Storm

by Lauren L. Garcia

  “Funny,” Stonewall echoed, but his voice was weak and he leaned against the cell wall again, this time as if to brace himself.

  Drake tried to go to him, but Stonewall had moved out of reach again, and the sodding chains tugged tight at Drake’s wrists. “Elan, are you–”

  “I’m fine,” Stonewall broke in, glaring, once again a sentinel. “I should get going.”

  A sick feeling twisted in Drake’s stomach. “Will I see you again?”

  Footsteps sounded down the corridor and Stonewall shoved on his helmet. “I don’t know.”

  “I’d better not,” Drake said, causing Stonewall to look at him in surprise. “Take your girl, take what hematite you can. Leave this place and don’t look back.”

  Seventeen

  Cobalt rapped against the door to the women’s barracks, quick and hard enough to disguise how his hand trembled. “Red? Come on, we’re about to set out.”

  The door flew open to reveal Flint’s too-blue eyes staring up at him. Armor only covered her lower body and her tunic was rumpled; she was clearly in the middle of suiting up for her squad’s patrol. “Red’s not here, Captain,” the burnie said. “She went to the baths. But that was a while ago.”

  “How long?”

  “Not sure, ser. But Red’s not one to dawdle.”

  “No, she’s not.” A sinking feeling took hold of Cobalt’s gut, aggrandizing the chills and nausea that had plagued him the last week or so since their hematite shipment was destroyed. He inclined his head in the direction of the women’s baths. “Come on.”

  “But we have patrol–”

  “Now, burnie.”

  Flint slipped out of the barracks, closing the door behind her. Cobalt strode down the corridor while the girl trotted beside him, hastily tying back her hair. Neither spoke. Cobalt’s heart raced faster with each step because he knew, he knew he would not like what they were about to find. Tor, help us.

  The women’s baths—like the men’s—were small, but functional. A wide stone basin sat set in the center, filled with water from spigots at the sides. The furnace below heated the water nicely, but the sodding thing was constantly breaking down. More often than not, the sentinels had to go without hot water. Today, the furnace must have been working, for the room was pleasant despite the frigid air outside. Even from outside the closed door, Cobalt could feel the warm air brushing his face.

  Cobalt knocked. “Red?”

  No response.

  He tried again; again silence met him. He nodded to Flint, who slipped inside. A beat later, she called for him. Heart in his throat, Cobalt slipped inside and swore. Redfox was lying naked beside the basin, arms curled against her sides, a linen towel draped over her torso—possibly Flint’s doing—one of her daggers and her cuirass beside her. The top layer of leather on the chest-piece had been peeled away to reveal the chips of hematite embedded beneath. A few chips lay by Red’s slack mouth, beside a pool of bile glinting in the lamplight.

  Idiot, was Cobalt’s first thought, followed closely by, Mara, help her. “Dead?” he asked.

  “No.” Flint looked up at Cobalt, her eyes wide. “But close.”

  Cobalt knelt beside the cinder. “Red? Redfox.” Her eyelids fluttered but did not open, and he resisted the urge to shake her. “Red, look at me. That’s an order.”

  A soft groan escaped her, and nothing more. Cobalt swallowed his fear and carefully scooped up the older woman; she was light and frail as a pile of bones. She had never seemed frail, before. As he stood, his stomach roiled and dizziness overtook him, but he pushed past the feeling. “Get her gear,” he told the burnie.

  It had never taken him so long to reach the infirmary, but he couldn’t say if his perception was off, or his stride. Each step made Red’s weight triple. At one point, Flint shot him a glance before disappearing down the corridor ahead. When she reappeared, Mica was at her heels. Never in Cobalt’s life was he so relieved to see Mica’s face, or the satchel he carried.

  “Set her down,” the mender instructed, foregoing the “ser.” But Cobalt didn’t care about that now. He did as instructed and Mica got to work.

  “Flint said she ate raw hematite?” the mender said as he withdrew a vial of dark-green powder from his bag.

  “Aye.” Cobalt tried to say more, but his mouth wasn’t cooperating.

  “Do you know how much?”

  “Looks like she dug a handful out of her gear,” Flint replied. She’d taken to examining Red’s cuirass. “But we found some beside her in the baths, so I don’t know if she ate all of it. There was some vomit by her, too.”

  Mica dumped the powder in a flask, closed the stopper, and shook the thing. “And how long it’s been since she ate it?”

  Cobalt and Flint exchanged glances. “I don’t know,” Flint admitted. “She went to the baths about a half-hour ago, but she wasn’t kitted up.”

  The mender nodded. “No telling how much she digested. We might be able to get her to purge the rest. Help me prop her upright.”

  Cobalt knelt and lifted Red’s shoulders, while Flint gently tilted her head back at Mica’s direction. With a shaking hand, the mender tipped the flask’s contents down her throat, murmuring prayers to Mara as he did, but Cobalt hardly heard him. Red coughed, spewing up much of the green-tinted liquid, and groaned.

  “Come on, you sodding cinder,” Cobalt heard himself say. “Stop complaining and drink that stuff. You’re not getting away from me that easily.”

  Redfox groaned again, her head lolling to one side. Her eyelids fluttered. Mica tried to get her to drink more of the medicine, but she spat it back out. With each moment, the dizziness that had overtaken Cobalt grew stronger; he felt as if he were standing on the edge of a high cliff, looking up at the sky. The acrid scent of the medicine merged with that of Red’s bile, making Cobalt’s guts roil. Mica urged her to drink, as did Flint, but Cobalt couldn’t find the strength to speak. He only gripped Red’s shoulders, hoping to offer silent support.

  The cinder gasped before she looked into Cobalt’s eyes. He saw it then: defeat. “No, Red,” he growled, clutching her shoulders. “No you don’t. You’re staying in this life until I say otherwise.”

  A faint smile touched her mouth before she took a single breath, then her body went still. The three of them knelt in the corridor outside the infirmary for some time before Mica ducked his head. “Nox bring–”

  “Shut up,” Cobalt snarled. Heat pricked his eyes but his body was cold as stone. Was he dead, too? He looked at the mender. “What happened? Why didn’t that…stuff help her?”

  Mica sat back on his heels, rubbing his face. “She ate raw ore out of her gear. Crushed bitterwort sometimes helps to expel the poison, but she must have taken too much.”

  “She puked up a lot of the hematite,” Flint whispered. She still knelt by Red’s body, her head bowed.

  The mender shook his head. “Not enough.”

  “Didn’t she get some hematite when Talon brought it?” Flint asked.

  Mica nodded. “Aye, but I could only give Red a half-dose. It must not have helped her as much as she wanted. It was like that for the others.” He looked at Cobalt. “I’m sorry, Captain.” There were deep shadows beneath Mica’s eyes and his voice was ragged.

  Cobalt shook his head. “You did your best.”

  He sent the burnie to her duties and helped Mica bring Red to the infirmary with the others. Only when Cobalt eased Red’s body next to Scoria’s did he realize that the entire room was full of bodies. Most of them held living souls, but far too many lay still and silent beneath linen sheets. The room was too warm and smelled of biri smoke and thalo; the heat and the scents mingled unpleasantly in Cobalt’s belly. He stood back as Mica slid a sheet over Redfox, murmuring the prayer that would send the cinder to her next life.

  “How many have…passed on?” Cobalt managed.

  Mica’s shoulders sagged. “Fourteen, for now. We’ll have to cremate them all together – after our next mission, I guess.” />
  Blood beat behind Cobalt’s eyes hard enough to make his head throb. His hands tightened into fists and without another word, he strode to the door, weaving through pallets and sick sentinels. None of them groaned or moved; most may as well have been dead. His vision pooled to the exit and each step felt like he was moving through thick sand. At last he slipped into the corridor and could breathe a little easier as he made his way to Talon’s office. But just as he turned a corner, she was there, hair neatly braided as usual, expression cool and composed. Cobalt managed to stop before he collided with her, but she still reached out a hand to steady him.

  “Captain?”

  “Redfox is gone,” he ground out. “Our infirmary’s filled to the brim. I know we have orders, but we need hematite now.”

  He didn’t bother with “ser.” She didn’t reprimand him. “Have you brought back any Sufani?”

  Cobalt had never had much use for hatred; like love, it was one of those useless emotions that did more harm than good. But as Talon studied him with that cool regard, something hot and fierce churned within his heart. It took every ounce of training and control to speak without punching her. “Not yet, ser.”

  She frowned. “That must be rectified if we are to get any more hematite from the Circle. Take every squad you can and go find some.”

  “Have you been to the infirmary, ser? Do you know how many sentinels can still stand?”

  She may as well have been one of the bastion walls. “Not many,” she said quietly.

  “Does the High Commander?”

  She was silent.

  Anger caught in his throat like bile. “Then how can we possibly–”

  “We will follow orders, because we must.” Now she drew herself up to her full height and she was nearly tall enough to look him in the eyes. “Because the lives of our brothers and sisters depend on it.”

  Hatred fled, leaving Cobalt barren and weak. He would crumble if anyone so much as breathed on him. “What of the bastion?” he heard himself ask. “Do the Pillars want more mages to escape while the rest of us are traipsing through the province?”

  “Leave one squad behind to watch them, even if it’s only from the top of the wall.”

  “Good thing there aren’t many mages left to watch,” Cobalt muttered.

  The commander gave a humorless laugh. “Aye. The One must have a dark sense of humor; there is balance in all things.”

  *

  Stonewall stared at the ring of keys in Cobalt’s outstretched hand, uncomprehending. “Just us, ser?”

  The captain’s stance wavered, but his reply was iron. “Right now, burnies are the only ones we can be sure are resistant to magic. You have two in your group. I’ve got a few more, but I’ll need them with me in the field. Therefore, you’re to take over bastion patrol immediately while the rest of us,” his lips compressed in a thin line, “search the province for these sodding nomads the Pillars so dearly want.”

  Stonewall shared the captain’s sentiment. “Ser, why aren’t the local guards handling this?”

  “I don’t sodding know,” Cobalt snapped, loud enough for the other sentinels in the garrison’s courtyard to glance up in alarm. He grimaced and lowered his voice. “And I don’t care. If this is what we must do to get more hematite, then so be it.”

  This time, Stonewall was smart enough not to question the other man. Besides, even the mention of more hematite made the persistent chill deep in his bones strengthen; hematite was the only way to burn it out.

  Right, and what will you do about that when you leave here? Stonewall tried to ignore the jump of nerves that accompanied the thought and accepted the keys with a salute. “Don’t worry, ser.”

  “Don’t cock it up.”

  Finding no appropriate response, Stonewall simply nodded. Cobalt strode off to where his team waited, along with every mage-carriage in the garrison, while Stonewall turned to make his way back to his squad in the courtyard. Each step made his stomach twist. Bastion patrol, with barely any other sentinels in the garrison for the rest of the day.

  Now, he thought, shivering. We must leave now.

  He hadn’t planned on this opportunity, but Cobalt had literally handed it over. Maybe this was all some elaborate ruse to trap him and Kali in an escape attempt, but he shook the thought away as being overly paranoid. The orders from Argent were real—Talon had ensured that every Whitewater sentinel was aware of that—and the captain’s reasoning was sound enough. Anything else could be attributed to the lack of hematite.

  Stonewall’s mouth watered. Stop it, he scolded himself. Mind on the mission. Behind him, Cobalt called a command and the sentinels with him urged their mounts into neat lines, the sound of clattering hooves echoing off the flagstones. The riders made their way to the gates, the carriages creaking at their heels. This morning, the sun hid behind a layer of thick gray clouds, casting the sentinels in a dull light. The scent of snow clawed at the air and cold prodded at Stonewall’s gear, biting at every patch of exposed skin. He shivered again and looked at his squad, who stood by their mounts watching him with bewilderment.

  “Aren’t we going with them?” Milo asked as soon as Stonewall was within earshot.

  “Not today.” Stonewall took a deep breath and looked at each member of his squad in turn. “We’re on bastion patrol.”

  Beacon’s eyebrows shot up. “Just us?”

  “Aye,” Stonewall said. “But Talon’s still here, as are Mica and Ferro. Everyone else is either going with the captain, or…”

  He trailed off, eyes pulled toward the garrison.

  Flint squared her shoulders. “Are we going to stand here like dolts while the whole world turns into thralls?”

  Rook’s eyes widened. “We can’t leave.”

  “We haven’t really, ah, discussed the particulars,” Beacon added.

  Flint snorted. “Feels like leaving this place is all we’ve talked about since Heartfire.”

  Rook began to tremble. “It was just talk.”

  “It wasn’t,” Stonewall said, studying her. “Rook, if you don’t want to come with us, you don’t have to. All I ask is that you don’t turn us in.”

  “Argent will find us,” she whispered.

  “That’s a chance I’m willing to take,” Stonewall said. “Especially once we’ve got a good head start.” His heart beat faster with each word and he glanced at the empty gates. They could do this. Right?

  “What are we going to do about hematite?” Beacon said.

  Stonewall grimaced. “My brother said if we could get more, we could ease off over time.”

  “You spoke with him?” Milo asked.

  Stonewall nodded. “It won’t be easy, or enjoyable, but he made it sound manageable.”

  “But we don’t have any hematite,” Beacon said with a frown.

  Milo’s eyes lit up and he dug in one of his belt-pouches to produce a small vial. Stonewall’s blood quickened at the sight of the dark-gray substance within and he had to check the impulse to snatch it from the young man’s grip. Beacon stared at the vial, lips parted, and took a step forward, one hand extended. Rook’s breath hitched and she, too, moved toward Milo. Only when Milo stepped back did Stonewall realize that he had moved as well. The three of them had converged on the young sentinel – and the hematite in his grasp.

  “Where did you get that?” Beacon whispered, eyes gleaming as if with fever.

  Milo shot Flint a nervous look. “Talon gave it to me,” he said. “The other day, when we met with that Circle priest.”

  “You neglected to mention that,” Beacon said, nodding to the vial.

  The burnie flushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think–”

  “Do you have more?” Rook interrupted.

  Milo shook his head. Disappointment struck Stonewall with the force of a dagger; Rook and Beacon’s faces mirrored the feeling. Flint scowled. “Calm down, you lot. You can split it between you.”

  Her words brought Stonewall back to himself. He urged Beacon and Rook
to back up and give Milo some room. “One dose split three ways won’t be enough,” he said to the twins. “Drake said it took him months to ease off.”

  “We’re not going to have months,” Beacon snapped. “At this rate, we’ll be lucky if we have a week.”

  Rook wrapped her arms around her middle. “I just want to be warm again. Surely a little bit would help.”

  “Aye, but it would wear off and then you’d be in worse shape,” Beacon said. “I’ve seen it over and over again since Heartfire. You should know that. You saw what happened to Red.”

  Anger flashed across Rook’s face as she glared up at the mender. “Aye, and what good have you and Mica and the other menders been? How many have you saved?”

  “That’s enough,” Stonewall said. “We’re on the same side!”

  “I might be able to get more,” Milo said suddenly, causing them all to look at him. At their attention, he flushed and gripped the vial. “Serla Natanaree…the Cipher I met at Mara’s temple. She said she would help me.”

  Beacon and Stonewall exchanged dubious glances.

  “Even if she does, how long will that take?” Rook asked.

  “If we’re going to leave, we must do so right away,” Stonewall said. “Every moment we delay increases our odds of getting caught.”

  “I’ll be quick,” Milo said. “I’ll just run over to Mara’s temple and ask for her.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Flint added.

  “What if she’s not there?” Rook asked. “Ciphers travel all over the province.”

  Milo swallowed. “She’s the best chance we’ve got.”

  “Talon did bring some back with her when she met with that Circle frip,” Flint offered.

  But Beacon drew himself to his full height. “It’s all gone by now. And even if it weren’t I refuse to sentence our brothers and sisters to death for my own well-being.”

  “How noble of you,” Flint muttered, but the words lacked their usual sharpness.

  “Don’t worry, Beak,” Milo said. “If Serla Natanaree is there, she’ll help us. And if not, I’m sure I can find someone who can. Maybe if I explain that it’s an emergency, someone at the temple will give us more.”