by L. W. Jacobs
“I think Teynsley is coming for me,” Ella said without preamble.
“I don’t doubt he is, with what you just did.” Falena nodded at the spear.
Her face colored. Right—if her earlier use in Brokewater hadn’t alerted him, that harmony would have. “I wanted to be sure you saw it. Proof of him attacking another archrevenant against our pact.”
Her voice slipped a little at the word our, though technically she was an archrevenant so long as she held the spear.
Falena didn’t blink. “I can do that. Anything else?”
Currents, was this just casual conversation to the woman? “And I wanted to see if you could help me. Once he’s proven himself guilty, I mean.”
“That I cannot do. Not until the others have agreed on his guilt, anyway. Or else it might look like I was trying to gain power for myself.”
Was she? Ella had wondered often enough before now, like there was a deeper game here she wasn’t seeing.
“You’ve found him then?” Falena asked, brushing at some sand on her leggings.
“I think so,” Ella said. She’d thought it through during the tense moments waiting for Falena to arrive, but found herself hesitant to say it out loud. To get Falena’s confirmation it was true.
Because if it was, Marea was in league with the enemy.
“I followed a trail from a family he’d manipulated, in trying to get the spear from Aran,” Ella said, working her way up to it. “It lead to a shaman named Uhallen, who pointed me on toward Praet Sablo, leader of a local ninespears cell.”
“Whom you killed before realizing he was the wrong man?”
Right—the woman could read her mind, even behind the filter. No secrets here.
“I had to be sure,” Ella said, hating what she’d done but hating even more what this meant for Marea. If she’d known, she would have done more to dissuade Marea. “My friend—she’s been studying under him.”
Falena nodded. “He’s training her to get to you, I imagine, or Tai if that’s who Teynsley thinks has the power. He always did prefer to pull strings behind the scenes rather than take risks.”
“Are these memories enough then?” Ella asked, a sudden hope rising in her heart. “I have proof he sent Eyadin to clear the way at Aran, and that he nearly killed the girl Rena in the process.”
“They are not,” Falena said, and Ella almost imagined she heard sadness in the woman’s tone. “I need evidence of him directly attacking another archrevenant. That means you’re up. Stay strong. You have the power of a god in your hands. Survive this and you’ll have seven more of us beside you when we go after Teynsley.”
Little good that did her now. “Is there nothing you can do for me then?”
Falena sighed, glancing around. “I’ve already said he is cautious. If you see an opening, take it. Self-defense is not prohibited, so you might just end this thing now.”
She disappeared in a clap of thunder, leaving Ella standing in a frozen world, dread rising in her heart.
46
That’s right. I am Ellumia Merewil, the Runaway Knife. I killed my brother to escape betrothal captivity. I joined the forces in Ayugen that defeated the Councilate there and in Gendrys. And I was in Aran when the so-called rebellion happened. So I can say definitively that what you have been told about these events is lies.
—Ellumia Merewil, An Outcast’s View of Empire, printed in The Councilate Quill
Marea stepped through the massive columned arch into the light of morning, faithful in a stream all around her. On the sandy floor of the Councileum ministers ululated in ancient Yersh and waves of tynsfol incense rose from portable altars, smoke rising to the Descending God as the priest’s rhythmic footfalls were meant to penetrate to the Ascending. It had always struck her as ironic that holy rites were carried out on the same sand that caught so much blood every day.
Her eyes roamed the stone benches around her, searching for anyone haloed in Uhallen’s green light. The back of her neck itched, where she’d mounted a revenant so as not to stand out to anyone watching for her in shamanic sight. She saw nothing, but the arena was huge. Uhallen had said the shaman would be here, after fleeing Brokewater. She followed a few of the Eschatolists as they made their way around the leftward arc, others descending toward the floor. Braegen would not be expecting her, so she could take her time in finding him. Find the best position to attack. With any luck, she’d kill him before he even knew she was there.
And then what had Uhallen said? You will be greater than any shaman in Worldsmouth, save myself.
And then she would get out. Cut her losses, go beyond where the Neverblades could follow her. Start a new life. On Gyolla, maybe, or work her way onto the Brinerider ships. With that much power, anything would be possible.
Marea circled the stadium, eyes scanning the worshippers below casually, morning wind carrying warm delta air in through the grand quartzite arches. She watched the ministers too, dressed in their ceremonial beadwork kurtas, spinning in elaborate patterns around the smoking altars. What better place to hide than in plain sight as one of the ministers?
None of them glowed, other than the feint halo of any living person. Approaching the gate where she’d started, Marea turned her eyes to the sparsely seated upper tiers of the stadium. The weary, homeless, and dream-eyed often slept off nights here, secure in their shared company. Wide stairs lead up to the top rows, where a small group of worshippers faithful to the old gods held vigil at the northernmost point, singing hymns to Puahi and Alenul and the other old gods. She squinted, trying to make out a glow against the horizontal rays of the rising sun, silhouetting their bodies.
There—a glint of green to the right? Yes, and not just the reflection off Yersh glasswork or a bronze urn. This was Uhallen’s green, the marking he’d said would show on her target.
Marea summoned a shamanic leg, thrusting it straight through the heel of her foot and behind her, away from the view of the glowing figure, who was still a quarter turn of the massive stadium away. The leg was a trick she’d come up with herself—there was no reason shamanic arms needed to be arms, or feet or anything familiar. Those were crutches to aid belief, and the further she could stretch her mind away from them, the more advantage she’d have.
A thousandpace away, at the end of her impossibly long shamanic leg, she sprouted an arm and began stringing revenants. Red ones, blue ones, black ones—Uhallen had said sometimes one variety worked better than another for a shamanic attack, so she would use all of them. A lot of all of them. The success of the attack depended on how hungry the ghosts were, and how many you strung end to end. Uhallen had said about one revenant for each of the target’s thralls. He hadn’t been clear on how many Braegan might have, so she was going to play it safe. One hundred should leave the man senseless.
Marea took one of the wide stairs leading to the upper levels, keeping her gaze on the sunlight streaming in above as though she too intended to make offerings to Puahi. she worked her way southward from there, stacking revenants on her hidden limb. She wished she had a cigar, or anything to justify what she was doing up here, but Braegan didn’t seem to notice her anyway. She risked another glance—he appeared to be dressed as a lighthaired woman, tallish, wearing a sleeping gown. Odd.
She strolled closer still, the chain of revenants on her hidden arm growing wildly long, the longest she’d ever made. Rending his soul was the best way to make sure she got all his thralls. It required him to be unconscious, or nearly, but that was what the revenant train was for. And to make sure it all went according to plan, she had her native fatewalking. The combination had worked perfectly on the last shaman.
Fifty paces now. Forty. Heart beating fast, Marea summoned the vision of what she wanted to happen: Braegan’s sudden cry, the thump as he fell to the stones, the resistance of his body as she reached in for his soul, and the rush of power as she tore it free. Marea heard it, saw it, smelled it, tasted it. Wanted it.
The greatest shaman in Worldsmo
uth. And all she had to do was kill a murderer.
Marea struck resonance and attacked.
47
Ella watched the sun rise over the massive stone arena, listening to the calls of the ministers below echo up to the pagan songs above. She forced her breaths to be calm, her hands to be still. There was no knowing how a god would attack, or from where, or when. All was the readiness. And her plan. It wasn’t a great one, but at least she had one.
“We’ll get through it,” she said, one hand on her belly. Ella looked down. “Guess I’m talking to you, little one. It used to be my revenants but they’re all gone now. Don’t worry. It’ll be all right.”
Somehow the knowledge she needed to survive this not only for Tai but for her little arc of light gave her strength. Failure was not an option--there was too much at stake.
She opened her mouth to say more and pain exploded in the base of her skull. Ella gasped, finding herself on hands and knees, a chorus of screams in her mind drowning out conscious thought.
The plan. Mind roaring, body burning in agony, Ella focused on the plan—to travel. To physically get herself away from here. She had her proof. Teynsley had attacked her. Now she needed to go.
Ella gripped the spear, conjuring an image of the forests outside Ayugen, when something shoved into her forehead. Shoved in and pulled.
She gasped, body convulsing inward, glimpsing a shamanic arm reaching inside her, as if to take her very soul.
Or her child’s.
“No!” Ella screamed, something deeper than pain or plans rearing up. The spear’s uai roared up to match it and the shamanic arm shattered, along with the pain and the screams. No one was taking her child. No one.
Ella stood, all flight forgotten in rage. She spun, shamanic eyes lighting on a slim girl thirty paces away, frantically stringing revenants onto a shamanic arm.
She paused. “Marea?”
In answer the figure struck again, pain again flaring in Ella’s spine, hand again pushing into her forehead, reaching for her arc of light.
Ella shoved it out with sheer disbelief. Her spine throbbed as she pushed up, the animal urge to protect herself beating harder. Her instincts said to act, to use the spear and end this threat now.
Ella took a shaky breath. She was not going to kill her friend. Uhallen had put her up to this. Falena had said he’d use her to fight his battles. “Marea,” she called. “Marea stop. It’s me, Ella.”
Marea smiled mirthlessly. “Not falling for that one.” She swung again.
Again the pain, again the screams, again instinct and uai rejecting the shamanic hand. This time when Ella stood she was not as steady on her feet—this was taking a toll on her body.
Nor was she as steady in her self-control. “Marea,” she snapped, hands itching to attack, to use the spear and end this, “I don’t want to hurt you but I will if you don’t stop. It’s me. Ella. Your friend? The one who walked all the way to Yatiland with you in the snow?”
The girl was unfazed, a flurry of shamanic limbs around her stringing revenants onto a central arm.
“You’re reading my memories,” the girl said. “Just like a revenant.”
“Then why am I not attacking you?” Ella called. Marea swung and it was everything she could do not to strike back first, to crush the girl into the paving stones.
Instead the screams, the pain, the awful hand reaching into her core. Ella shoved it out, spear’s power roaring through her, and forced herself to be logical.
“Whatever he said to you Marea, whatever he promised you, it’s lies! Uhallen is the archrevenant I’ve been searching for! He’s using you!”
Marea struck again. This time Ella summoned her own shamanic arm, trying to stop it as she’d seen Marea do at the Downs. They needed a minute to calm down and talk.
Ella’s arm shattered, and the world dissolved again to pains and screams and the violating reach into her core.
“I mean it!” Ella roared, in a voice that echoed from the far side of the amphitheater. “I don’t want to hurt you but I can’t keep doing this! Is this because of what I said? I’m sorry! I wrote you that—did you get my riverpost?”
For the first time Marea looked uncertain, then her elfin face hardened to determination again. “I don’t live with my family anymore. And very good. If the real Ella was apologizing, I might consider it. But she never would, and you need to die.”
The pain. The screams. And the animal urge to end the thing threatening her, stronger with every attack, too strong now to resist. Ella swung her fist and something giant struck out with the strength of the spear, sending Marea’s slender form flying out of the stadium.
48
Marea tumbled in air, ears ringing, Councileum and ground and sky all spinning out of control.
She struck resonance, gritting her teeth, and willed herself upright and stable in air. She stopped, floating a hundredpace above the giant square around the Councileum, then shoved back in. There was no doubt Breagan had power—but also no doubt he was weakening under her attacks. Each time he stood he looked weaker, less in control. People in the arena were beginning to notice, but it didn’t matter. Once she had his thralls she would disappear from this place and never look back. And woe be on the lawkeeper or shaman who tried to stop her.
Marea wafted up the wall, the ability still unfamiliar to her but as accessible as any other with her uai stream. She sighted on the man’s feminine figure and struck again. Again he fell, and she rammed her waiting arm through his forehead, putting all her willpower into an iron grip on his soul.
Uhallen hadn’t been lying about the man’s power. If she could take his thralls, she could do anything she wanted.
Marea pulled, and felt the tiniest give before her arm shattered, destroyed by the man’s impossible strength. But slower—it was slower this time than last, was slower every time. She was getting there.
“Listen to me!” Braegan called, still pretending to be Ella. “It has to be Uhallen! I followed the trail he sent me on, to the head of the Divine Army, and killed him. It was a false lead! Uhallen is lying to you, and he’s—”
Marea ignored him, punching another arm loaded with revenants onto his spine. She landed on the wall’s edge as he fell, then closed her eyes and put everything she had into the strike for his soul. Gripped it. Pulled on it like a drowning man pulls at a rope. And for the first time she felt some give, just the tiniest tearing free—
Her arm shattered. A momeng later giant stones hurtled at her, ripping from the Councileum itself.
Marea leapt from the wall cursing, believing herself a wafter and shooting outward to thunderous booms and cracks. She spun to see one of the amphitheater’s pace-wide columns collapse, Braegan’s stones hurtling through them.
Currents. Whatever had been holding the man back before—likely fear of drawing attention—it wasn’t anymore.
All the more reason to end this.
Marea wafted herself against the outside wall, madly stringing revenants onto a central arm. She needed to be stronger if she was going to win this. But shamanic strength was just a matter of belief, right? And she had control over her belief.
Arms appeared around her, more arms than she’d ever used, pulling revenants from the crowd below and stringing them in a shamanic flurry. Still working, Marea turned and sighted through the thick quartzite of the Councileum itself. She struck.
Braegan dropped, and Marea again believed herself stronger than she was, invincible. Her arm sliced into the man’s forehead, shot to his core, gripped the beating soul there and tore at it. He began to push up and still Marea pulled, soul beginning to crack and pop under her grip like a molar coming free.
Then Braegan shot into the sky and roared, “You can’t have my child!”
The arena exploded beneath her, massive stones hurtling through the air. Marea spun and dodged, one tiny piece of her mind wondering at what she’d heard. Child? What was Braegan talking about?
She made it through the
flying stones, booms and crashes sounding as they slammed into buildings below. Braegan stood in the jagged hole he’d blown in the wall, Ella’s chest heaving, the slender broom in her hands. Only, without its bristles, it looked different.
“I can’t do this, Marea!” he called. “You have to stop!”
Marea slowed the hands stringing revenants on her arm, dread rising in her heart. “What did you mean, a baby?”
And why did Braegan have a spear?
“Look for yourself!” the shaman called, a note of desperation in his voice. “If you think I’m a man, how could I possibly have another life inside me?”
Marea looked, shamanic sight picking out a tiny twinkle in Braegan’s belly even at this distance. A child.
Marea fell, concentration on wafting forgotten in pure shock. And remorse for trying to kill her friend.
Cursing, Marea caught herself and wafted back up to the shattered wall, staying back in case this was some elaborate trick. “Ella?” she called hesitantly. “You’re—pregnant?”
“Yes!” her friend cried. “I just found out! It’s me and Tai’s!”
That did it. Her voice was just too authentic, the tears rolling down her cheeks too real to doubt. Marea dropped her shamanic arm and flew to her friend. “Current’s wake Ella I’m so sorry, I—”
“Shut up and hug me.”
Marea fell into her arms, eyes burning. “You’re pregnant?” she asked stupidly.
“I am,” Ella sobbed, squeezing her so hard it hurt. “I’ve wanted to tell you so bad.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have been such a sow then,” Marea said, feeling a touch of anger even though her relief.
“I know. I’m sorry. I wrote it all in the post, but—” Ella pushed her back far enough to meet eyes. “You have to see now that Uhallen is lying to you.”