Scout- The Complete Scout Box Set, page 16
part #1 of Scout Series
Her hand felt empty immediately and Violet dipped into her pocket, wrapping her fingers around the yellow memory stone Joshua had entrusted to her. A tool to replace a toy. When the Goddess’s victory was assured, the acolyte who’d tuned it would be overjoyed to learn how much good he’d heralded into the world. For the acolyte, for the Messenger, for her mother’s soul, Violet would make the stone count.
At first, Violet mistook the insistent pounding on her door for the wind rattling the shutters. The horrid weather was unusual for this time of year, and Violet’s initial suspicions of the Dark God’s presence behind the change were growing more and more vivid. First Wil, now a brewing storm out of season—something dark was trying to keep Violet from the temple.
Then her brother’s voice penetrated the walls. “Vi? Vi, are you all right?”
More banging. “Princess Violet, it’s Luca.” The guardsman’s voice that had once quickened Violet’s heart now sounded flat to her ears. “Is all well?”
Violet turned her back to the noise. Joshua and Zalia had warned her to expect the Dark God to interfere. They’d prepared her for this trial as much as they could, and Violet had prepared herself as well, keeping a vigil throughout the night. Her vision was clear now. There was evil in the world, and that was of the Dark God. All that was good was of the Goddess. The Messenger was the embodiment of the Goddess’s teachings. If Violet followed the Messenger, the Dark God would be defeated. If Violet counterbalanced her mother’s sins, they would reunite in the Goddess’s embrace.
“Vi!” Wil called again, shaking the door. “I’m coming in.”
Violet threw the first handful of toys into the hungry flames and picked up more. Cathy, a doll she’d slept with when she was small, stared at her with large painted eyes. Violet’s mother had made Cathy’s clothes by hand, down to the tiny shoes with yellow flowers. Then they’d started stitching little plush animals together.
Thuds echoed through the room as someone struggled to break down her door. Violet’s chest tightened as she realized how the Dark God was blinding her brother to the Goddess’s truth.
The doorframe collapsed with a crash, admitting Wil and Luca. Both men panted and stared wide-eyed at what remained of Violet’s suite.
“What are you doing, Violet?” Wil asked. “Where are the servants?”
Violet sighed. “I sent them away.”
“Are you insane?” Wil demanded, while Luca used a bucket of water to douse Violet’s flames to a hissing wetness. “You could have burned down the whole palace wing.”
A smile touched Violet’s lips. She would not have burned down the palace, but explaining the Goddess’s influence to Wil would take more time than she could spare. One day he’d understand and feel foolish for his worry, but for now . . .
“The Goddess has plans for me, William.” Violet squared her shoulders and faced the brother in whose shadow she’d once lived. “And I’ve heard her call. If you listen, really listen, you will hear it too.”
“Stars, Violet,” Wil whispered, staring at her. “When did you last sleep? Or eat? You look like—”
Violet stepped away from him.
Wil held up his palms. There was something different about him now, as if he’d grown more in the past week than he had in years. His voice was a gentle caress when he spoke again. “That’s Cathy, isn’t it?” he said. “I remember you sitting beside Mother for hours, making her dresses and hats. I was so jealous of how happy Mother was, sewing and singing with you.”
Violet’s hands tightened on the doll. The Dark God cackled.
With a will to rival a mighty army, Violet shoved the darkness away and threw Cathy into the remaining blossom of flame that the Goddess had protected. “You may take anything you wish from my room, William,” she told her brother before turning to Luca, surprised to find the enchantment that had once surrounded him gone, revealing a bewildered guard. “Arrange an escort for me to the Temple of Dansil. Now.”
Wil blocked what was left of the door. “No.”
Violet sighed, but Zalia and Joshua had predicted this very moment and prepared her for it. They’d practiced the words together until Violet could say them without effort or thought. “I claim the protection of the Goddess, as is the right of any woman,” she said formally, confidently. “To stand in my way is to raise a sword against the Order. Let. Me. Through.”
The temple courtyard was predictably empty when Violet arrived. Shedding her oilskins and the few belongings she’d brought in the foyer, Violet descended the stairs and strode to the Revelations Room, only to stop in the doorway, staring in bewilderment at the chaos of Children rushing about and huddling in small groups, each talking urgently.
“The weather kept them . . .”
“. . . coming in now.”
“Well, wake them up. We need all hands!”
“Violet?” Brother Joshua, busy issuing orders to a trio of unfamiliar boys, was the first to notice Violet’s appearance. Dasha, Zalia, and many of the others Violet knew were nowhere in sight. “An unexpected surprise,” Joshua said with a frown.
A wave of uncertainty twisted Violet’s heart. “Am I not welcome today?” she asked, retreating a step. When Zalia had presented her with a copy of the Revelations Room key last week, she’d assumed no further invitation was needed.
Joshua’s face softened. “Of course you are welcome, Violet. Just unexpected.”
“Do you wish me to leave?” Violet asked.
Her face must have betrayed her fear, because Joshua strode to her, taking both her hands in his. “Only if you don’t wish to stay,” he said, looking into her eyes. “It will be hard work today. A soldier’s work. Do you think you are ready?”
She nodded quickly. It hurt that he doubted her to begin with, but perhaps this was a test the Goddess was laying before her.
“Very well.” Joshua squeezed her hands. “You will work with Zalia and Dasha in Intake Three. We’ve more patients than teams today, and an extra set of hands will be welcome. Vas will take you.”
At the sound of his name, a boy separated from one of the groups and motioned for Violet to follow. Vas was reed-thin, with blotchy red skin and a too-big nose that dominated his face. He chewed his thumbnail as he walked. “Have you been beyond the arch before?”
“I don’t even know what the arch is,” said Violet.
Vas pointed his chin forward, to where a yellow-orange light beckoned from the end of a descending passage. Walking closer, Violet gasped. An arch of living crystals, pulsating with brilliant colors, stood right in the Order’s own temple. A breeze kissed her cheek, the ribbons on her dress ruffling to point toward the arch like little flags. And . . . “Is that music?” she asked Vas, tilting her ear toward the arch.
Vas nodded. “Memory crystals. If they go out of tune, they start memorizing whatever pleases them, random bits of conversations included. It’s a pain to keep up, but tuning the arch is part of the treatment program for the acolytes—the patients on the mend.”
“How does it help them?” Violet asked, her heart singing with the majesty of the crystals.
“Tuning the arch provides a means for the acolytes to pay their tithe.” Vas nudged Violet into a walk. “The Goddess’s magic is meant for her Children, not for heretics. The more the acolytes contribute to the Messenger’s battle, the cleaner their souls become.”
Violet nodded. It made sense. Living crystals, like the memory crystal Joshua had entrusted her with, weren’t evil in and of themselves. The question was whether their magic was used in accordance with the Goddess’s will, or for selfish, personal gain.
Stopping beside a wooden door, Vas knocked a pattern on the frame. A moment later, Zalia stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind her. The girl looked grave, her hair tied back with a handkerchief the way a peasant might wear one. Violet’s heart quickened.
“Vas?” Zalia asked in confusion. “Why is Violet here?”
“Brother Joshua said to bring her to you,” Vas said. “With a hundred acolytes to intake, he said we could use the help.”
Zalia’s face melted and she took both of Violet’s hands in hers. “Of course. Hello, sister.”
Sister. Yes. A knot loosened in Violet’s chest as she squeezed Zalia’s hands in return. “What would you have me do?” she whispered.
“It’s difficult work, but if Brother Joshua thinks you are ready, then you must be,” Zalia said solemnly. “Today, the Holy Guard brought us one hundred gravely ill patients to cure—whisperers corrupted by the Dark God’s taint. Dansil’s rural temples are able to gather them, you see, but the temples lack the resources to treat them. So the poor souls have to be moved en masse here.” She sighed, rubbing her face. “We expected them yesterday and it’s a scramble down here.”
That knot in Violet’s chest tightened again. For all the talk of curing the whisperers, no one had truly explained to her how this was to be done. She opened her mouth to ask, but altered the question at the last moment. “Won’t our harboring whisperers upset the Goddess?”
“Not at all. We do this at the Messenger’s command, you see. The Goddess asked us to bring her wayward Children back into the fold. So long as we follow the Goddess’s will, she will not punish us.” Zalia’s hand gripped the door handle, her eyes on Violet. “Brace yourself, sister. The Dark God little likes surrendering his subjects, but we fight for the acolytes’ souls, as we must.”
The room was freezing. Stone walls, stone floors. A reek of pain and terror. A single chair bolted to the floor. And on that chair . . .
Violet’s breath caught, bile stinging her throat.
“Violet, this is Eris,” Zalia said, gesturing to a gagged boy who struggled like a trapped animal against the metal shackles cutting into his wrists. The whites of his frightened eyes shone in the green light of the living stones that illuminated the cell. What little he had of clothes were drenched in water, which dripped to the floor and escaped into a drain.
Dasha, who was also in the room, stepped aside.
Eris’s gaze found Violet’s, the plea in it so potent that her knees weakened.
“Eris has served the Dark God for sixteen years,” Zalia explained as Violet continued staring at the boy. “His family tried hiding him, but the Goddess found Eris and brought him here to be turned from a sinner into an acolyte. It is our duty to let Eris pay the tithe for his sins, so his soul will one day be welcomed by the Goddess and her light.”
Violet’s heart pounded. Eris was Wil’s age. He was terrified and shivering, his breath misting in the cold.
“You must be strong, Violet,” Zalia told her. “A soldier.”
Yes. A soldier. Violet swallowed. She was a soldier of the Goddess, and she was ready to stand her first trial.
Stepping forward, Dasha squatted in front of Eris, her voice soothing. “You’ll be safe from the Dark God soon,” she told him, promising that there was nothing to fear, that the Dark God’s mark could be erased and the gates of the Goddess’s realm opened.
Eris shook his head violently.
Zalia sighed. “We try talking to them first, but it never works. Better to get them started on their tithe and speak again once the Dark God’s taint lightens. Fighting the infection is seldom comfortable, but the patient can hardly be expected to recover with corruption eating his flesh.”
That too made sense. Violet had heard much the same from medics and surgeons. “Show me?” she asked her sister.
Picking up a small living crystal with swirling tufts of orange magic, Zalia brought it within the boy’s reach. “This is a light crystal, Eris,” she said firmly. “Tune it, and we will add it to the arch—the Goddess’s shrine.”
Brilliant. They would use the Dark God’s own corruption to light the way for the Children of the Goddess. Courage creeping slowly through her, Violet found her voice and stepped beside her sister. “Each grain of aid you give the Goddess erases a bit of sin from your soul,” she explained to Eris. “It will all count in the coming battle.”
Instead of succumbing to reason, Eris snarled at her through the gag.
Violet flinched back from the hate flashing in the boy’s eyes. He wanted to hurt her, his gaze said. He would hurt her if not for the chains. The shock ricocheted against Violet’s bones, but instead of cowering, she stood up taller.
If Eris was yet unready to see the truth, it fell upon Violet and her sisters to set him on the righteous path.
“Tell me what to do,” she asked Zalia.
The girl handed Violet a bucket of water.
Nodding with understanding, Violet gripped the bucket tightly. It was heavy and cold, but that was all right. Eris needed redemption. And since he was not yet ready for reason and kindness, a simpler motive would do for now. It would all still count in his soul’s favor at the end.
Saying a quick prayer, Violet looked Eris in the eye as she doused him with the ice-cold liquid. “Tune the crystal, and I shall get you a blanket,” she said. “Otherwise . . .” Violet lifted the bucket to show that there was more water still inside.
25
Kali
“Kal. Kal!” The voice calling my name beats against me, demanding to be heard. There is a faint smell of lavender and blood. “Open your eyes.”
I do no such thing. Something very bad waits there. A distant part of my mind, one wrapped in dreamlike cotton, informs me that I should feel something about the voice’s appearance. That the voice belongs somewhere else. Not here with me. Wherever it is I am.
The voice curses.
My eyes slide open, just barely, but enough to see fading wisps of daylight reflect off silver hair. I try to focus on it, but the world it’s attached to swims away in a dizzying sea. The ground beneath me sways and I fall back into its abyss.
The next time I wake, it is to fires of scorching agony. I scream until my breath ends and darkness returns.
Water. Drops swatting like flies at my face. I try to pull away from the assault and can’t. Can’t move at all. My breath quickens, heart beating in concert with the pattering rain. My eyes fly open and I stare at green lit rock. I fill my lungs and—
A hand clamps over my mouth, silver hair flashing before my eyes again. “Stay quiet and still. Understand?” Trace. Of course it would be Trace here. Because whatever happened, it wasn’t bad enough on its own.
He keeps his hand tight over my mouth until I nod.
Releasing me, Trace returns to his task of layering branches atop each other to cover the entrance to what must be a cave that we are in. “Several wild boars trampled by an hour ago,” he says over his shoulder. “I little wish to attract their attention just now.”
The air hangs thick with earthy dampness and a green crystal provides faint but serviceable light. The pouring rain outside drums a rolling beat, but finds its way inside less and less with each branch Trace adds to his barricade. I’m lying flat on my back, the ground beneath me soft dirt covered with a blanket that scratches my bare skin. I’m not wearing anything save for undershorts and my chest wrap—now loosened—though there is something heavy atop me that smells of maleness and leather. A coat, I think. Or a cloak. I can’t lift my head to see.
I pull at the straws of memory to get my bearings. I was tracking Viva. I found whisperers being held prisoner. And then . . . A wall of obsidian slams through my mind, ordering my thoughts to go elsewhere. To never, ever come back to what happened then.
Trace places the last of the branches against the cave entrance, blocking water and moonlight both, and strides to my side. Even in the odd light, the dark circles of fatigue are stark beneath his eyes.
“How did you find me?” My mouth is dry, the words raspy.
He holds up a red living stone and the pouch I left in the fir tree. “Leaf gave me her half of the love stone and I followed it. I told Luca my suspicions that you were off doing something stupid—he thinks I’m tracking you down in more civilized parts, but he’ll cover for my absence well enough. You are fortunate your captors didn’t find the satchel you stashed.”
My captors. I swallow. No, they hadn’t wanted my things. They’d . . . My memory flashes, my heart quickening its beat. With an effort that feels like it could crush boulders, I lift my wrist to grab at something, anything. My fingers close around cloth—Trace’s pant leg. He squats down beside me and touches my shoulder, sending a wave of fire through my muscles. What is it? his eyes ask.
“Viva Sylthia,” I whisper desperately. “That’s who caught me. They were moving whisperers, a hundred of them. I think they work for Bahir. Said something about the Messenger’s schedule and at least one of them was a holy guardsman. Like Samuels. The roses . . . They were expecting prisoners, remember? Stars.” My breath shakes as I speak. “I don’t understand how or why, but Viva Sylthia is in Bahir’s employ. Do you hear me? Tell me you hear me.”
“Easy.” Trace’s hand brushes my shoulder again. “I hear you.”
I let out a breath.
Trace studies me, his brows knitting together. “Is that why you left Delta? You wanted to rescue a hundred whisperers from Viva Sylthia’s clutches by yourself?”
I try to shake my head but it’s too heavy to move. “I was searching for Viva agents. I didn’t know Viva was trafficking whisperers. Only realized it . . . only put it together at the end.”
Trace’s eyes flash. “You left the palace alone to seek out terror mongers who’d already tried to kill you once?” His voice rises, nostrils flaring more with each word. “What did you bloody think was going to happen? Did you bloody think at all? You said you work for Firehorn—pray explain how your being dead would help the king.”
Considering the state I’m in, Trace’s scolding has little of its intended effect. I open my mouth to tell him so, but it’s difficult enough to speak without wasting breath. “They didn’t kill me.” I meant it as a question, but it comes out a statement, defiant.
