The Allseer Trilogy

by Kaitlyn Rouhier

  Trista muttered a curse, throwing her hands in the air as she stepped to the side. “You do not need to be encouraging this. He’s grasping at straws.” Samira ignored her and rolled her eyes. She set the books down before him, several large leather tomes with yellowed pages. Trista turned a red so fierce, it almost made her hair look dull in comparison. Fuming, she crossed her arms over her chest. “This better be good.”

  “What are these?” Garild asked, leaning forward to pick up one of the books. It was incredibly old, the pages thin and brittle and curling at the edges with age.

  “I did a bit of digging. Though I loathe to admit it, you aren’t the only one concerned by what you experienced.”

  Garild’s heart lurched in anticipation. He just needed someone to believe him, to not look at him like he’d lost his mind. Isa had been kind, but even she found it a source of endless frustration. To her, he was trying to find answers to questions that were long buried and should stay that way. “You believe me?”

  Samira looked down at the stack of books, her expression guarded. The crystals in her chest glowed but they looked dimmer somehow, their light faded as if someone had covered them in a thin layer of grime. “There are many things in this world that are unexplained, I chief among them. Who am I to wield such power? For what purpose? We’re an island full of scholars bursting at the seams with questions. We want to know, to turn over every rock and pick through every thread of history until we can paint a clear picture. I’ve watched the memories you’ve provided me over and over again. I’ve discussed it with those that spent years studying Hetra. While they are devastated by her loss, they are also afraid. I do not think it a trifle that you carried within you a memory so terrifying to her that she was willing to destroy herself rather than face it. I don’t know how or why, but there is a thread here connecting all of us, something stirring us to action. I feel a pull, powerful and overwhelming, and it is yelling at me to act. I think I’d be a fool to ignore it. We’d all be fools,” she said, her eyes flashing to Trista. Her anger had simmered out, replaced by a weary tension.

  “What do you think we should do?” Garild asked. If Samira believed him, it had to mean something. “Where do we even begin?”

  Samira shook her head. “You’re on the right track. We have the question, but we’re sorely lacking when it comes to answers. Hetra was old - impossibly old. Whatever they were, some guardian souls bound to stone to withstand time, their power has faded. They’ve gone insane, lost their memories. There probably isn’t a single one in existence that could give us anything coherent, at least not without trying to kill us. We’re on our own with this and we have to work with what little we have. So, we have to make assumptions. On what little evidence there is, let’s say the Darkness, as your former keeper so eloquently called it, existed. It swept over this world, corrupted everything in its path. Ages have passed. Wars have been fought, words lost over time. Your fear, and rightfully so, is that it might come back. We’re woefully unprepared for something of that scale. What we have in our possession are a few dusty old journals filled with hastily scrawled chicken scratch, mere observations and theories at best, and nothing else. What I’m getting at is this…even if we know something like this is coming, it doesn’t always mean we can stop it. It doesn’t always mean we can figure out a way. It’s a bridge we’ll have to cross when we get there and, gods willing, we won’t have to make that walk. Let’s worry about what is right in front of us, what is already a threat, and not about something that may not even happen in our lifetime. I’m not telling you to forget about this, but I am telling you to stop letting it control you. This fear you feel, this sense of urgency, is something that has been engrained in you since you were a child. Recognize that and stop reacting to it. You’re making us all miserable.”

  Garild let his shoulders slump, his palm falling flat on the book before him. An island full of books and this is what they had - nothing more than a brief mention, a small hint at what he feared the most. “I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I was raised on these stories - horrific, terrible stories. I was led my entire life to believe I’d one day be fighting this, that I’d one day face the threat and now, faced with the real possibility of that… It’s difficult. I know so little.”

  Samira smiled sadly. “I know that feeling all too well. You had your purpose stripped away only to have it come back and slap you in the face, only this time you don’t have a clue where to begin. You have no path to follow. Stop trying so hard to find your way through the bramble and weeds and maybe you’ll find what you’re looking for. Just be ready for anything, but don’t spend so much time preparing that you rot in this tower. Got it?”

  “Yes. Thank you, Samira. I got it. I’ll go outside,” he groaned.

  “That’s a good boy,” Samira smirked. She turned and walked out the room, her dress shimmering like stardust as she sauntered away. Trista watched her go and then flicked her attention to Garild, green eyes blazing.

  “So, you’ll listen to her but not to me? I practically told you the same thing,” she chided, throwing her fiery hair over her shoulder.

  Garild grimaced. “Is this a competition now? I appreciate it, but you didn’t exactly believe me when I told you what had happened.”

  Trista shot him a disgusted look, her eyes like daggers. “You expected me to believe that one of our biggest fears is a reality? That the lie that completely shattered my world and stole Fenir from me is real?” Her words became choked, so thin and fragile it sounded like they might shatter in the air. She didn’t wait for him to reply. He could see tears forming, a green lake of hurt and grief glaring at him once more before she retreated from the room.

  He slammed his fist against the desk, his anger rising hot and explosive. It wasn’t her fault. She cared and, though she had a stifling way of showing it, he couldn’t hate her for trying. What he hated was how inadequate he felt, how every step he took to fix things seemed to collapse in a broken heap at his feet. He had all the pieces laid out before him, but no knowledge of how to fit it all together, how to make it all work.

  And maybe Samira was right. He’d been trying so hard to find a path to walk, to find some purpose in the world, that he’d fled from the place that needed him the most. Sharmir hadn’t been a mistake, not in a hundred years would he ever consider that, but he couldn’t help but wonder how different things might have been if he had just stayed and faced his problems instead of running away. Perhaps he could have helped shape things for the better, to start to heal the hurt he’d caused in the world.

  It was too late to find out what might have been and what might be coming. Whether he was lost in the past or fretting about the future, he was a prisoner to both. It was time to break the chains.

  CHAPTER 25

  Empty husks that had once been people’s homes, their livelihoods, served to keep Kirheen out of sight. She knelt behind a pile of charred rubble, Daris and Tegan at her side. Irena had stayed behind, unwilling to face the risk that breaking into a prison posed. Kirheen couldn’t really blame her. It was insanity what they were about to attempt.

  Raindrops spilled from clouds no longer able to carry their burden, turning the ground beneath her feet into a muddy mess. Ash and dirt swirled together, but there was nothing that could wash away the stain of that place, nothing to bury what had been done.

  “This isn’t ominous at all,” Daris growled, yanking his hood up over his head.

  “Ominous, maybe, but this should be fairly easy. You heard the whispers. The Warden prowls the streets tonight. She won’t be here to terrorize us. This wouldn’t be happening otherwise,” Tegan said. He pointed to the prison where two Seekers stood, their heads swiveling towards the sky as rain began to fall in earnest. “That should be about all the resistance we face. Don’t think they’ve ever had any problems with people wanting to break in.”

  Daris snorted. “Can’t imagine why.”

  “So, what’s the big plan here? We just, uh, rush on in?” Kirh
een asked.

  “Well, I mean, they are Seekers. We may outnumber them, but they are trained to disarm people like us, people like them. Better to attack head on physically. They won’t be expecting it. I’ll take care of that of course. You just hang back and blast their minds - distract them a bit for me.”

  “Whatever it takes. Tomias is in there and I’m not giving up until we save him. Just remember what I said, what you promised. If anything happens, if things start to go poorly, you run.”

  Daris shook his head. “Is it really a promise if you forced me to say it?”

  “Damn it, I’m serious. We don’t all need to be caught if things go bad. You’re more help on the outside than you’ll be rotting in a prison.”

  “Same could be said of you,” Tegan added.

  “Did either of you listen? Tomias is in there. I’m not leaving him, even if it means being imprisoned right alongside him. I’m willing to face that.”

  “He means that much to you?”

  Daris grinned. “Sounds like a bit more than a friend, Kirheen.”

  “Not another word,” she said, shooting daggers his way. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  They crept through the dark, clinging to shadows as they approached the prison. The Seekers stood with hunched shoulders, making a stalwart effort to outlast the rain. Kirheen relished in the fact that beneath their masks, they probably looked downright miserable.

  Daris hunched low and drew a knife from his belt. He looked back over his shoulder and waited for Kirheen to give the go ahead. There was no going back once she set him loose, no stopping things if it all went terribly wrong. She tried to force down the lump rising in her throat and with silent submission, she nodded her head.

  Leaping from the shadows, Daris raced towards the Seekers blocking the entrance, Tegan on his heels. Kirheen closed her eyes, drew her focus inwards, enticing her power to awaken. With a controlled push, she forced her way into the mind of the distracted Seeker closest to her and slammed against a barrier of wrought iron, black and twisting. She continued to push, hoping to distract just enough to give her friends the advantage.

  Just as she was slipping from the Seeker’s mind, something icy wrapped around the back of her neck, breaking her focus. She slipped out of the Seeker’s mind and back into her own body just in time to be yanked to her feet, the hand gripping her neck squeezing tightly. Pain shot up and down her spine, protesting the pressure applied by dreadfully strong fingers.

  With a savage thrust, she was pushed forward. Unable to stop her momentum, she slammed into a crumbling doorframe. It gave way as she collided with it and she was sent sprawling into a pile of rubble. Kirheen rolled, tried to find the source of the attack. Lingering in the shadows was a Seeker, chin held high, a cascade of ashen hair falling to her shoulders. The Warden, leader of the Seekers.

  “Foolish girl,” the woman said, her voice low and menacing. “A pity you’re so blind.”

  Kirheen scrambled to her feet, slipping and sliding in the mud as she tried to find her footing. Voices approached from behind, Daris and Tegan successful in their work. Their voices came to an abrupt halt, faltering as they looked to the Seeker blending with the shadows.

  With a voice gone meek with terror, Kirheen uttered the only word she could. “Run.” Daris and Tegan hesitated behind her, rooted in place by the same fear that had turned her into a frightened deer. Tearing her eyes away from the Seeker, she looked back over her shoulder. “Go! Now!”

  Growling a curse as he fled, Daris turned away, dragging Tegan with him. They’d keep their promise, no matter how much it killed them. Kirheen turned back to her opponent, heart pounding. The Seeker looked to her fleeing friends, the set of her shoulders hinting at pursuit. She couldn’t allow it, wouldn’t allow it. Forcing herself to move, she ran forward and dashed towards the Seeker, striking with her powers as she did.

  She was met with resistance both physical and mental. Her power sputtered out before it even had a chance to strike, the woman deflecting it away with finesse before turning and grabbing her by the arm. The Seeker twisted, pinning her arm against her back and forcing her to the ground. Pain radiated out from a shoulder stretched beyond its means and Kirheen ground her teeth, fighting back the cry rising in her throat. It came out as a pathetic whimper.

  “Is this truly all the power you possess? You are weak. Not even worth sacrificing to Zekar.”

  Kirheen poured every ounce of strength and will into movement, into breaking free from the hands pinning her down in the mud. A cry ripped from her throat and she flailed wildly. She succeeded only in kicking mud around, the grip of the Seeker like an iron shackle. There would be no getting away, no breaking free. She rested her cheek against the chilled muck and accepted defeat.

  “Your friend put up more of a fight,” the Seeker said dryly. “But at least you know when to give up.”

  The last thing Kirheen remembered was her head being lifted by her hair, and then her face was colliding with the ground, shattering conscious thought and sending her tumbling into the dark.

  CHAPTER 26

  Sampson couldn’t recall a time he’d been called for so urgently, certainly not by her of all people. Mirin was clear and efficient, her focus unwavering. Nothing about the letter he held showed that. It was hastily scrawled, her normally tight, choppy letters a smeared mess across the page.

  He’d taken to the tunnels in the middle of the night. Whatever it was, he didn’t need to be seen sneaking out of the castle. Agna, matriarch of the royal family, had been on edge as of late. Her paranoia had grown, and she looked to every shadow with suspicion, absolutely convinced she’d find a threat within.

  It was only through luck and cunning that she hadn’t looked too closely at him. Had she even suspected the snake that lurked in her halls, his head would have been lopped off where he stood, his blood sacrificed to the great and mighty Zekar.

  It was almost unnerving how little she questioned him, but he suspected Lillana had something to do with that. The girl gave him nothing but praise and her trust had earned him a certain freedom in his movements. While he hated using her for such things, it was necessary.

  The tunnels dumped him out at the charred remains of Riel’s once beautiful sanctuary. He peered out of the tunnels, looking for any sign of soldiers that might recognize him. There were only Seekers that he could see. The soldiers found it difficult to wander through the ruins, afraid of the ghosts that lingered there, the bloated faces swinging from the hanging tree.

  The moon was full and bright, and it cast strange shadows through the branches of the tree, outlining the swaying bodies in moonlight. He’d seen it so many times and yet, it still unnerved him. Someday soon, they’d see an end to it all. He just hoped it wasn’t too late, that the city wasn’t too far beyond repair. What good was saving a city if the people were too corrupted by their way of thinking?

  He approached the prison, his torch held high. Three Seekers stood outside and, to his surprise, one of them was Mirin. She approached him with urgent steps, her face hidden behind a mask.

  “I got here as soon as I could,” Sampson said. “Is everything well? Your message seemed-”

  “Hasty? I apologize for that, but I have a rather urgent matter to discuss with you,” she replied. “Come. Walk with me.” Mirin stepped away from the tower and into the deserted streets, casting a weary glance to the Seekers they were leaving behind. They made no move to follow but she did not stop until they were out of earshot and no longer in sight. “There are times I think I trained them too well, made them too zealous in their duties. I’m not sure how many of them can be trusted anymore.”

  “We needed them to be hated, to create a spark. I’d say you’ve done your job well.”

  Mirin let out a defeated laugh, her breath fogging in the chilly night. “You should know I take no pride in that.”

  “I know. What did you need to discuss, Mirin? This isn’t like you.”

  “No, it’s not. I…
I ended up with two unexpected prisoners. Duty would have me execute them before a lustful crowd of zealots, to further fill the Scarlet Square with blood.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Ghosts of a past I have long tried to forget. I need you to stop the execution.”

  “Mirin, we agreed-”

  She cut him off, her voice urgent. “I know what we agreed. This isn’t just anyone, Sampson. One of these prisoners - she’s my daughter. Weak and pitiful as she is, I won’t make this sacrifice. I have so much blood on my hands, but I can’t have this added to it. I can’t kill my own flesh and blood for them, and I refuse to taint my soul any further.”

  Sampson couldn’t contain his surprise. In all the time he’d known Mirin, he’d never heard her so much as mention her past. To think she had a daughter all that time and had never uttered her name. He thought to the ashen haired girl that had stopped him in the streets, the one that looked so much like Mirin it had taken his breath away. He knew better than to ask questions. Mirin wasn’t one to go flaunting her personal feelings and he wasn’t going to be the fool that tried to make her. “Who is the executioner tomorrow?”

  “The Raven.”

  “Good. He’s likes to put on a show. That’ll give us some extra time. It’ll be difficult, but I’ll find a way to sneak out and speak to the rebels come morning.”

  “Do you think they will agree to it, after we promised them a chance to recoup?”

  Sampson shrugged. “It’ll take some convincing on my part, but I think I can make it work. Regardless, the execution will be stopped one way or another. I’ll see to it.”

  “You know I wouldn’t have asked this of you if it wasn’t important.”

  “I know. You don’t need to explain. This will all be over soon. I feel it in my bones.”

  “As do I. Do you think the girl is ready for when it happens?”

  “Can you ever be prepared for something like that? She’ll lose her family, her city. She’s strong though. I believe she can handle the storm.”