The Allseer Trilogy

by Kaitlyn Rouhier

  Samira sighed, turning towards Garild. Her eyes had dimmed. She suddenly looked older, much older, a lifetime of war and fighting and struggle etched into every line. “Too long. I have not seen my homeland in over thirty years.”

  “Thirty years! Samira, how old were you when you got these powers?”

  “I was twenty-four. It feels so long ago.”

  Words failed him. He looked to Samira, trying to reconcile her true age with her outward appearance. She still looked so young, but in her eyes, he could see her wisdom, her strength, her suffering. “If there are others like you, you’re worried about them falling into the wrong hands?”

  She nodded. “To put it simply, yes. If I have any duty to this world, it is to protect it from people like myself and I will do so with every ounce of my strength. Imagine someone without the good sense to stay out of conflicts? Imagine if they became the weapon of a place like Korinth? I spent my youth fighting against their ideology. People I loved died because of it. I will not allow them such power, will not allow them to use another the way they tried to use me. Not while I still draw breath.”

  Garild went to speak only for the words to croak inside of his throat. Something spread over and through him, a feeling like bugs crawling beneath his skin. Dread. Fear. Emotions coiled through him like a serpent, injecting him with a powerful venom that brought him to his knees. A sound echoed inside his head, a dreadful wailing song that forced tears to his eyes. He looked towards the castle, so close now, a looming work of art twisting into the heavens. “What…is…this?”

  Samira stumbled forward with a growl, her knees buckling. She scrapped against the stone, her hands clutching the crystals on her chest. “Something is wrong. Something is happening.” With a strength Garild himself did not possess, she forced herself to her feet. “I’m sorry. You’ll only slow me down. I have to stop this.”

  “Samira, no! Don’t you dare. Don’t you do it. Not alone.” He tried to lurch towards her, but she was already out of reach, disappearing down another side street. He stumbled, fell, hit the rough path with a grunt. He sputtered, spitting dirt out of his mouth and rolling onto his back. The feeling was subsiding, that terrible scratching beneath his skin giving way to a weariness felt in body and soul.

  If he started running, maybe he could catch up with her. They’d agreed not to get separated, but whatever she’d felt, it was urgent enough to demand her full attention. However, the danger of the corruption remained, and if she lost control, he’d need to be there to stop it. He rolled to his side, springing to his feet and ignoring the ache of his muscles. If he didn’t catch up, if he wasn’t there, they’d have a lot more to worry about.

  He brushed the dirt off his face and took off at a brisk jog, darting into the alleyway she’d taken just moments before. The walls pressed close, brushing against his shoulders as he ran. He entered another road, wider and cobbled in glittering black stone. He again had the feeling of being watched, and this time, when he looked to the windows, he could see eyes staring back, wide and fearful.

  He wanted to worry about them, to worry about the flock of ravens scouring the town looking for easy victims, but all he could see in his head were the walls covered in darkness, tainted vines writhing and twisting over the world. He sped up the road, staying close to the alleyways in case he needed to duck out of sight.

  He could see the wrought iron gates of the castle far in the distance, the great steps leading up to the entrance. There were people there, too far away to make out features. He could only hope they’d slow her down enough so he could catch up to her. He just needed to keep moving.

  Sound and movement trickled into his senses, drowned out beneath the pounding of his heart, the blood pumping through his veins. As a group of ravens stepped into his path, he barely had enough time to register what was there, and even less time to stop. He careened into the closest of them at full speed, and they tumbled to the ground in a flurry of robes.

  He rolled to a stop, battered and more than a little confused. The raven seemed to be in similar state of confusion as he staggered back to his feet, mumbling curses under his breath. He ripped the mask off his face, his blue eyes angry and piercing.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, you brat? What are you in such a hurry for?” he spat, jabbing a finger towards him. Garild looked to his companions, two masked, cloak wearing men far bigger than he was. It was impossible to read their expressions, but the way they were fanning out, it seemed they were shifting from alarmed to interested.

  “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to run into you,” Garild said, using the nearby wall to hoist himself to his feet. He’d scrapped his arm sliding across the cobblestones and he clutched it to his chest, hissing as the air caressed his fresh wound. Please sound innocent enough, please. He hoped his youthful appearance would earn him some credibility, some measure of leniency. He didn’t have time for an altercation.

  “What are you doing out here? City is on lockdown. A boy like you shouldn’t be wandering around alone, and he certainly shouldn’t be running through the streets like a bull, knocking down us poor citizens. Were you heading for the castle?”

  “I’m very sorry. You’re right. I should head home. I was trying to find my friend, but I got lost.”

  The raven wiped blood from his split lip. “We could help you get home, make sure you don’t run into any trouble along the way.”

  His companions were starting to circle, trying to block off his exits. “No but thank you for the offer!” Before they could complete their formation, he shot for the nearest side street and ran as fast as his aching legs would take him. He could hear shouts rise from behind him. If they alerted the others, he’d be hard pressed to escape.

  He changed direction, heading down another street and then cutting into an alleyway. Despite his efforts, he could still hear them close behind. He was already worn out, his muscles protesting every shock of his feet hitting the cobbles. They were going to catch up with him, it was only a matter of time. Samira had taught him a lot, but taking on three armed men was reckless, and he’d quickly be overwhelmed.

  Before he could react, another stepped into his path, blocking his way through the alleyway. He was built like a bear and just as sturdy, and the impact felt like hitting a brick wall. He rebounded, tumbling backwards as the stranger whipped his head towards him in alarm. Only it wasn’t a stranger.

  Burk stared down at him, eyes wide, and Garild couldn’t help but return his shocked expression. “G-Garild? What in the name of Riel are you doing here?”

  “Attempting to save the world. Failing. No time to talk though, we’ve got company. Help me!”

  Burk reached down, grabbed Garild by the arm, and hoisted him to his feet as if he were a ragdoll. As he was brushing himself off, three angry ravens crammed into the alleyway. The others were still masked, but the one Garild had collided with had left his face exposed and if his furrowed brow was any indication, he wasn’t happy.

  “I see you found your friend,” the raven smiled. “Guess you didn’t need our help after all. We’ll go ahead and escort you two home. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you on the way there. This city is…dangerous. I’m sure you understand.”

  “You know,” Burk said, rolling his shoulders. “I think we’re okay. If you don’t mind, I’d like to catch up with my friend. We’ve got a lot to talk about. Like why he’s here,” he said pointedly, eyes boring into Garild. “And what he is doing. And why he brought friends.”

  “I’ll save you a spot next to him on the hanging tree,” the raven said, his lips splitting into a wide grin. He reached for his belt, drawing a wickedly curved dagger. “You’ll have plenty of time to talk.”

  “Damn it. I was having such a nice day.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Burk.” He closed his eyes, focused. The air around him shifted and changed. A feeble shield materialized in front of his hand, glowing a bright icy blue. The reaction from the ravens was immediate, their s
tance changing in reaction to the display of power.

  “Well, that’s new. Is that what they teach you in books these days?”

  “If only you knew how to read.”

  Burk laughed. “Ha, you’ve grown some fangs since I saw you last.”

  “Yeah, well, things change.”

  “That they do.”

  The lead raven inched forward, dagger raised. Garild dove forward to meet him, swinging his arm out with the shield and praying it held. The raven swung down, blade colliding with the blue barrier. Garild waited for the moment of impact, focused his energy, and reflected the blade with a blast of power. The raven staggered back, his eyes wide with alarm.

  “Well now,” he growled. “The Raven will be pleased with this catch. It’s getting harder and harder to find those with powers. The rats have scurried below ground, but you, you’re still here. We’ll make a show out of you.”

  There was a loud crack from behind the lead raven, and one of his companions slumped forward, revealing an auburn-haired woman, a length of wood held tightly in her grasp. She straightened, balancing the makeshift weapon over her shoulder. “Do you idiots ever stop talking?” Abby groaned, winking at Garild from the other end of the alley.

  “That’s my girl,” Burk grinned, cracking his knuckles. “Shall we?”

  “After you,” Garild offered.

  “I’m not the one with the shield,” Burk retorted. “I’ll let you go first.”

  Garild chuckled, feeding more power into the barrier. It glowed brighter, illuminating the shadows. He could see the expression of the other raven, his mask no longer able to hide the fear lurking in his eyes.

  CHAPTER 11

  Trista couldn’t remember a time when she’d been so sick. She groaned as she shifted her weight off her knees, leaning back to rest against her cot. If there was anything good to say about her sea sickness, it was that it was making it slightly easier to not worry about Garild. Had she the strength to argue, he would have been tied to a chair and forbidden from taking a single step towards Val’shar, Samira be damned.

  She was pulling Garild deeper and deeper into trouble, pulling them all into trouble. After Sanctuary, trouble was the last thing they needed, but it seemed they had little choice now that the Darkness was as real and bitter as the acid churning in her belly. What had any of it meant? Sanctuary, her broken heart. Fenir. They’d fought against a lie, fought to be free, and now it was their reality. There was no escaping it.

  She swallowed, wincing in pain as saliva slid down her raw throat. It felt like she’d spent a year with her mouth open, turning the landscape of her throat into a parched desert. She needed water. She needed off the ship. She needed to be under the sun, to feel earth crumble between her fingers before it all drove her insane. So useless. A healer without a garden, a healer so sick she couldn’t help anyone at all, not even herself.

  A soft knock broke her away from her thoughts, but she didn’t have the strength to lift her head. It was most likely Isa, come to check on her useless mentor. “Come in, Isa” she called, the words straining her swollen throat.

  The door creaked open, the wood floor groaning as she stepped into the room. “I’m not Isa, but I’ll accept the invitation regardless,” Barog said, his deep voice echoing in the small quarters.

  Her head was up in an instant, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing here?” she hissed. “If I’d known it was you-”

  “-You wouldn’t have let me in. I know. You don’t need to remind me,” he chuckled, his perfect teeth flashing bright in the gloom. He turned to shut the door with one hand, the other cradling some sort of flower with a bright red stem and beautiful velvet petals the color of blood. It had stained his white shirt where it pressed against the fabric. “How are you feeling?”

  “What do you want?” Barog had been a thorn in her side since they’d met, a sleazy captain with a penchant for anything with breasts that so much as glanced in his direction. His never-ending barrage of flirtatious jibes were enough to make her brain melt out of her ears. Hoping her legs would hold her, she pushed herself up off the floor and eased onto the cot, the small movement setting her stomach to rumbling.

  Barog sighed. “You’ve truly mastered the art of scorn. I simply came to check on you. You’ve been locked in here all day and I was worried. You look awful.”

  “I’m touched, truly,” Trista groaned. “Now get out.”

  For the first time, Barog looked genuinely hurt. He opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. His eyes fell to the flower clutched delicately in his large hands. “My mother, Aeiril have mercy on her soul, was a kind woman. Wise and beautiful, as much a part of the land as she was a part of the people. She loved the sea, lived for it. The smell of salt off the water, the cries of gulls, the feel of a sea breeze – that was her first love. The sea, however, did not love her back.”

  Despite her innate desire to shut her ears to his words, something about his story caught her attention. She’d never heard Barog speak of anything personal that wasn’t inappropriate or embarrassing and now he was telling her about his mother. “What do you mean?”

  “It made her incredibly sick. Put her on a ship and in minutes she’d start turning green. How could a woman love the sea so much and be crippled by it? And yet she was determined, just as the sea was determined to turn her away. She tried every remedy known to sailors, and of the dozens, only one worked.” He crept closer, seeming a giant in her tiny cabin, shoulders hunched and head down. He slowly lowered himself onto one knee before her, lifted the flower so it was easier to see. “There is a giant rock jutting out of the eastern seas. It’s a tricky spot to get to and if you’re not careful, you’ll end up stuck on the rocks with no one to rescue you. It became a sort of pilgrimage for my father each year, one that I eventually joined him on. On that rock grew a peculiar red flower. It was covered in them the ways walls are covered in moss. They grow in a mere handful of places, but none in such numbers as they do there.” His tone grew eager, a smile lighting his face, his cheeks aglow with pride. He held out his hand, motioning for her to do the same.

  Hesitantly, she reached forward and he met her halfway, his hand curling around hers. The sudden contact with his skin made her jump. He didn’t seem to notice, so lost in his own tale, in the excitement of what he was showing her. “The stem is useless, that you can cast away, it is these…” he said, guiding her hand towards the flower. “…the petals, this is what is important.” He gripped her index finger, guiding it towards the delicate petals. He dragged her finger across one of them. It felt smooth as the finest silks, leaving a smudge of red on her fingertip. “This is the only thing that ever worked for her, the only thing that freed her from the torment of the very thing she loved. It is most potent when the petals are still fresh. The dried form works, but this…this is what you need.”

  Trista looked from the flower to Barog, eyes wide. “Where did you get this? You said it only grows-”

  “-In a few places. Yes. Imagine my surprise when I was strolling down the docks and something red caught my eye. It was growing out of some rocky crevice almost out of reach. Had to wriggle out towards the water on my belly and hope the Seekers didn’t think me odd enough to haul away. To think a single flower would grow here, where it is most needed.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Yes, it is,” he replied, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You only need about half a petal and that should help get you through the day. If we ever get to a proper trading port, I’ll probably be able to scrounge up more, but until then, use this sparingly.”

  “I will,” she said, struggling to get the words up and out of her throat. It was made harder by the lump there, a lump she was struggling to force down. The gift shouldn’t have meant so much, especially out of a fool like him. “Barog…thank you.”

  “Of course,” he replied. “Though you should be thanking my mother. It was her suffering that allowed us to know of this. I’m glad it can help ano
ther now.”

  “What happened to her? You speak of her as if…”

  “She is. A fever took her years ago,” he sighed, rising to his feet. He bent down, picking up the bucket Trista had become so acquainted with and tucked it away in the corner. He strode past her, yanking down the dirty cloth covering the window over her cot. With his sleeve, he scrubbed at the grime caking the window, allowing more natural light to shine through. It filled the room with a soft glow, illuminating the richness of his skin.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Don’t be. She lived a good, wholesome life. She loved deeply and did more with her time than I can say I’ve done with mine. I wish I could live as she lived.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  Barog shrugged. “Perhaps I don’t know how. Or perhaps I haven’t yet found my passion. I know not.”

  She opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by a commotion from outside. Barog peered out the window, squinting to see through the glass. “Hmph, I’ll be back.”

  Before he could reach the door, it was flung open by a young ship hand. His eyes were wide, his lip quivering as he spoke. “Uh, Captain. We’ve got a problem outside. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt,” he said, eyes flicking to Trista.

  “It’s all right, boy. Head back up. I’ll be right behind you.” As the boy scurried away, he turned back to Trista, grinning sheepishly.

  She was filled with a fury hot enough to light fire to the room. “What did you tell them you were coming down here for?”

  Barog winked, a deep chuckle rumbling in his chest as he fled the room.

  “Idiot,” she called after him, clutching the flower he’d given her. With a sense of purpose, she strode over to her belongings and dug through her pack, pulling out a mortar and pestle. He’d given her little instruction, but she was a healer. It was a simple matter to figure it out. She crushed the petal until it had turned into a bright red paste. She scraped the paste into a vial of water, shaking it vigorously until it was thin and drinkable. It didn’t smell great and she doubted it would taste much better, but she was ready to bear any foulness if it eased her stomach. “Well,” she sighed. “Bottoms up.”