understanding.
Suddenly, it made so much sense. “I’m a mage, and I’m also a priestess. Isn’t that what she meant?” It had to be. It was the perfect explanation. Only … how did Tsula know? When Quin didn’t say anything, Naia continued, “People keep telling me it’s a dangerous thing. I’m still wondering why.”
Quin looked at her then. Really looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time. Slowly, his eyes filled with wonder. “You are a dangerous thing,” he assured her. “Have no doubt.”
Naia couldn’t help but smile. There was no mistaking the look of admiration in his eyes.
He blinked and took a step away. “Shall we, then?” He extended his hand toward her. She eyed his hand, then looked up and considered his face. He was a demon. He was broken. He was also the most genuine human being she had ever met in her life.
She accepted his hand and walked beside him ever deeper into the cavern. The small stream of water trickled alongside their path, a fog of steam hovering over its surface. Quin’s magelight lit the way ahead, his hand guiding her forward at his side.
They came to a fork in the cave, the one Tsula had warned them about. Naia glanced warily between the two dark holes in the volcanic rock that lurked ahead of them like the open maws of a hydra. Quin’s magelight didn’t penetrate very deep into either shaft. Both looked equally sinister.
Quin steered her toward the opening on the right. This tube was tighter than the last had been, so narrow they couldn’t walk abreast. Naia followed Quin as his magelight lit their path. The cave’s ceiling was so low they had to walk stooped over. Quin led her onward, downward, still holding her hand.
The darkness and the closeness became oppressive. And the silence. That bothered her most of all. It made her feel like she was back in the warrens below Aerysius. She didn’t want to think of that.
Her companion didn’t seem the least troubled by their surroundings. She stared at him, musing, “Is there anything you’re frightened of?”
He didn’t look at her. “There is.”
Naia frowned. “What is it?”
Darkrise Page 28
