Sacrifice (Catalyst Moon #5), page 36
Within Kali’s heart, hope lingered: a traitor, or an ally – she could never quite tell which. She went to her friend’s side and leaned on the railing. “You should attend the transfer with us. It might be interesting.”
“You’re a believer, now?” Sadira chuckled. “That is interesting.”
Kali gave her friend a wry smile. “You don’t know the half of it.” Quietly, Kali spoke of her time in the Silverwood garrison cell, of the Pillars’ visit, of Baat and his ominous offer.
Sadira’s eyes had gone huge and round. “You plan to accept.”
“I don’t know.”
“You want to accept.”
“I don’t know!”
Sadira gripped her arm. “You must leave this city, this province, this country. Kali, you cannot rely on the silverwood to keep you from losing control. You must remove yourself from temptation. You must–”
Kali dropped her staff to the ground and placed her hand over Sadira’s. Her head swam with the longing for Sadira’s magic, but her control held fast. She met Sadira’s eyes. “I must see this through. One way or another, I’m stopping the thralls.” Using Sadira’s hand as leverage, she bent to collect her staff. The moment her fingers brushed the smooth wood, the hunger for Sadira’s magic dulled. “Leave if you want, but I would like you to stay. It would…” Kali swallowed, gripping the silverwood as she blinked back sudden tears. “It would be good to have someone on my side.”
Sadira’s face softened with understanding. “Oh, Kali.” She embraced the dark-haired mage, hugging her tight. “If you need me, I will remain. May the goddess Amara help us all.”
Kali’s tears relented as she relaxed into her friend. “I’m sure we’ll need it.”
TWENTY-NINE
“We met a mage named Saba,” Beacon was saying to Stonewall. The Cipher had excused herself, so it was just the two former sentinels. “She escaped from a bastion, with help, apparently, from Jasper. Those two had quite a reunion. You know, I used to wonder how anyone could fall for a mage. I suppose the One god works in mysterious ways, huh?”
Part of Stonewall’s attention was on Kali, who spoke with Sadira outside on the balcony. He didn’t peer into her thoughts, but it wasn’t difficult to sense her anxiety – some of it centered around him.
Talon’s words echoed in his mind: Love isn’t just a feeling. It’s something you do. Like trust.
Stonewall managed a smile at his friend. “True words, Beak. Sorry – Abernathy.”
Beacon grimaced and reached for a piece of cheese. “Listen. I love you like a brother. Well, like my one decent brother. But only Sadira and my little sibs get to use my birthname.”
Stonewall held up his hands. “Understood. How’s the rest of your family? Did the thralls invade Redfern, too?”
“Whitewater got the brunt of thrall attacks, but there were two more in Redfern before Sadira and I left.” Beacon wove his fingers together. “I told Heitor and Renata that mages can cure them. Predictably, my elder brother laughed in my face. But Ren didn’t dismiss the notion right away. I think being a newlywed has softened her. In any case, their hands are full. I almost didn’t leave, but Heitor was starting to ask Sadira too many questions, so it was time to move on.”
“Good call,” Stonewall replied. “Will you ever return?”
Beacon shrugged. “Maybe.”
“They’re your family.”
“Aye,” Beacon replied. “And a part of me will always want to be home with them. But I don’t belong there anymore.”
Stonewall glanced at the balcony again; Kali looked like she was crying, then the two mages embraced. Beacon followed his gaze. “Must have been hard for her,” he murmured. “Thinking you were dead and all.”
Stonewall stared into the dark mirror of his tea. He could still feel Wild Eyes at the edges of his consciousness. You have lost everyone you ever loved, so you refuse to share yourself fully; to love without fear.
Was it true? “I returned to her as soon as I could,” Stonewall said quietly. “But not in time to prevent her from suffering. I wish…” Heat stabbed at his eyes.
Beacon patted his shoulder. “I know. You always do the best you can. It’s why I never once made fun of you behind your back while we were at Whitewater.”
This made Stonewall laugh aloud. “Liar.”
“Fine. But Flint was so much meaner,” Beacon replied, grinning. But his face sobered. “Kali said she and Milo are in Lasath, too?”
“Aye. I’ve seen Mi at the Temple of the One—he’s a priest there—but I’ve not come across Flint. I believe she’s at the garrison.”
“We should track her down,” Beacon said. “Unless… Think she’ll be at the transfer of power everyone in the city is babbling about?”
“Perhaps…” Stonewall looked back at the tea and relaxed his vision as he extended his awareness past Beacon, Kali, Sadira, past Talon, hiding in the Cipher’s study, past the servants and stable hands and everyone else in this part of the city.
He’d been searching for Milo and Flint; he found his brother. Drake was in Lasath. The mug of tea shattered against the floor.
* * *
Drake and Atanar stood together and squinted up the steps to the Temple of the One. While the royal palace behind them stretched for the clouds with delicate, crystalline spirals, the grand Temple of the One dominated the Greater City. Huge, white marble pillars bared like teeth at Drake, Nat, and the queen’s soldiers as they patrolled the area before the evening’s festivities. A line of Circle guards stood at the top of the stairs, turning away anyone who tried to enter before the ceremony. The temple buzzed with activity: servants bustled up and down the steps carrying loads of garlands, candlesticks, and other ceremonial trappings. Even from down here, Drake could smell the heady sweetness of dried datura flowers mixed with earthy orris root incense.
He glanced over at his Canderi companion, who stared up at the temple, his eyes wet. Alarmed, Drake touched Nat’s arm. “Everything well?” Drake asked.
Atanar blinked and looked at him. “Aye. Just…remembering the last time I was at an Aredian temple. It was during some…festival of the sun goddess.”
“Amaranthea,” Drake said, nodding. “Ah, so you saw the dancers, then? That’s a fun celebration.”
Atanar considered. “I was…in a bad way, back then, so ‘fun’ was far from my mind. But being among the goddess’s people made me feel…whole, if only for a moment.”
Something closed in Drake’s throat. “Amaranthea has that effect.”
“I used to think Aredians were foolish to worship gods,” Nat said. “But now I think…I think it would be pleasant to rely upon other beings, immortals who know better than we do. Even my ancestors could be foolish.”
“You don’t ‘rely’ upon the gods,” Drake replied. “But you do heed their wisdom. When I find myself at an impasse, which is often, I look to the One god for guidance.”
Atanar nodded. “Aye, and to Tor for strength. Right?”
The mention of Tor, his brother’s patron god, made Drake’s nose and eyes burn with sudden tears as grief swelled within him, unhindered, unchecked. It never left; it never would. He should learn to live with these new fractures in his heart, learn to strengthen his steps against the constant weight that dragged him down.
But grief, that boundless burden, was all he had left of his little brother. Why wish it away, why pray he’d grow used to the feeling? If he felt better, Elan would truly be gone.
“I miss him,” Drake whispered.
Atanar enveloped him in strong arms, pressing Drake against his warm, beating heart. Drake sagged against his companion, unable to staunch the flow of his tears and only hoping a little that he and Nat wouldn’t be in anyone’s way where they stood on one side of a busy street. Indeed, his magic must have stretched out around him, as every passer-by gave the two men an unusually wide berth.
We have to get back to Eris and the others, Drake thought, dimly, but his feet would not budge and his heart would not stop screaming his brother’s name.
And then, like a beam of sunlight piercing thick clouds, Drake heard and felt the answering call: Bahar?
He went hot and cold at once; his heart flung itself against the cage of his chest. Elan? he ventured.
His brother’s presence bloomed in his mind: a tether between hearts, pulling Drake toward an unseen goal. Drake? Elan said. Are you…here?
“Drake?” Nat murmured, brushing his cheek.
He’d gone utterly still with shock, but at Nat’s touch, he mentally picked up his slackened jaw from the ground and said, “Come on.”
He grabbed Nat’s hand and pulled the other man along, weaving through the busy streets whose names he’d never learned. With his grief set aside by momentary distraction, no one got out of their way. He shoved through the thickening crowd, through the vendors gearing up for the biggest event in a generation, through holy and humble folks alike, until he was tearing through the Circle district at a full run, following the thread of connection that tugged him forward, onward, until…
“Drake!” A man appeared at the gate to one of the fancier Circle clergy homes; a man whose shape Drake knew better than his own.
The brothers collided. Drake swept Elan up into a hug. Joy and sorrow and love and hope and fear fought for purchase in Drake’s mind, but none of them mattered, nothing mattered but his little brother. Alive. Whole. And they were together at last.
“Relah,” Elan sputtered. “Can’t…breathe…”
Drake released him and stared at Elan—no, still Stonewall, judging by the stubborn set of his chin—and tried to make sense of what was either the best hallucination of his life, or the worst.
Stonewall looked…the same. It was like they’d never parted, like Drake hadn’t spent who-knew-how-many sleepless nights imagining the final moments of his brother’s life: Stonewall, felled; a crimson stain spreading from his stomach to mingle with the rising waters. But now, Stonewall stood before him, clean-shaven, dressed in fine, if somewhat perfunctory armor; a new sword hanging at his belt.
“I’m so sorry,” Drake choked out, pressing their foreheads together. “For abandoning you, years ago. For faking my own death and leaving you alone while I tried to sort out my stupid, messy life. For leaving you alone after I promised I’d always be by your side. Elan—Stonewall—I never understood what pain I must have caused you, then. I was such a fucking idiot and I hurt you so much, and I’m sorry. I just…” Sod it all, he was crying again! “I just wanted to tell you before…”
Stonewall pressed a hand over Drake’s. The eyes that met Drake’s were Stonewall’s eyes, but not, somehow; they were stranger, more distant. When he spoke, the words resonated in Drake’s mind and heart. I know, relah.
Stonewall pulled back and looked between Atanar and Drake. “What are you two doing in Lasath?”
“What are we doing in Lasath?” Drake sputtered. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be dead!”
Stonewall studied him, and images streamed through Drake’ mind: Stonewall, dying, on the beach of Pillau, in the…the sodding Shadowlands. Elegant, ethereal Fata, eyes glowing, hearts shared with one another. Kali, helping him return to this world.
All of this either took a second or a thousand years. When the stream of images and feelings abated, Stonewall said, “Long story.”
“No shit,” Drake replied, rubbing his forehead. No doubt it’d take him years to digest what his brother had shown in the space of a heartbeat, but at least he had some idea of how Stonewall was alive at all, let alone here.
Weird glimmer shit – the driving force behind his entire life this last year.
Poor Nat had stood there, watching the brothers stare at each other, but now he cleared his throat. “Should I…go elsewhere?”
“Don’t you dare,” Drake muttered, grabbing his hand.
Stonewall glanced at Drake and Atanar’s entwined hands, then grinned at Drake, who actually flushed like a kid caught with his hand in the honey-jar.
“I’m guessing your mage lady-love is here somewhere?” Drake asked.
Stonewall gestured to the fine homes behind him. “Aye. She’s…preparing for tonight.” His eyes turned distant again. “She sends her love, but apparently she’s,” he scowled, “having her hair braided and is, and I quote, ‘under strict orders not to move.’”
“Send love back,” Drake said. “And let her know that Eris is in Lasath, too. Wait…what in Ea’s realm is Kali doing in the Circle district?”
Another influx of images flooded Drake’s mind, but Stonewall could not hide his displeasure at certain aspects. Drake didn’t blame him. Talon – alive and well and here. Good thing he hadn’t known that, before, else he’d probably have hunted her down out of sheer frustration. Still, it wasn’t fair, was it? Talon got to live while so many good people had been sacrificed. But life and death were obviously not for Drake to decide.
Atanar squinted up at the sky, where the sun was beginning to sink into the west. He was too kind to disrupt the brothers’ reunion, but Drake knew what he was thinking – without the need for any weird Fata shit, either.
“We’ve got to leave,” Drake said to his brother. “I promised Eris we’d be back before the transfer.”
“You’re back with the Assembly?” Stonewall asked. “Do they have…plans for tonight?”
Drake grinned. “Nothing more than indulging in too much food and wine. But after this transfer…things are going to change for the better. I can feel it.”
Stonewall regarded him with those distant, searching eyes. You’ve found your place.
Drake took Nat’s hand again. I have. Aloud, he said, “You’re going to the transfer of power?”
He thought he’d caught that impression from his brother’s silent speech.
Stonewall nodded, but his mouth was set in a grim line. “We’re leaving in a few minutes.”
There was definitely more he wanted to say, but he only hugged Drake again, then Atanar.
There was more Drake wanted to say, too, but he had sworn to Eris that he and Nat wouldn’t dawdle too long in the Greater City. The brothers made hurried plans to meet at the transfer, then bid each other farewell – for now, not forever.
Atanar turned to leave, but Drake’s legs decided again to be rebels. I’m sorry, Elan, he said again through their silent speech. For the pain I caused you. I was a fool back then.
You did your best, Stonewall said, although the words came slowly, as if he had only just now found the realization. But you were afraid.
I was terrified, Drake replied, scowling. But that’s no reason–
But Stonewall was shaking his head as he said aloud, “That’s the only reason.”
THIRTY
The Temple of the One loomed over Flint’s head, casting her and the other sentinels in shadow as they waited at the temple’s base. But despite the shadows, the sentinels’ armor gleamed. Orders had trickled down this morning that all the sentinels asked to attend this holy occasion were to appear pristine before the Pillars. Flint and her bunkmate Nalda had spent two hours polishing every inch of their gear, although the fine silver plate of Flint’s new equipment—commissioned and created in a rush over the last few days—took more elbow grease to keep clean than her old kit.
The new gear fit her perfectly but felt ten times heavier.
Although she was a part of Silver Squad now, she’d not been officially inducted, so she stood alone at the edge of a loose cluster of sentinels. The others spoke quietly as they all waited for Argent to appear and lead them up the stairs to the temple proper. Everyone was keyed up, so even the officers murmured amongst themselves, forgoing for the moment calls of “silence” to their subordinates.
A soft chitter caught Flint’s attention. She glanced around and her eyes fell upon a pudgy raccoon with a bright blue ribbon around its neck, probably to signify that it belonged to someone and wasn’t just another pest. The ringtail waited in the shadow of a nearby alley, masked gaze fixed on her. No one else seemed to notice the creature, so Flint ventured forth, more out of a need for a distraction than simple curiosity. When she came within dagger’s reach of the raccoon, it chittered again and turned as if to lead her back into the alley.
Flint studied the shadows, searching for signs of a threat. An old midden heap and a few scraps of cloth lay at the front of the alley; she couldn’t make out the back.
Trouble, perhaps? She scoffed at herself. Everything about her life was troubling, these days. Why should this ringtail be any different? The raccoon chittered again, more insistent, and when she looked back at it, the setting sunlight caught its eyes just so, revealing them to be a brilliant blue: the same color as Milo’s eyes, as her eyes.
When the raccoon turned to the alley again, Flint followed. No sooner had the shadows engulfed her did she spot the waiting robed figure: much taller and broader than her, but more familiar than her own hand.
“Mi,” she gasped as her twin brother embraced her, holding her tight. She hugged him back, allowing herself to fully relax in his grip, and they held each other for what felt like hours. When at last they drew apart, she shoved back his hood so she could examine his face properly. Only a few new scars and none were too bad. His black and white Circle robes had no wrinkles and he smelled like soap and the incense floating down from the great temple.
She wanted to laugh and cry at once. “Milo,” she whispered, clasping his withering left hand. “I got your message, but I couldn’t get away. And I was afraid to write back. The officers read all our mail.”
He placed his solid right hand over hers and met her eyes with far more calm than anyone had a right to. “It’s all right, Mira. I figured Argent’s people weren’t playing fair. But when I heard the sentinels were attending, I hoped to find you. There’s so much I have to tell you…” His gaze skimmed over her new armor. “Mara’s mercy, that’s some shiny gear!”
