“So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that the Palace is situated in the furthest north-eastern reaches of Siberia, beyond the arctic circle, where the permafrost is a mile deep and the weather so icy that your saliva freezes into tiny needles the moment you open your mouth. There are no clothes warm enough to protect you from that kind of cold, and even if there were, you’d still not survive for long. If you breathe the air for a few minutes, your lungs will start burning; stretch those minutes to hours and you’ll suffer permanent respiratory damage.” She gives a slight shiver, as if she feels the cold even here, in the middle of the desert.
“What they did was brilliant, in a way. Instead of building high walls or unbreachable fortifications, they’ve allowed nature itself to provide the defenses. You can try to escape if you want, and many have. But with nothing but ice for hundreds of miles in any direction, there’s nowhere to escape to. Even today, with all the sophisticated technology of the modern world, the White Palace can only be reached by planes aided by the favorable winds that the White Lady’s Skykeeper apprentices conjure up at her bidding.”
I frown, remembering a late-night documentary I once saw about two old English guys cheerfully drinking gin while driving to the North Pole in a Toyota truck.
“I think you might be underestimating the power of modern technology,” I say.
“That’s what the Wallenbergs thought too,” Daniel’s mom says. “A couple of months ago, they sent in a special task team to rescue their daughter. That family owns about half of Scandinavia and they paid for the best: elite soldiers, military-grade land and air vehicles, and the most advanced technological satellite surveillance available.”
She leans forward, dropping her voice slightly. “Two days later, there was nothing left of that expedition. Not a trace. Sonya and her Skykeeper apprentices sent a blizzard their way that buried the rescue team so deep under the snow they’ll never be found again.” She sighs. “And then she sent them their daughter’s head, neatly frozen in an icebox.”
“Jesus,” Gunn says.
“The Orlov’s are ruthless. And more than just a little crazy, if you ask me.” She widens her eyes. “I will never, for as long as I live, forget my first sight of the White Palace. At first I thought I was hallucinating, but there it was: a fairytale castle standing all alone in endless fields of ice, like a giant wedding cake rising from the snow.”
She leans back in her chair again. “Up close it looks like a cross between a Disney castle and an Arabic-Asian fantasy: a bizarre combination of medieval towers and turrets, bulbous domes and spiraling minarets—it’s atrocious. And yet it’s undeniably impressive too. Perhaps it’s the sheer scale of the thing; I’ve never seen any palace that huge. Or perhaps it’s because the entire monstrosity is covered with marble so white it glitters in the sun as well as in the snow, as shiny and delicate as a dream.”
We listen in silence as she continues her story, a faraway look in her eyes.
“From the first moment I entered the Palace, however, I knew that the sparkling façade hid a nightmare of darkness and terror. And to be fair, it wasn’t as if anyone tried to hide it. Before my pledging ceremony, the Countess Orlov proudly told me that more than a hundred serfs had died building the palace. And after a few days in that castle, I could well believe it, even though serfdom had been abolished in Russia for almost fifty years by the time the palace was built.”
“Serfs?” I ask, trying to remember my history lessons. “Weren’t they similar to slaves?”
She nods. “The Countess treated everyone around her like slaves. The castle was full of Skykeepers, dozens of them, and most of them were very young or not particularly gifted. Of course, it is not unusual for young keepers to do a period of apprenticeship after making their pledges, but what I witnessed inside the White Palace was…” Her eyes harden. “Keepers are proud people—most of us come from families that have been rich and influential for centuries. But those young Skykeepers were broken.”
“How did you escape?” Gunn asks when it becomes clear she’s not going to elaborate.
“I suppose luck was on my side. Or maybe it wasn’t luck: at the time I had no real family connections, and nobody expected my magic to grow into anything out of the ordinary. I made my pledge to the Countess, and two days later they let me go.”
“So how can you be so sure about this so-called hostageship they practice?” Ingrid asks coldly.
“Well, for one, the other pledgees who arrived with me—a young man from Egypt and an older English woman—didn’t return home when I did. While I was allowed to board the plane, they were detained at the last minute and escorted back to the palace. At the time I thought it would only be for a month or two, but I later found out that both of them spent more than a decade in that awful place.”
“That’s why I never pledged myself to White,” Daniel’s father interrupts his wife’s tale for the first time, and we all turn towards him.
Noah Rodriguez is a big, hairy bear of a man. Unlike his son he’s heavily-built, and since I’ve last seen him he’s grown a long bushy beard, like the ones worn by hipsters or mountain men. That’s not the only change either. In the past, he always seemed sad and withdrawn and overly polite, but when I arrived this morning, he laughed wildly, squashed me in a warm hug, and insisted that I call him by his first name.
So. That might take some getting used to.
“By the time I was ready to claim my magic,” he continues, “I had the benefit of Sofia’s first-hand knowledge as well as the whisperings from other families. I knew that my family’s power and influence would make me a target, and I suspected I’d be taken hostage the moment I set foot in that place. So I simply couldn’t risk it.”
I send a questioning look in Daniel’s direction. His father’s family has power and influence? Since when? But he’s got his back to me, washing dishes, so I make a mental note to ask him about it later.
“For a while I tried petitioning the White Lord,” Daniel’s dad continues, “hoping to pledge my allegiance to him instead. But of course that turned out to be a hopeless quest.”
“Why?” I ask, realizing that I know absolutely nothing about the male leader of the Skykeepers. “Is he a member of the Orlov family too?”
“No, Faustus is German; the only child of a trueborn son and perhaps the most powerful keeper alive today.” He scratches his beard. “Unfortunately, he lost himself in his magic years ago. People say he now spends his time lost in dreams of faraway realms, only appearing every now and then to smash his opponents whenever his leadership position within the Order is threatened.”
“Is that why he stood against Sonya when she walked out of the assembly?” Gunn asks. “Did her power become a threat to his own?”
“Maybe. But who knows what that man thinks. To be honest, I was surprised that so many Skykeepers sided with him against her.” He shakes his head sadly. “We all know what it will cost them.
“I wondered about that,” Ingrid says. “I couldn’t understand why the Skykeepers were divided on this, when in the past they’ve always been so very united in their eagerness to murder our wards.”
Daniel’s dad doesn’t seem to take offense at her icy tone. “I suspect the only reason those Skykeeper families stood against Sonya is because they hate her,” he admits. “I’m afraid my own family has no specific love for your wards,” — he flashes me an apologetic smile—“and yet, when she walked out, they remained seated. For them, at least, that act of rebellion had nothing to do with the Truce. They just wanted to humiliate the Orlovs, plain and simple.”
“Won’t she hurt one of your family members?” I ask, thinking of those poor people who received a head in a box.
“No.” A bitter look crosses his face. “The only one she’s ever managed to get her hands on was Sebastian.”
My mouth falls open. Sebastian was Daniel’s older brother who died before we became friends, and whom we’re never supposed to mention,
ever.
“That boy always was as stubborn as an ox,” Daniel’s dad says, staring off into the distance unseeingly. “Didn’t want anyone telling him how to do long division, or how to comb his hair, or how to drive a car. Always thought he knew best, no matter how wrong-headed he was.”
Daniel has stopped doing the dishes. From the tension in his back, I can tell he's listening to every word his father says.
“By the time we found out that he’d left for the White Palace, it was already too late to stop him. He wanted his magic and he didn’t care what the cost would be. He knew what the White Lady was by then, but he thought he could handle her.” He strokes his fingers through his beard distractedly. “It’s just the way he was; you never could tell that boy anything.”
Daniel’s mom, I see, is clenching her hands as she listens to her husband, her face expressionless.
“They kept him there for a year, and when he finally came back, he was different. Quiet and brooding and full of despair. He told me that the Orlovs were building up a small army of mercenaries at least a thousand strong: expertly trained soldiers recruited from all over the globe. They’ve been planning this rebellion for years. Decades even.”
“Is that why they killed him?” Gunn asks quietly. “Because he knew about Sonya’s secret army?”
“No. I don’t think so. Sebastian was hardly the only Skykeeper who knew about that. He carried a deeper secret, and a darker one.” He glances at his wife, who’s gaze remains firmly focused on her white knuckles.
“They made it look like a hunting accident, in the end. I guess they couldn’t know how ridiculous the idea was. A hunting accident? From a boy who rescued bugs from the swimming pool? Someone who hated guns, and violence, and who thought the world’s problems could be solved by reason and compassion?”
“Or perhaps they did know,” Daniel’s mom says. “Perhaps his death was supposed to be a lesson for us. For me. They must’ve suspected he told me his secret. Perhaps his death was meant to be a warning, a threat to keep me quiet.”
Ingrid looks from husband to wife. “So what is this the deep dark secret?” she asks, her voice startlingly unsympathetic. “The one your son was supposedly killed for?”
“There’s no supposedly about it,” Daniel’s mom says evenly. “And the answer, unfortunately, is that I don’t remember. After Jess relieved me of my magic and my madness, all of my memories did not return. I suspect the White Lady and the Red Lord worked together to erase certain things from my mind permanently, and that this is why my brain became so scrambled in the first place.”
“Or perhaps you remember very well and you simply don’t want to tell us.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re still bound by your pledge to the Countess, and as much a Skykeeper as you ever were.”
Daniel’s mother blinks once, twice.
Then she looks Ingrid straight in the eye. “I thought you, of all people, would understand that a mother’s love for a child is far more powerful than any pledge to a clan could ever be.”
Ingrid’s face visibly pales. She gets half-way up from her seat, as if to leave, but then seems to think better of it. After a few seconds of silence she sighs. “Look. I’m sorry for what happened to your son. I really am. But I will never trust the White Clan—”
“I know what the Skykeepers did to your family, Ingrid,” Daniel’s mom interrupts, her voice gentle. “And I know that you tried to protect Bella from
transformation
your sister
White Witch
massacre
That same sudden, sharp pain. The same sense of vertigo. The same lack of understanding.
I drop my head onto the table, groaning.
Chapter 12
Do not extend the hand of friendship to such a one, and in its company do not go, lest thou allow it close enough to snare thy soul. For its kind can know no friendship; its heart can know no trust. Pity those who would befriend the Horror. Yea, pity them!
The Old Words: Verse 9:11-14
It’s early morning, the next day.
Daniel and I are lying on our backs on a blanket spread out in the shade of the house. The air is already warming up; soon it will be too hot to stay out here, but for now it’s really pleasant. We are watching the sky and the sand and the miles of open space while speaking in low voices, our conversation as aimless and drifting as the thin white clouds high up above.
So far we’ve talked about Jeffrey Black, and Miss Anderson, and what happened that night in the library, and the reasons for it all. We’ve also talked about the trial, and Daniel’s secret messages, and how he was blackmailed by the White Lady, and how I got so angry that I lost my shit and made everyone kneel before me.
Both of us feel we could have done a lot better; both of us feel guilty about signs we missed; both of us feel sad about how things turned out; both of us try to convince the other that they did the best they could, considering the circumstances. In all the months since it happened, this is the first time I’ve discussed any of this with anyone, and with every word I feel myself becoming lighter and freer and happier.
We talk about magic and being part of this strange, secret community, and how everything changed so suddenly. We talk about how so much of what we’ve learned and lived through still seems unreal. We talk about how different the world now seems, and how lonely we’ve been, and how scared.
I don’t tell him about the drills though.
I just can’t bear to think about it now, here with him in the sunshine.
Daniel tells me about his mother: how great it’s been to have her back and how much his dad has changed. He tries to tell me some of what he’s learned about the history of keepers and their magic, but he can’t say too much because every now and then, without warning, my brain short-circuits for a few painful seconds.
Our aimless, relaxed, light-hearted conversation does even more for my mental health than my surge of power did last week, and as the hours pass by, I begin to feel more and more like the person I used to be. Like a traveler who’s come home after a long absence to find everything subtly changed, but still there.
We avoid the subject of the ordinary lives we lost for as long as possible. But in the end Daniel can’t help giving in to his curiosity.
“Tell me about Henry,” he says while he lights his first cigarette of the morning. “You mentioned he lost an eye in the fire?”
“In the explosion. He was making out with Eve at the time—you know how those two can get.”
He smiles. “I bet they never even heard Jonathan ordering everyone outside.”
“Exactly. They were still in the gym when the bomb went off. Apparently a piece of flying glass sliced through his eye.”
“Fu-u-uck.”
“I know.”
“How’s he taking it?”
“Not too bad, I guess. At first he wore a patch, but he’s got a glass eye now. It’s very well done; you can hardly tell the difference.”
“He still sees okay?”
I shrug. “You know Henry; it’s difficult to know because he always makes a joke of everything. Whenever someone asks, he puts on this tragic expression and says that all his dreams of becoming a fighter pilot have been shattered.”
Daniel’s sudden laugh makes him cough on his cigarette. “And Eve? They’re still together?”
I roll my eyes. “What do you think?”
“I bet they’re worse than ever.”
“You have no idea. She calls him ‘Cyclops’ now.”
“No.”
“Oh, yes. They’ve both been accepted at State too, so their great love is destined to live on after the summer. Last thing I heard, they were planning to move in together as soon as they get to college—they just haven’t told their parents yet.”
“I can just imagine how that conversation will play out.”
“The words ‘bloodbath’, ‘train wreck’ and ‘massacre’ spring to mind.”
/>
“And Maggie? How’s she doing?”
“Great. She got accepted everywhere; she’s like a kid in a candy shop.”
“Has she decided where she wants to go?”
“I don’t know. Maybe, by now. I haven’t seen her for a while because I went into one of those weird coma-things after almost roasting Jack Pendragon in his own fireplace.”
He puts out his cigarette, lies back down. “I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. It’s pretty normal.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
He laughs. “I’m not talking about trying to barbeque Jack Pendragon. That’s kind of hardcore, even for you. I’m talking about those ‘coma-things,’ as you call it.”
“It’s normal?”
“Actually, it’s very rare. Most keepers can’t channel enough magic to induce it. But according to keeper lore, the resting state—that’s what they call it—is a natural side-effect of using massive amounts of power. Afterward, the body needs to recuperate, and that stage can seem very coma-like.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Thanks, professor. And by the way, you’ve just used the words ‘keeper lore’ completely un-ironically. So now you’ll have to find a way to live with that.”
He smiles. “Keeper lore is a thing, okay? Like, a field of study or whatever. It’s my mom’s special area of interest, and she’s been teaching me all about it. It’s pretty interesting, actually.”
“I bet.”
A lizard scuttles past us, disappearing into a dry desert shrub. It’s the first sign of active life I’ve seen this morning apart from a lone bird circling in the air above, every now and then.
“And…” Daniel clears his throat. “…Chloe? How’s she doing?”
“Seriously? You’re still hung up on her? After all this time?”
“Hey, it’s not like I had the opportunity to meet anyone else.”
“Fair enough.”
Fireborn (The Dark Dragon Chronicles Book 2) Page 12
