Sacrifice (Catalyst Moon #5), page 13
She tried not to think too hard about the sentinels who had died for lack of hematite, when there seemed to be more than enough in the capital city.
As they waited for one of the sentinels who had been at the gate to fetch High Commander Argent, Natanaree shot Tal a look she couldn’t read. “You seem nervous. Do you think your former commander will disobey me?”
“You’re a high-ranking Circle official,” Tal replied. “All sentinels are under orders to obey your every command.” She sighed. “But Argent makes his own rules.”
“Only one of the Pillars can question a Cipher’s authority,” the priestess replied. “At least where sentinels are concerned.”
“Sentinels, maybe. But not mages.”
The Cipher’s hand tightened around the sealed parchment in her grip. “Argent will comply. At least for now. And now is all we need.”
Tal’s stomach flipped at the thought of confronting Argent again, but she kept her voice neutral. “I hope you’re right, serla.”
The Cipher did not reply, as the bastion gates swung open, revealing the gate-guard who had first met them, along with several sentinel squads. What dim light managed to reach down here could not catch on the hematite in any of the sentinels’ gear, so each figure looked dull and gray as stone itself. Tal silently thanked the One god that their helmets obscured their faces, for she had no wish to recognize anyone who might have known her in her old life.
Another sentinel squad stepped out of the shadowed garrison and came after their brethren, their silver-plated armor shining bright among the others’ lackluster kits. Argent followed, towering over everyone.
“Tor aid us,” Cipher Natanaree murmured, then stepped forward to meet them. Tal followed.
“Cipher Natanaree, I believe?” Argent asked, his voice like supple leather. “We’ve met informally a few times.” He bowed low. “The One God smiles at me today, by bringing you to us. Have you come to return my prisoner?”
Tal stared at him, too full of rage to speak, but the priestess’s voice was cool. “There is a mage in your dungeon – Kalinda Halcyon. I command you to release her into my custody at once.”
She withdrew a rolled-up piece of parchment and offered it to Argent, who accepted, broke the Cipher’s seal, and skimmed the message. He smiled at the priestess. “A formal writ! This is serious, indeed. May I ask why you–”
“You may not,” the Cipher broke in, “and we cannot wait. If you wish to discuss the matter with me, you may schedule a time to do so. Now, who among your people can escort us to the mage?”
“You overstep your bounds, serla,” Argent replied, still calm, still polite. His gaze fell upon Tal. “And you cannot hope to remand a Forsworn sentinel and a mage into your custody without repercussions.”
Some of the sentinels shifted, hands going for their weapons. Tal clenched her jaw. This could end in bloodshed – but it didn’t have to.
“This situation transcends protocol,” Tal said. “People are dying. Kalinda can stop them. Nothing else matters.”
“I don’t know what you’re doing here, Talon,” Argent said in that glass-smooth voice. “But you know better than anyone what happens when upstarts forget their place.”
Heat flowed through Tal’s veins, as if she’d just downed three vials of hematite, and she leveled the full force of her gaze at her former commanding officer. “With respect, ser,” she forced out the honorific, “the thrall crisis is more important than our history.”
The words rang hollow in her ears. She was one warrior against at least two dozen sentinels. Surely Argent would order them to strike her down. But would he kill the high-ranking Circle priestess, too?
Cipher Natanaree’s voice was like stone. “The One God has willed this, High Commander. Stand down, and let us fetch the mage.”
Argent seemed to debate, and then stepped aside, allowing them entry. But as the Cipher passed by, he held Tal’s gaze. “This will not end well for you.”
“I never thought it would.” Tal gestured to the bastion gates. “Will you guide us, or shall we find our own way?”
* * *
Bootsteps echoed outside Kali’s cell, but she didn’t move from her place leaning against the wall. Was it time for supper or breakfast? She had no sense of time anymore, other than wishing each moment was her last. The sound of boots drew closer, and her heartbeat quickened. Had the sentinels finally come to execute her?
The boots stopped at her cell door. Fumbling keys jangled, the sound barely discernible, and someone muttered as they shoved the key into the lock. The cell door creaked open and Kali shrank against the wall, her head light from her fleeing pulse. So it was time for her to cross the river at last.
“Kalinda?”
Kali gaped at the familiar-but-impossible voice. “Talon?”
The former sentinel commander slipped into her cell while someone else held up a lantern by the doorway. Talon wore no armor, but had a sword strapped to her waist. She knelt an arm’s length away, her gaze sweeping over Kali with the cold consideration she’d always shown.
“You’re being released into the custody of Cipher Natanaree,” Talon said. “Are you injured?”
“I…no,” Kali stammered. “But…what’s going on? I don’t…” She trailed off, unable to form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence.
Talon, here. Talon: her captor, her enemy, her rescuer.
The very last person in the world who should care about her held out a gloved hand, but Kali only stared at the rough leather. The former commander frowned. “We must leave right away. Shall I carry you?”
This, at least, sparked a response. “I’d rather crawl,” Kali said, and tried to stand. But her legs shook, and her knee gave way before she was fully upright. Only Talon’s grasp stopped her from hitting the stone floor. Kali wrenched her arm free of the former sentinel and worked to ignore the tingling in her limbs from standing after being seated for so long.
“Is she hurt?” the figure from the doorway asked. The Cipher from Whitewater! Never was Kali so glad to see a Circle priestess.
“No more than normal,” Kali said.
“Her knee has troubled her in the past, but it’s an old wound, I believe,” said Talon. She gestured to the doorway. “We shouldn’t tarry. The sentinels have allowed us passage, but I don’t want to push our luck.”
But Kali stood frozen, staring at Talon. “How did the Cipher know I was here?”
“Ser Hammon went to inform Her Majesty,” the priestess replied. “But I intercepted her.”
Kali looked at Talon, who nodded. “We can discuss this later. We must leave.”
“You…went to the palace,” Kali said slowly, for she wasn’t convinced this was not a dream. “To save me. Why? Why didn’t you leave when you had the chance? You could be on your way to Zheem by now.”
Talon looked at Kali as if she’d suddenly grown a pair of antlers before her mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I couldn’t in good conscience allow you to miss tea with the Pillars.”
Despite herself, Kali laughed even as her mind reeled. Talon gestured to the doorway again. This time, Kali limped forward, free.
TWELVE
It was some facsimile of morning when Wild Eyes returned to Stonewall. A gentle knock sounded at the door. Stonewall, who had been pacing through the false kitchen, called, “Come in.”
And she was beside him. Stonewall swore and started back, scowling at her. “Don’t do that!”
She inclined her head, once more looking at him as though he were an utter mystery. “Is it not human custom to knock before entering?”
“Never mind.” He resumed his pacing, which he’d done all last night after speaking with Tor. Though, it wasn’t truly night here, was it? Nothing in the Shadowlands was real – at least, not what he considered to be real. At one point he’d tried to sleep in a hammock he’d stretched out over the front porch, but had only succeeded in annoying himself more and more as he lay awake without a hint of tiredness. He didn’t sweat, so he’d not needed to bathe, and he’d not so much as needed to look at a chamber pot since arriving here. On more than one occasion, he’d examined his torso and limbs, searching for his familiar scars. All gone.
Stonewall had grown so used to measuring time by how his body functioned, that not having markers like being tired or hungry made him a shadow of himself. If there was no urge to sate, there was no satisfaction at doing so.
But he was not without physical sensations. Fear still coiled in his belly and sent ice through his veins. Worry drummed against his heart. As best he could figure, feelings wrought by emotions seemed to make an impact on his body, while those connected to physical needs held no sway over him any longer.
Wild Eyes watched him, a tendril of inquiry reaching for his distracted mind. “Have you spoken to your father?”
Stonewall forced himself to meet her star-bright eyes. Was it a trick of his mind, or were they dimmer than he recalled? “I will help you,” he said slowly, answering her unasked question. “After you prove that it’s even possible for me to return to my world – fully. Not as some thrall, but as myself: a being of flesh and blood. My flesh and blood.”
“Your terms are accepted. But to prove anything to you, we must travel elsewhere.”
Stonewall looked around the little kitchen. “What’s wrong with here? This is the Shadowlands, isn’t it?”
“The one you call Tor protects this area,” Wild Eyes replied. “We are only able to reveal ourselves to you. To do more than simply appear before you requires us to travel outside of Tor’s sphere of influence. It is why we…” She seemed to catch herself again. “Why I appear human, here.”
So he was under his father’s protection. What would happen when he left? Stonewall hesitated now, recalling Tor’s angry words about the other Fata – Wild Eyes included, no doubt. Perhaps this was all some ploy to get him out of Tor’s reach. He thought she was earnest, but perhaps she excelled at subterfuge. If what Tor had said was true, deceit was the Fata’s specialty, after all.
But none of that mattered, not really, because if there was even a faint thread of hope that Stonewall could return to Kali and the world he loved, he would seize it. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain.
“Whatever,” he said. “Let’s just move out.”
Like a shadow over sand, she slipped from the kitchen and down the stairwell that led to the street, Stonewall on her heels. The Fata’s movements were fluid and he found himself mimicking her as best he could. She moved through the crowded streets as a breeze through tall grasses. Stonewall was not so lucky: he caught some shoulders and received more than a few swears, but he hardly noticed. Each inhale brought sea and salt and the odor of too many bodies pressed together, and he would have retched if not for the empty feeling in his heart. Nothing here mattered. No wonder the Fata wanted to leave.
Tor’s words echoed in his mind: “This place is where we reside, but I will not call it living.”
When Wild Eyes slipped down the stairs between the seawall, Stonewall paused. “Where are you going?”
She gestured to the sea. “Water is the gateway.”
“That’s…not an answer. Besides, if everything here—including the ocean—is an illusion, how can your magic work?”
“This ocean dwells in two realms.”
By the One, if his hair had been growing, he would have started ripping it out. “Still not an answer.”
“I promise, you will understand soon enough.”
“Not sodding likely,” he muttered, but continued with the Fata.
She led him onto the broad stretch of sugar-sand, glowing gold in the dawn light. Now that he knew that nothing here was real, he could see artifice everywhere. Garish pink and purple slashes marred the pale blue sky and when he removed his shoes for better footing, the sand was too soft, too smooth. The seawall stood too straight and was the real one so tall?
Wild Eyes paused at the lapping waves. The tide was coming in; the beach shrank with each moment. The Fata stood with her ankles in the water, eyes closed, chin raised. Stonewall stood beside her, debating how long he should be silent before he asked what in the blazing void she was doing.
As his mouth opened, she grabbed his hand. Her fingers were cool and her grip was strong, and he tried to tug free out of sheer instinct. Until he heard her voice in his mind, Be easy, Stonewall Starborn. I mean you no harm.
The world faded again. The sky darkened, the sea turned to ink, and the seawall disappeared. Now, Stonewall and Wild Eyes stood in the Shadowlands’ true form: the endless black void all around, with hints of light on the horizon, where Stonewall supposed the river was. The sight made his head spin and his stomach clench, but the feeling was less intense than before, and seemed to pass quicker, too. Was he truly growing accustomed to this place?
Movement out of the corner of his eye made him glance at Wild Eyes beside him. Her eyes still glowed, but no brighter in the darkness here than in the false home Tor had created.
Wild Eyes released his hand and apprehension trailed from her.
“What’s wrong?” Stonewall asked.
His tongue felt clumsy; the sound of his own voice grated. But she did not seem to mind, only looked toward the faint source of light. We are about to reveal our true form, she said in his mind, but we are uncertain of your reaction.
Stonewall gestured to the void. “Whatever you really look like can’t be any stranger than this.”
You may reconsider those words, was Wild Eyes’s reply, tinged with wry humor that made Stonewall chuckle. But his amusement died as his Fata companion changed. Her human body lengthened; arms, legs, neck all stretched until she towered over Stonewall. Even her slender fingers extended, the tips slim and pointed.
But most extraordinary of all was the pair of curving horns that twined gracefully about a foot above her forehead. Stonewall stared at the horns, struck by the sight he’d seen on every statue of Tor since he could remember.
It’s true, he thought, cold realization pouring over him. It’s really true. The Aredian gods were Fata. Every curse and prayer, every cairn and temple, every supplication, was a lie. His mind had recognized the truth of Tor’s words before, but now his heart understood.
Only when Wild Eyes was bent beside him did he realize that he’d fallen to his knees.
Her alarm touched him as surely as a hand upon his arm. You are ill?
“No,” he whispered. “Yes. I don’t know.” He covered his face, too overcome to look at her or the void around him. The knowledge was too much to contain. “I…need a minute.”
As if a minute or two of deep breaths would rectify his entire existence! But he could bring himself to say nothing more. Wild Eyes remained at his side. He could feel her attention divided between himself and something else, something he could not sense, though he didn’t really try to. Despite the whir of thoughts and feelings too vast to make sense of, his mind was blank. When he thought he could stand without vomiting, he blinked up at his Fata companion.
Twin stars, dimmer but still shining, burned back at him. You are still uneasy, she said.
Stonewall nodded. “That won’t change for some time. This is…” He gestured helplessly at her, at the Shadowlands. “This is a lot for me.”
Her reply was not without kindness. You do not belong here.
“Is any of it real?” he asked. “Our gods, the stories about them… Llyr, Nox, Atal, Ea, Amaranthea… Are they all Fata stories?”
Tension emanated from her at the mention of Amaranthea, and her reply was sharp. Their names were real, although they go by different ones now. As to the stories, the Elders created them to keep the starborn in their thrall.
He could barely think his next question, let alone speak it. “Is the One god false, too?”
The One god is ours, Wild Eyes replied after a beat. But your people took to Their worship readily enough.
A comfort, that, but it still sat heavy with the terrifying truths he’d learned, and they all pressed upon his chest. Stonewall couldn’t breathe – or wasn’t breathing to begin with. He gasped like a fish flopping in a net, wrapped his arms around his midsection, and tried to suck in air. Not real, not real, not real. It couldn’t be. It was. If only Tor had left him for dead. “Even if I can get back…” He could hardly get the words out. “What will I do with what I’ve learned here?”
That answer is yours alone, came her reply, gentler than before.
A sense of calm slipped over him, not strong enough to banish his anguish, but enough to allow him to stand fully, to think once more. When he was calmer, Wild Eyes gestured with a supple motion, and they began to walk toward the distant source of light. Stonewall watched the light until he grew dizzy again, then he looked at his feet lest the disorientation become too much to bear. Wild Eyes said nothing, though her growing apprehension swelled around them like a storm surge.
You will soon meet…others, she said.
Stonewall glanced up at the towering Fata beside him. “Others…like you?”
Yes. She seemed to deliberate. They will not look upon you as we have. They…despise your kind.
“I gathered as much when they started killing innocent people.”
Do not be deceived. She looked down at him, pressing a hand to where her heart would have been had she been human. I also took part in such actions. I thought it was the only way to stop the Elders. But I was wrong.
Stonewall swallowed thickly. “Can the Elders be killed?”
Her agitation spiked and her pace quickened. Their current bodies are old, she said. But their souls are more ancient than your kind can understand, Starborn. She gestured to the river of light. Our people can…share our souls, move them from one place to another…and sense each other. We know the Elders’ current human bodies are nearing the end of their usefulness. Soon they must transition to new ones. The transfer will weaken them further, at first, so we must strike at the right moment.
