Sacrifice (Catalyst Moon #5), page 2
“Thank you,” she managed.
“We burned his body,” Cobalt added, softer. “Along with all the other mages and sentinels slain that night. They were all seen to their next lives.”
This was a greater comfort than she’d dared to hope for. When she could speak without breaking, she glanced his way again. “What news do you have of Whitewater City?”
He was silent. “It’s gone.”
All sounds merged in Tal’s ears to a shrill whistle of dread. Her questions wouldn’t come to her tongue.
But Cobalt pressed on resolutely, as was his way. “After the High Commander ordered all the mages killed, we were desperate for healers and such. But none came. The thrall attacks moved closer to the city each day. The army came at last, but the queen’s soldiers were useless against the thralls. More fell to the monsters than killed them, and the White River ran red for days. Meanwhile, I kept pleading with Argent for replacement mages and recruited new sentinels. I even went to the priests at the One god’s temple and begged Serla Vellis for aid. He said, ‘soon.’ But thralls appeared each day among the city folks and soldiers alike, with no rhyme or reason that I could discern.”
“They can be cured,” Tal said, even though the twisted feeling in her guts told her how his story would play out.
Cobalt nodded. “By mages, or so I’ve come to understand. Mica—my other new captain—informed me of this. But we had no mages.”
She didn’t want to know. She had to know. “What did you do?”
Although his next words were soft, they fell like hailstones on her heart. “The city magistrates fled first, then the higher tiers. They clogged the river with their boats, and took no additional passengers, no matter how much I threatened or begged. When I realized no help would come from anywhere else, I turned my energy toward rescuing the remaining dregs. Some Circle folk stayed behind, too, thank the One. We spent a fortnight helping folks escape the city but couldn’t provide protection once they left. I pray to the gods that those souls have not yet journeyed to their next lives.” He reached beneath his helmet to rub the bridge of his nose; she caught a glimpse of a new scar crossing his old one. “My squad and I left three days ago to meet the Stonehaven sentinels here, at the High Commander’s request.”
“What will you do once you escort us to Lasath?” Tal asked.
His gaze crept to the sentinels gathered around the fire, not moving or speaking but for only the most rudimentary reasons. “The High Commander has requested that all former Whitewater sentinels report to the Silverwood garrison, to supplement his people’s numbers.”
“After he left Whitewater City to just…fend for itself?” Tal could not keep astonishment from her voice.
“There’s no one left to defend,” he snapped.
They stared at each other as his words sank into Tal’s mind and dragged at her spirit. Whitewater City…lost to thralls. Her head was light, her throat burned. She’d spent years defending the city and its people, yet Argent and the queen had abandoned them all. Her father had died there.
At last she managed to pull herself together enough to ask, “You’ll also be joining Argent in Lasath?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
She drew herself up, calling upon her old vigor before another coughing fit took over. “I’m not. But I encourage you to act in your own best interest. You don’t deserve to die in this fight.”
Cobalt looked at her; perhaps for the first time truly seeing her. “Your encouragement is noted,” he said coldly, though his voice softened in the next instant. “And appreciated. I have made…arrangements.”
“You’re leaving the sentinels?”
“The only constant is change,” he replied. “Was Mage Halcyon serious about your Stonehaven escorts being thralls?”
Tal blinked at the sudden shift in topic. “She was. I saw their eyes glowing back at the hematite mine, but they did not act like any thralls I’ve encountered. They moved easily, effortlessly, without the clumsy fury that I’ve seen in other thralls. And these seemed to be after her. But they’ve shown no trace of possession since our journey began.”
“You’re certain?”
Tal only looked at him, and she couldn’t suppress a flare of pleasure when his neck flushed. “Strange, indeed,” he said, and his voice was flat and empty. “Well, I’ll be sure this is reported to Argent once we reach the capital. Not much else I can do about it now. Not much anyone will do, I suppose.” He paused. “You were at the mine when the renegade mages attacked?”
“Aye.”
“How bad is it, really? Lieutenant Cera said the place was leveled, but surely that’s an exaggeration.”
Tal gripped her rations, her appetite gone. “Whatever stories you heard, the truth is worse. The mines are flooded. The dam beneath them was released, and the whole place is a lake.”
“Sodding mages,” he muttered, his fist clenching.
He said nothing else, not even to press her for more information. Those under his command probably already wondered at his informality with their prisoner, and if he was truly planning on leaving, he needed to keep his head down for now.
Movement from the forest made both Tal and Cobalt look up, where Gray and another sentinel led Kalinda to the fire. But the mage stopped in her tracks, eyes wide and fixed on some point beyond Talon and Cobalt. Turning, Tal spotted the Whitewater sentinels’ mounts, tethered together within reach of the fire’s warm glow. Gray urged Kalinda on, but the mage shook out of the sentinel’s grip and, to everyone’s surprise, limped past the fire to the horses. She threw herself against the neck of a pretty, dappled-gray mare, who snorted in surprise but then nuzzled the mage’s back. Kalinda wept again, her sobs muffled in the mare’s coat.
Gray was soon at the mage’s side, reaching for her arm. “Come on, Mage,” the newly-made captain muttered. “None of your tricks, now, else I’ll–”
“You’ll what?” Kalinda broke in, whirling to face Gray. “Chain me up? Lock me away?” She rattled the cuffs at her bound hands. “Slit my throat? Better warriors than you have tried and failed, Gray. You want to kill me?” She lifted her chin, dark eyes burning with fury. “Do it, or leave me be.”
Gray glanced at Cobalt, who stepped forward. “Mage Halcyon, this doesn’t have to be difficult. We’re just doing our jobs. If you’ll only cooperate–”
“Doing your jobs?” Kalinda interrupted, more tears shining on her red, blotchy face. Her gaze turned from Cobalt to Tal, and fell upon the former commander like so many arrows. “All we wanted was to be together. Why was that so wrong? Why was that so terrible?”
She broke off and collapsed to the cold ground at the mare’s feet, shaking with the force of her sobs. Gray muttered a swear and strode to the young mage, jerking her upright and shoving her back to the carriage. Kalinda offered no resistance this time. The carriage door slammed shut; the clang of the lock resonated in the night.
Cobalt glanced at Tal, a brow raised in inquiry. Tal quietly related the events of the Stonehaven mines as best she could recall, though she did not speak of Kam’s death. Kalinda and Tal were both orphans now. Tal did not know what to think of that.
“Stonewall’s gone to his next life,” Cobalt said when Tal had finished. “A shame, that. He was kind of a dolt, but a decent fellow, overall. Not bad with a sword.” He sighed. “Seems unfair, but then, the One has a plan for us all.”
Once, those words would have given Tal a sense of comfort, but now they stuck in her throat like old bread. “Perhaps,” she said. “You won’t make her sleep in the carriage, will you? It’s too cold away from the fire.”
“Halcyon is too dangerous to be allowed outside for long.” He shot Tal a knowing look. “You both are.”
“I’m no mage,” she said.
“No,” he said, ushering her back to the mage-carriage. “But you are Forsworn, and despite everything else, I still have a duty. I think you understand.”
She did.
TWO
A warm breeze swept into the kitchen, rifling Elan’s tunic and pants. The salty scent of the sea mingled with the yeasty smell of the dough beneath his hands. He pressed his palms into the dough, working it harder atop the floured table. The dough was almost as smooth as the cool stone tiles beneath his bare feet. He eyed the linen-lined basket, then glanced around the kitchen, considering the best spot for the dough to rise. It was warmer today than yesterday. Perhaps he could leave the basket covered on the counter instead of next to the clay oven outside.
Beyond his kitchen window, gull cries merged into shouts of merchants and traders, a scree that would have set any non-native on edge. But to Elan, born and bred in the city of Pillau, the sounds were part of home.
Satisfied that the dough would rise properly, he eased it into the basket and left it covered, next to the jar of dark brown sugar. He considered sneaking a taste of sugar but thought better of it; Father had asked him—many times—to wait until the sweetrolls were baked before sampling the ingredients. Elan chuckled as he swept a damp rag over the table, then went to rinse his hands.
But as he pumped water into the bucket in the sink, the patter streaming down was muted, as if he had wax in his ears. Frowning, Elan paused and listened for the gulls and merchants, but they, too, were muted. Stranger still, he could barely make out the faint crash of surf he could always hear from his father’s house, a mere quarter mile from the ocean.
Elan rubbed at his ears. Had some water been trapped there from his morning swim? He yawned, trying to get his ears to pop, and sure enough, after a few moments, he could hear the sounds of home once more.
But something was still…off.
Now that his attention had diverted from the dough, Elan noticed the feeling of off even more. It was akin to stepping onto solid ground after having been at sea all day; the world seemed to sway beneath his feet. Dizziness overtook him and he gripped the worn wooden table for support as he struggled to find his bearings. A few deep breaths brought him back to himself, but for how long? He wasn’t sick, as far as he knew, and he wasn’t hungry. Was something else amiss? He glanced outside, gauging the time by how the sunlight fell across the flagstones of their balcony. His father would not be home for several hours, so Elan decided to take a walk to help clear his head.
Within moments he reached the base of the close, cool stairwell winding through the center of their house like the inside of a spiraled shell. After a stop to replace his shoes—he never wore them inside, but Pillau’s streets were cruel to bare feet—Elan was out the door and into the city proper. As always, he braced himself for the cacophony, like taking a deep breath before a plunge into cold water. But as he walked through the avenue, nodding to the shopkeepers and other locals he passed, Elan noted that muted feeling again: as if someone had stuffed cotton inside his head. The brilliant lapis blue found on nearly every building seemed dull gray. But not just the buildings looked odd; a strange patina covered the Blue City, as if color were bleeding out of the world. Elan frowned. Had he eaten something spoiled? But he didn’t feel unwell. It was the world that was wrong. He quickened his steps.
Not soon enough, Elan reached the edge of Pillau, and faced the Sea of Asherat. The sky stung his eyes with pure, cloudless blue as the ocean lapped gently at the shore, turquoise rippling as far as Elan could see. As always, he scanned the horizon, searching for…something. Another land, perhaps, although as far as anyone knew, only untamed seas waited beyond the horizon.
The ocean was at low tide now, the beach stretched wide and long before Pillau’s mighty seawall, but Elan had seen the surf pounding over the wall and into the streets during many a summer storm.
He slipped down one of the breaks in the wall: a slim staircase that allowed access for fisherfolk and anyone else who wanted to visit the shoreline. Pillau’s main harbor was several miles away, cupped in a sheltering inlet nearer the city’s heart. The day was too new for the fisherfolk to have returned from their excursions and too hot for sensible people to leave the shelter of their cool dwellings, so Elan had the beach to himself.
Shoes in hand, he meandered, pausing only to scuff his toes in the fine, sugar-soft sand or examine a shell or twisted piece of driftwood the waves had washed up. The lacy runnels of seawater that raced for his feet were warm and welcoming, though the ocean could be brutal. The mighty seawall was proof of that.
Elan glanced over his shoulder at the wall, bleached white by sun and salt. From his vantage point, the stone wall loomed above his head, standing sentinel between the ocean and those who dared to live so close. Although Elan had seen the wall many times, today something about it tugged at the edge of his mind, like a few words of a song whose name he could not recall. Frowning, he continued his trek. Solitude suited his mood, so he decided to ease away from the city and toward the wilder countryside, where no one could do more with the thick jungle than gather its various fruits and flowers. The journey would take him the better part of the afternoon, but the dough needed a long rise, and he had the time to spare.
As Elan followed the beach, a strange, sweet scent came to him amid the salty smell of the sea. He tried to place it, for this particular sweetness was as familiar to him as the seawall, but somehow still foreign. When he searched for the source, he found a handful of scraggly vines clinging to the end of the seawall, where it tapered off into the jungle. Elan studied the vines: spade-shaped leaves and yellow flowers. He could not identify them, but that scent! He knew it, somehow. He plucked some of the blossoms and tucked them into his pocket. Perhaps his father would know.
The sun had shifted, casting a dancing light upon the rippling ocean, so Elan settled onto the sand to watch the water. He considered going for a swim, then decided only to roll up his pants and let the waves brush his toes while he studied the little yellow blossoms again. Gods above, he knew this flower, but could not recall the name! J-something. Jas…Jes…
“Jessamin,” he said aloud, and sighed in relief. Jessamin, that was the name, and he was foolish for having forgotten. He tossed one blossom into the sea and tucked the others back into his pocket, though he could not have said why, then leaned forward, studying the waves while he idly traced patterns in the sand.
When Elan looked down, he stared at the letters he’d formed: KALI
“Kali,” he said, shaping the syllables slowly, carefully, searching for meaning. The spoken word resonated within him like a clap of thunder. The longer he looked, the longer he let the sound of the name—and it was a name, one he knew well—rest in his mind, and the more his memories returned.
Dark eyes, full of merriment, meeting his own, sending his heart soaring into the ether.
The kiss of her warm breath against his lips as they shared whispered secrets, the salt taste of her sweat mingling with his, and the scent of sex.
Love blooming from his heart through his entire body, pouring into the bright gold thread that bound his heart to hers.
Peace forgotten, heart pounding, he rose and raced along the shoreline, back home – back to his father. As he went, he stared at the seawall, painted gold by the sun that drifted to the horizon, and remembered.
Stonewall.
* * *
Stonewall burst into the kitchen and found his father sitting at the counter, peeling a mango between sips from his mug of tea. At his son’s entrance, he gestured to the covered basket.
“Where have you been? That was ready to bake an hour ago.”
“Sod the baking.” Stonewall strode around to look his father in the eye. “Where is she? What have you done with her? What have you done to me?”
Vivid gold eyes, a brighter version of Stonewall’s own light brown, met his. “This, again?” The older man sighed. “I hoped last time would be the end of it. I really am losing my touch.”
“What are you talking about?”
His father nudged the basket. “The oven’s ready. Roll those up and we’ll talk, after.”
“We’ll talk now,” Stonewall replied, but he turned out the dough onto the floured table, which his father had prepared. “Where is Kali?”
At first, silence was his only answer, then his father rubbed his forehead, a look of pain crossing his familiar features. Stonewall went to him, but his father waved away his concern. “I tire easily, these days.” A wan smile crossed the older man’s face. “I’m too old.”
Stonewall returned to the dough and picked up the rolling pin his father had set out. “Kali.”
His father studied the mug of tea in his hand without seeming to see it. “She is out of your reach, now and for the rest of your days.”
Stonewall’s heart plummeted to his feet and he braced himself on the table’s edge, sweetrolls forgotten. “She’s dead.”
“I cannot say,” his father said after a moment. “But it doesn’t matter. Wherever she is, you cannot reach her from here.”
But Stonewall was already shaking his head. “We have some money. I can get a horse, or hire on with a traveling merchant. I can find her…” He struggled to recall. “Stonehaven. That’s where I saw her last. The hematite mine. I can go back. I can–”
Then his father was at his side, one hand on his cheek, bright gold eyes fixed on his own. “You are where you need to be, my son. Elan, you are safe. We are together and you are home. There is no need to fret.”
As he spoke, the memories that had resurfaced at the beach began to fade, and Elan’s anxiety slipped away like the tide. But no! No, he could not forget Kali, not again. He could not forget himself. He ducked away from his father’s touch. “What are you doing? What…” He stared at the man who resembled him so closely: average height, brown skin, dark hair cropped short. Aside from more gray in his hair, there was something strange about his father, something…distant and wild that Stonewall could not place.
