Storm

by Lauren L. Garcia

  “Then you will be Forsworn. The Pillars will hunt you down and send you to the mines at Stonehaven, where you will suffer a slow and painful death. Do you really want to do this?”

  “We’ll be fine,” Milo said with more confidence than he felt. “Don’t worry about us.”

  Naree studied him. A chilly wind rippled her cloak and pulled a few strands of curling, dark hair free from her braids. At last she nodded again; her features shifted and she was a Cipher no longer, but a young woman who looked at him with fear. “Then take care, Milo.”

  Milo managed to fumble out a farewell, too, but by then, Naree was already heading back to the temple, her cloak swaying in her wake. He stared after her until Flint kicked his shins.

  “Come on,” she said when he yelped. “We’ve got a mission, remember?”

  “Right,” Milo replied, still dazed. He tried to shake off the feeling as he tucked the hematite in his belt and they mounted up.

  Flint nodded in the direction of the city gates. “Let’s go. The others are counting on us.”

  *

  Kali’s fingers ached from playing her viol. No, not just her fingers. Her whole sodding body was wracked with pain from being held rigid in her attempt to focus, to keep calm. Her knee burned; if she’d not known better, she’d have sworn that she’d paced a groove in the floor of her quarters. Movement was good. Focusing on something else, like music, was good. Both helped keep the Fata at bay. But nothing lasted.

  Thoughts that were not hers beat ceaselessly upon all corners of her mind. Sweet blood. Sweet magic. Give it to us. Now. Again and again and again. Her hopes of seeking information were far away when all she wanted to do was beg for a moment of peace. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She did both. Neither helped. But music… Oh, music was sweet. Where Kali’s viol had once been a source of sorrow, now the instrument reminded her of happier times, of love and light and her father’s proud smile as she played her first proper song. Now, her viol gave her mind something else to do other than fret and fear, and pulse with a hunger she could not satiate.

  She kept playing after the first silver-coated string broke, and the second, setting her bow along the remaining two strings in a teetering wail that echoed in her own heart. But strings were fragile. The third one broke too, leaving Kali in a silence so thick she would surely choke. She tried to play the fourth alone, but was terrified of losing that last connection. She could not leave her room and go for help, lest she endanger another mage, but staying would surely kill her. So she paced, biting her lips and tongue against the pain in her knee, and tried to focus on her self-appointed mission, but all she could hear was the litany: Sweet blood. Sweet magic. Give it to us. Now.

  “No,” she whispered, clutching her temples. “Stop. Please. Go away.”

  Another surge of foreign hunger. Sweet blood. Sweet magic. Give it to us. Now.

  Fear plucked at Kali’s heart. She thought of Neff and the Parsan woman. Was this what their last moments of humanity had been like?

  Stop it, she scolded herself. You’re not a thrall, not yet. She was the only one in the world who could learn what the Fata were doing, so she needed to stop feeling sorry for herself and get to work.

  Deep breaths brought a little calm. When she was calmer, it was easier to ignore the terror the Fata brought. It’s all right, she told herself. You can do this.

  “Fata?” she said to her cluttered room. “Are you…there?”

  No response.

  Seren’s light, she felt foolish. Her throat was dry but her palms were slick as she clutched her viol, and tried again. “You want magic. Why? Other than the obvious, I suppose.”

  Any other time, and she’d have felt embarrassment for her silly joke, but now she only knew irritation when she received no response. Not irritation at the Fata—she could not yet quantify her feelings for them—but at herself, for thinking she could learn about them by simply talking with whatever wanted to turn her into a monster.

  In search of distraction, she went to her window. The bastion wall cast her room in shadow, and the darkness reflected her own face back to her in the glass: shadowed eyes, lips bruised and bleeding from where she’d bitten them. Her hair blended with the wall outside, casting her face moon-white.

  Give it to us.

  “If you’re not going to cooperate,” she said. “Go away.”

  But the voice was not hers; it was rough as boots on wet gravel. The woman in the reflection was a stranger.

  Now.

  She had to be anywhere but here. If she stayed in her room one more second, she would suffocate. No doubt it was cold as Nox’s tits outside, but Kali didn’t care. Cold could cut through all other things and bring clarity. She set her viol down and rushed out of her room, silently praying—praying? To whom?—that she wouldn’t see anyone else. A tingle ran through her palm when she shoved open her iron door handle, but she ignored the discomfort. Only when the door closed behind her did she think of going out the window.

  If there were gods, then they were merciful. Kali met Druce and Wylie in the corridor, but neither stopped her, even when she ignored their questions and exclamations of concern. But she could sense magic hanging in the air around them, like the scent of jessamin blossoms, and could not allow herself to stop. She hurried as best she could, for her knee throbbed and she had not abandoned the desire for magic back in her room. Again and again, she fought the urge to stop at Sadira’s room, or Hazel’s, or Foley’s, or anyone’s, and try to wrest their power from them like a sodding leech. So it was a victory of the highest order when she emerged from the dormitories and into the chilled air.

  Kali took a deep breath, savoring the clean scent of snow, and looked into the gray-white sky. When a blast of wind hit her, she realized she’d forgotten her cloak, but she refused to go back to her room, and instead made her way to the farthest corner of the bastion. The garden. She would go to the garden and rest her back and aching body against the high wall. Like her viol, the garden held both bitter and happy memories, the latter of which she sorely needed.

  She limped toward the back wall. By now, she knew the way by heart, so she squeezed her eyes shut against the pain in her knee and the foreign, violent urges. Each step burned, but she would not stop until she was–

  “Kali.” Strong hands gripped her shoulders. She looked up into Stonewall’s almost-golden eyes, wide with concern. He was armored, his helmet clipped to his belt, and his cheeks were dark from the wind. “It’s time. We must leave.”

  Leave? She pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to recall their plan. “How?”

  “Most of the other sentinels are gone, but not for long. Talon’s still here. We don’t have much time. We must go now.” He held out his gloved hand. “Please, Kali. Come with me.”

  Kali nodded and swiped at her runny nose with her sleeve. Another gust of wind cut right through her, reminding her how foolish she’d been to come outside in just a tunic and leggings. It was just as stupid to think she could face the Fata, or any force beyond her control. Eris was right. A snarl of anger built in the back of Kali’s throat. She clenched her teeth against it, shut her eyes against it, and wrapped her arms around her torso to keep from trembling. The anger did not dissipate, but turned inward, burning her eyes with more sodding tears. Of course, she wept when she most needed to be strong. Stars and moons, she was so tired!

  Stonewall took her arm to help support her weight. He began to thread through the bare trees and dead grass of the garden, his steps moderated to keep pace with her. Even so, Kali had to lean upon him so she wouldn’t stumble. But when she realized he was heading for the dormitories, she froze. “What are you doing?”

  Stonewall frowned down at her. “You at least need a cloak. And don’t you want to see if Sadira can come? And get your viol?”

  “You said we had to hurry.”

  His brows knit, but he nodded and began to walk again. “Aye. Well, let’s get Sadira then, and–”

  “I can�
�t be near her, now,” Kali said. “I can’t be near any other mage. It’s gotten worse. The…Fata’s desire for power. I can’t risk hurting anyone else.”

  “You would leave your friend behind?”

  “It’s for her own safety. Besides,” Kali closed her eyes, “she wouldn’t want to leave.”

  Stonewall exhaled in a fog of breath that the wind swept away. “We don’t have time to argue.”

  He withdrew a ring of keys from his belt and reached for her collar, his thumb tracing the scar on her throat before he brushed her messy braid aside. A faint pressure at her neck, a snap of release; the bite of cold air against her skin where the collar had lain. So, too, did color and life rush back into her world. Only with her senses’ true return did she remember—again—the void that hematite created. Would she ever get used to the feeling?

  With the collar gone, Kali braced herself for an onslaught of Fata emotions, but she felt nothing new. Odd. So hematite had no effect on their magic? If that was the case, then the Fata’s magic was truly different than that of the mages.

  Stonewall’s touch at her arm was firm, no doubt meant to be reassuring. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “I’ll keep you safe.”

  “Safe?” Her voice was a stranger’s. “You can’t protect me from myself. The harm is done.” Another bitter wind blew, tossing a few snow flurries between them. Something wet and cold crept down the sides of her nose. “Just leave me,” she told him. “I was stupid. I was wrong. I can’t do this. I can’t fight it. It hurts…”

  Sod it all, she couldn’t stop crying even when her tears turned to ice on her cheeks. But Stonewall only pulled her to his armored chest, which offered no warmth, no real shelter. Even so, the moment his arms wrapped around her, she knew she was home. “It’s all right, Kali,” he said in her ear. “You don’t have to fight alone. I’m here.”

  Something broke within her and Kali surrendered. She pressed her cheek against him and wept hard enough to steal her breath. She wept into his solid chest, where his heart beat so strong. Somehow, he pulled her closer; the movement jostled something from his belt and sent it to the ground with a faint clink. His whispers were part of her own mind rather than spoken aloud; the only words that dampened the Fata’s relentless litany. It’s all right. You’re not alone. You’re safe with me.

  The Fata within her started, and then roiled with a keen interest in the sentinel. A new sensation overtook her awareness, unfurling within her chest as warm recognition; reconnection with a lost comrade. She knew, somehow, that Stonewall belonged to the Fata, that he was tied to their innumerable voices.

  Kin, the voices murmured, all focus now on the sentinel. Old blood. Ours.

  The Fata’s anger began to fade. A sense of calm crept over Kali, flowing into her battered mind and heart with each breath. Her head cleared and she allowed herself to enjoy the feeling of being close to this man.

  Sweet blood, the Fata replied, traces of annoyance seeping through what remained of their anger. Give it to us. Now.

  “Shut up,” Kali whispered. Stonewall tensed, but she looked up at him, managing a wan smile. “Not you.”

  “The Fata?”

  She nodded.

  He muttered something she did not catch, took her hand and guided her behind the dormitories, where they could hopefully slip to the gates unseen. As they passed by the window of her room, a thought struck her. “How did you know where to find me? Did you come to the garden first?”

  He stopped in his tracks, his gaze distant. “No. I just… I knew where you were. I could,” his cheeks darkened, “feel you, here.” He pressed his fingertips to his temple. “I sound crazy.”

  Old blood, the Fata within her murmured. Ours.

  “The Fata,” Kali said. “They seem to…recognize you. Like they know you somehow.”

  He blanched. “Me? Unless the sodding things know how many of their thralls I’ve killed, I doubt…” He trailed off as she grimaced. The mild amusement of the Fata vanished at his words, replaced with that same driving fury, this time directed at Stonewall.

  “Old blood, traitor,” the Fata hissed, but the words came from Kali’s throat. “Traitor blood, tainted with human flesh.”

  All color drained from his face. She knew this not because of the sunlight that struggled through the cloud cover, but because another light shone from a place she could not see. It was only a brief flash, but even that was enough. His eyes widened, and he released her arm to take a step back. “Sweet Mara’s mercy,” he whispered. “Your eyes…”

  It was so hard to make her voice work! Kali tried to say his name, but no human sound emerged. Instead, there was a shrill cry that sent arrows of fear through her heart. She snapped her mouth shut, for she’d heard that sound before. No!

  She had to leave, and she had to do so alone. His presence was only making the Fata more angry. Even now, magic swam through her veins, eager to drown him, to consume him in the roil and fury. Hematite did not shelter him from the Fata’s hunger; they wanted him just as they wanted magic. She could not be near Stonewall, either. She could not be near anyone. But maybe if she could be alone, if she could focus…

  Kali was no warrior, but she was not defenseless. She just needed to think. “Leave me,” she managed to choke out – in her own voice, thank the stars! “Leave me alone.”

  Stonewall stared at her and she knew he was collecting his nerve, shoring up his calm. A fighter to the last. Damn him. He came forward again, arm outstretched. “I made that mistake once. I won’t do it again. We leave together, or not at all.”

  If he touched her, she would shatter. If he touched her, the magic building within her body would drain his life away. Kali took a step back and stumbled when her knee faltered. She fell against the dormitory wall and slid to the cold ground. “Go away,” she sobbed. “Now.”

  He came closer, wariness and determination radiating off him like ripples of heat. “Kali, there’s no time. We must–”

  “What’s going on here?” The new voice snapped Kali’s focus, making her look over to see Foley standing a few paces away, a mug of tea in his hand.

  Stonewall straightened. “Mage Clementa. Kali is–”

  “She is ill, Ser Sentinel,” Foley replied in a cold voice. “As everyone in the bastion knows. Except you, it seems.” Without waiting for a response, he strode to Kali and held out his hook. “Here, child,” he said gently. “Come inside. I’ll not let him trouble you any longer.”

  Kali stared at the hook, her heart pounding. She could not touch him. She could not stay on the ground forever. Slowly, she reached for Foley, bracing herself against the forthcoming onslaught of hunger for his magic. She wrapped her fingers around the cold, smooth metal – and shrieked at the burning sensation that erupted from the point of contact. That same eerie light filled her vision. No; it came from her eyes. Thrall’s eyes. Kali cried out again.

  Both men said her name, but she barely heard either. She dropped the hook and fell back to the ground, staring at her own palm. There was no sign of burn or blisters, just irritation from playing her viol too much. But the burning sensation lingered.

  In every corner of her mind, the Fata recoiled, hissing. Poison.

  “Sweet fucking stars,” she whispered.

  Foley rounded on Stonewall. “What have you done to her? Or, rather, what has she done to you, to deserve such treatment? What have any of us ever done to your kind?”

  Stonewall ignored him and dropped to Kali’s side, reaching for her shoulder. “Kali, look at me.”

  Sweet blood. Sweet magic. Give it to us.

  “Leave me alone,” Kali choked. “Please.”

  But the First Mage stepped between them before Stonewall could touch her. “Leave us. Go back to the garrison, where your kind belong.”

  Stonewall replied with some invective Kali did not hear. She was deep in the Fata’s power now, with that same litany circling each thought, delighting in her chaotic heart. Sweet blood. Sweet magic. Give it to us.
>
  Then she was in Stonewall’s arms. As before, his touch, even through his gear, was soothing, and some of the turmoil within her eased. He lifted her, brushed past Foley, and strode for the gates.

  “Talon will hear of this,” the First Mage called.

  “No doubt,” Stonewall replied. “Just stay out of our way in the meantime.” They reached the gates within moments; he shoved them open and left them so after passing through. They were really on their way out. Kali tried to find joy that she was finally free of the bastion, but she knew that she was still a prisoner.

  Nineteen

  Foley’s steps echoed in the garrison’s corridor. Every muscle was tense, for he expected a host of sentinels to discover him at any moment, but he met no one as he slipped through the barracks. Aside from Talon’s office, he had never been inside the sentinels’ private spaces before, so it was unsettling to see how the bastion and garrison’s layouts mirrored each other. There were differences, though. Rather than the individual rooms of the mage dormitories, there were two sets of barracks for men and women. There were a few individual rooms as well, closer to Talon’s quarters, possibly for the other officers. None of the sentinel’s private spaces made him think the occupants were meant to live there for very long.

  The barracks were empty. So, too, were his daughter’s office and bedchamber. Foley was at a loss. Was she even in the garrison? He’d watched a host of sentinels ride away earlier, but had not spotted their commander among them. Despite the press of time—and his own indignation at the sergeant’s words—he lingered in his daughter’s quarters, smiling at the neatly made sleeping pallet. Talaséa had never wanted to make her bed as a girl. His smile faded, though, when he wondered if she’d even slept inside it lately. A single lamp rested on a small table, along with an ewer and bowl. A chest, no doubt filled with her additional clothes and gear, sat across the little room from where she slept.