Sacrifice (Catalyst Moon #5), page 26
Her head felt light and her breath short. Her legs itched to run away and when she stood, her movements were fluid and painless. Stonewall’s doing? “I want to end this chaos,” she said. “I thought that’s what you wanted, too.”
“Of course I do,” he shot back. “In fact, Wild Eyes and I have formed a truce. They won’t create more thralls if I…if I destroy the Elders – the Pillars.”
“So you’re the Fata’s personal assassin now? Stonewall, you’re meant for more than killing. Just like I’m more than a limping mage,” she added, softer. “You have a choice now, like I do, to be more than the world tells us we should be.”
The thread that bound them glowed again, brighter than it’d been in so long, and Kali dared to hope a little more.
“Is it truly a choice if you have no other option?” he asked.
“There are always options,” she replied. “Even if they’re terrible.”
“Perhaps.” His jaw worked as he considered. “But I see only one way forward for me. The Pillars—the Elders—are ultimately responsible for the thralls. The younger Fata are…fighting back, in their own way. If I can stop the Elders, Wild Eyes and the rest will have no reason to take their revenge any longer, and the thralls will stop for good.”
She frowned. “They spun a different tale when they turned me into a thrall. They hate us humans. I felt how much they hate us. I still have nightmares about it.”
He reached out as if to touch her but held himself back at the last second. “Kali, they were wrong to hurt you. But you don’t have the whole story. The younger Fata were angry, before, but not at humans. The Elders–”
Kali shook her head, cutting him off. “You told me all Fata can alter ‘mind and memory.’ Stars, they told me that. I sodding lived it. Truce or not, how can you believe anything they say?”
“How can you believe Baat?” His eyes flashed and for an instant the room grew heavy and electric; the silence right before a crack of thunder. “You think that Elder made this offer out of the goodness of his heart? Kali, he’s evil and he wants your magic. Your magic—the magic of all mages—is so closely tied to Hiraeth…it’s like a drug to them. They’ll say, they’ll do, anything to get hold of it – and you can take power, take magic, from other mages. That’s why the thralls were so…enamored of you.”
Sweet blood. Sweet magic. She shook the memories away and tried to speak calmly. “Fine. Then I’ll turn down Baat’s offer, help you return, and we’ll find a way to destroy all of them – the Elders, Wild Eyes, and all the rest. Then this nightmare will be over.”
He stood before her, but part of his spirit lingered far away. “I can’t do that, Kali. They’re…kindred.”
A cry of frustration clawed up her throat, but she held it back. “They’re still monsters.”
Starlight flickered in his eyes. “Am I a monster, too?”
Their bond stretched a little tighter. “No,” Kali whispered. “Never.”
The hard line of his mouth softened, but his voice was firm. “The younger Fata are not our true enemy. The Elders—the Pillars—are. The choice Baat offers isn’t real, but it is terrible. He will betray you.”
They were arguing in circles, with no end in sight. Why did it feel like they’d never stopped? Kali ran her hands through her hair, but her fingers brushed the braids Tal had put in again this morning, still intact and hardly the worse for wear. “I can handle Baat.”
But her voice sounded small and thin, diluted by doubt.
Indeed, Stonewall shook his head. “He’s too powerful.” He did not say, and you’re too weak.
“And you’re a match for him?” Kali asked. “Him and the other Pillars? And their guards, priests, and every other believer in Aredia? You can’t assassinate the holiest folks in the world and expect to walk away. How much more death will it take before the Fata’s bloodlust is sated?”
He looked away from her. The thread between their hearts stretched tighter, tighter. Surely it would snap soon. Suddenly the fire was too warm, but Kali didn’t have the strength to move away from the heat gnawing at the backs of her legs. What did it matter, anyway? Nothing here was real. Perhaps it had never been.
But the thread of connection was still there; she still loved him, despite his pigheadedness, despite her own. Kali held that love close to her heart and spoke as gently as she dared. “We can resolve this later. In the meantime, Tal and I are going to investigate the spring in Lasath. It might be a source for some of the Pillars’ power. If we could find a way to…I don’t know…dam it up, somehow, maybe we could weaken them. If nothing else, I’ll try to reach for you there.”
“Very well.” He crossed his arms and scowled the way he did when he was trying to be casual, despite his anger. “You really think Talon means you no harm?”
“Aye. Tal saved my life. I still haven’t forgiven her for stabbing Milo—I’m not sure I ever could—but I don’t think she’s evil.” Kali cast her eyes to the ceiling. “Although, I do hate her a little for the fact that I just said that.”
Stonewall stared into the flickering flames, which had not faltered once since they’d found themselves here. “So you’ll trust Tal, but not me.”
She gaped at him. “That’s one hell of a leap of logic.”
“You and I have the same goal, yet you don’t believe a word I’ve said. But when Talon shows you a hint of kindness, suddenly you’re the best of friends.”
Her own laughter startled her; the sound fell flatly against the conjured walls of the Jessamin. “You want to talk about trust, Stonewall? Fine. Let’s talk about how you have never trusted me from the moment we met.” He opened his mouth to argue but she barreled ahead. “You kept me bound and cuffed on our first journey, even though I can barely walk across a room, let alone an entire province. Then you,” she fought back her tears at the recollection, “broke my heart in Whitewater City on the idiotic pretense that Talon would punish me if she found out about us, which, by the way, still happened. I was still thrown in a cell, Stonewall, still treated worse than a criminal, just for loving you. Me being a thrall was just an excuse.”
Perhaps that part was unfair, for he seemed to fade into shadow with her every word. But the dam had broken and there was no stopping the flow of her fury. “And at the hematite mine in Stonehaven,” she went on, “you left my side when I needed you most. What have you taught me, Stonewall, but that you will always leave? You don’t trust me; how can you love me? Even now, I can feel your doubts about me, your fear of me.”
“I didn’t bring us here to fight,” he whispered as he began to disappear. “I just…I’ve missed you.”
“I missed you too,” she replied through her tears, although her next words reached only shadows. “But why bother coming back, if you’re just going to leave me again?”
* * *
Kali woke, weeping. She sat up, blinking at the open book before her, and pieces of parchment gently floated from her cheek to the desk. When she scrubbed her cheek, her fingers came away ink-stained. The lamp had not yet burned out. How long had she been asleep? She pushed back the chair and made to stand, but her knee grumbled and she collapsed, catching herself on the chair. She glanced around the room, half-thinking she should crawl into bed and try for real sleep, but her mind roared and she could no more have slept than turned herself into a sea-drake.
“Were you awake all night?”
She glanced up to see Tal standing in the doorway; long, bronze hair mussed, remnants of her bedclothes pressed into lines upon her cheek. Tal looked at the disheveled desk before giving Kali what was probably meant to be quite a stern glare…until she registered Kali’s tearstained face and blotchy nose.
“Bad dreams again?” Tal asked.
The rush of Kali’s anger abandoned her, leaving her empty. She could not sense the thread that bound her and Stonewall’s hearts, nor his fear or his doubt – or his love. She was alone.
“The spring,” she croaked, clutching at her translation so hard the parchment crinkled. “We must get to the spring in the city. We must contact Milo…”
But would Stonewall even want to come back now? Could he? Had she destroyed their bond for good?
“Kali?” Tal was beside her, touching her arm. “What happened?”
Kali tried to clear her throat, tried to speak as if her heart wasn’t breaking all over again. But she failed at this, too. As she wept, the woman who had once imprisoned her held her close, whispering kind, nonsensical words, and Kali knew, from the depths of her shattered heart, that the man she loved would never forgive either of them.
TWENTY-TWO
The messenger came to the Temple of the One at dawn, when the sun spilled golden light through the temple’s entrance and into the main chamber. Milo, who stood on the outskirts of the chamber, saw the young woman freeze in place as she realized she’d walked into the middle of the sixth-tiers’ daily prayers. One of the temple guards met her and made to guide her back down the stairs, but she only pressed something into the guard’s palm before turning to dash out of the temple. The guard studied the sealed letter before looking up, scanning the room. Her eyes at last fell upon Milo.
Shouting over the quiet chants would have been beyond rude, so a brief exchange of nods soon brought Milo and Pig to meet the guard at the stairs that led back down into the city. Out here, they could speak without disturbing anyone.
“So sorry to interrupt, serla,” the guard said, bowing deep. “But this is for you.”
Would he ever get used to being called “serla?” Probably not – although maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. Milo squinted through the sunlight and took the letter. A Cipher seal—a spiral with a flower at the center—sat unblemished on the front. News from Kali or Naree, no doubt, but he ought to open it in private. He glanced at the guard. “Thanks.”
The guard turned to leave, but hesitated.
Despite his eagerness to read the letter, Milo gave her his warmest smile. “Something else I can help with?”
“No, serla. It’s impertinent. I ought not mention it.”
“Speak freely,” Milo said. “Please.”
She shifted, glancing between him and Pig, who sat on his shoulder. “It’s just… you have the favor of one of the Pillars, serla. You could attend the same service as the queen, or any number of frips – I mean, nobles. Yet you still come to the dregs’ prayers.”
Milo offered his right wrist. “Pull the sleeve back. It’s all right.” When she did, his simple sixth-tier mark sat stark against his skin. “One of the Pillars may favor me,” Milo said, meeting her eyes behind her helmet. “But I’m still a dreg. This is where I belong.”
Her eyes widened briefly before she saluted again and slipped off.
He hurried to his chambers. The small room with a sleeping pallet and a chamber pot was probably humble for most people, but for Milo, who had never had a room of his own, this was the height of luxury. Heart hammering, he tore into the letter and stared at the messy script, written in sentinel code:
Milo,
Our dear friend, Elan, is ready to return home. He has asked to meet us among the weird trees. As usual, time is not on our side.
I eagerly await your reply.
-K
* * *
Milo raced down the corridors, Pig tucked under his good arm. His heart thundered and his guts churned. Stonewall…alive? Coming back from the Shadowlands? If it were true, such a return would be a miracle of the highest order. Milo just needed to find some way to visit the spring without the Pillar’s presence, without revealing too much to Sarkiss. Surely the Pillar—the Fata—would find the news interesting. And in Milo’s experience, interesting was often shorthand for dangerous.
But even if Sarkiss is a viper, Milo thought as he tore through a group of priests, calling an apology, Stonewall needs to come home.
Any trouble was worth bringing his brother-in-service back from the Shadowlands.
He reached Sarkiss’s quarters and had to take a moment to catch his breath. Months of less than consistent training had left him out of shape. But he could make up for that later.
When he reached Sarkiss’s door, however, one of the burly Pillar guards stopped him before he knocked. “The esteemed Pillar Sarkiss is not here, Serla Milo.”
“Where are they?”
The guard hesitated.
Milo reached in his heart and found his sentinel training. Deep breaths brought a sense of calm over him, and he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Their private garden, right?”
The guard nodded, clearly relieved, and Milo shot him a grin. “Thanks.”
So Milo and Pig made their way through the winding corridors that led beneath the temple and the Circle District, until they reached the solid ironwood gate that led to Sarkiss’s private garden. Two more silent guards waited here, but Milo knew them by now as well, so they allowed him and Pig inside.
At first, Milo did not see the Pillar, but then he spotted a head bobbing within the spring itself. A cloak and cotton towel lay crumpled on the bench while Sarkiss, one of the three holiest people in Aredia, floated on their back, tunic billowing around their thin frame as they stared at the reflected waterlight patterns flickering across the trees. The Pillar’s eyes glowed like yellow stars.
Sarkiss did not seem to notice Milo and Pig’s arrival, so Milo stepped forward, ensuring his boots hit the stones hard enough to echo, for he had no wish to startle such an old heart. The Pillar glanced up, then began to swim over. They reached for the stone ledge to pull themselves up, but their arms buckled, and they fell back into the water with a splash. Milo rushed forward to offer his good arm, and he easily hefted the holy one up and out of the spring. Gods above, Sarkiss felt like they were made of straw, and looked no more solid. Even so, the Pillar wrapped themselves in the towel as if it were a royal robe.
“Thank you,” they said to Milo as they both sat upon the bench. “This body is not what it once was.”
Milo watched as Pig circled the spring, sniffing at the pools of water the Pillar had left. But the kit didn’t drink the water, which was probably for the best, given that it was holy. Milo’s mission burned on his tongue, but it felt disrespectful to barge in here and start demanding favors from the holy one, so he asked, “Have you eaten today?”
Sarkiss considered. “Yes. Well… I think so.” They touched a bony hand to their forehead. “I lose track of time in the river.”
“River?” Milo looked at the spring again, but as far as he could tell, it was no river.
The Pillar made a dismissive gesture. “Never mind. I’ll eat, soon. I’m glad you came by. I have something to discuss with you. But your mind is elsewhere.”
“I need a favor,” Milo replied. “Well, a couple favors.”
Sarkiss lifted a brow. “Important ones, given how you must have rushed here. You’re panting like a dog in summertime.”
Heat crept to Milo’s cheeks. “Some friends of mine wish to see this spring for themselves.”
“You know this is a holy place, Milo. Not meant for gawking tourists.” Sarkiss leveled that golden gaze upon him. “The truth. Now.”
“That is the truth,” Milo shot back. “Just…not all of it. But I trust that my friends mean no harm.” He lifted his chin and held the Pillar’s gaze. “Or was it pure coincidence that you gave me that journal?”
Sarkiss’s piercing regard softened as they chuckled, then they looked back at the spring. “It is rare these days that I can see another’s true heart, even when so close to…”
“Close to what…?” Milo prompted.
When the Pillar looked at him again, their eyes were watery and human. “I’m dying, Milo.”
Milo’s heart seized and he nearly leaped out of his seat, which was stupid. What could he do that a healer could not? “Are you sure?”
“Aye. This end has been long in the making.” Sarkiss’s mouth twisted in a grim smile. “But at last I come to the nightfall of this body’s time. It has been a good body. Reliable, for the most part, although not always as strong as I’d like.”
Milo frowned. “Sounds like you’re talking about a boat.”
Sarkiss gave a soft laugh. “You know what I am, Milo. I can sense the truth following you, closer than your little ringtailed familiar.”
His stomach slid to his knees, but he dared not move. Not that he could have, for his legs were jelly. Pig, perhaps sensing his agitation, came back and climbed upon Milo’s lap so Milo could scratch behind his ears.
“You’re a Fata,” he whispered, stealing a glance in Sarkiss’s direction.
The Pillar bobbed their head as if Milo had just answered a question about basic geography. “Aye. But a very, very old one. Too old, I think.” They looked at the pool again. “We all are. I’m tired.”
So Kali was right. Milo swallowed hard. “You’re a thrall.”
“Not quite. I’m a meridian. I will always be connected to the Fata realm, but my soul resides in this human form, and lives in harmony with the human soul it once housed alone. Thralls, as your kind call them, are but crude manipulations of a delicate, extraordinary machine. Most of my kind use them as a child would play with a doll.”
Milo shuddered at the comparison. “Those ‘dolls’ have spilled more blood than can be measured. Are you…?” He had to bite back his revulsion. “Have you done that? Killed people with thralls?”
Sarkiss blinked as if startled and gave him a curious look. “No, Milo. Why would I?”
“Because you’re…one of them. Because you Fata hate us.” Now Milo was able to stand, even though his legs shook. “Kali told me all about it. She was a thrall, too, but she came back. She–”
“I know of Kali,” Sarkiss interrupted. “I sense all that happens in the river, including those who reach across it from one world to the other. I can sense your friend – and the one she hopes to return to this world. But if I can sense their attempts, so can Baat and Etia.”
“Shit,” Milo whispered, and looked around the silverwood grove, bracing for the other Pillars to barge in.
