“Come on, Adal. We can let someone else take care of the elf.” He held out a hand to me.
“No,” I finally answered. “She’s familiar, somehow. I feel like I’ve met her. Maybe at Chariis. And there’s something about her. I can’t put my finger on it.” I swallowed, my eyes on the patch of grain she had disappeared into. “I want to see what she has to show me.”
“Adal, if you go to see it, I don’t know what will happen. But I know it will change everything.”
I looked back at my brother.
“Adal. Come on. Please.” He pleaded with me. “What you will see, it will hurt you. I don’t want you hurt.”
“What do you mean?”
“Trust this old hunter. I’ve proven myself to you a hundred times before.”
“You have.” I looked back to the grain. What was this strange tugging? Why did I want to follow her? “So come with me. Come and protect your little brother again.”
“I’m too old to protect you. My bones ache.”
“Well, then I’ll protect you.” I took his outstretched hand and pulled him into the grain.
The grain. It was so high this year. Usually it would only come up to my waist. Why was it towering over my head? I hadn’t noticed before. All I could see were amber stalks and the sunlight filtering through. The smell of earth and growing things filled my nostrils.
Garethen held tight to my hand, but he didn’t say a thing. I felt him tense up.
After a few minutes’ walk, we broke out into a mown-down area of the field. I didn’t recognize the place; I didn’t remember any clearings like this. We grew as much grain as possible in our short season to provide for as many people as possible.
The elf stood still, looking at something on the ground. I couldn’t identify it from the ten or so paces away where we stood as we came out of the grain. She looked up with a smile. “Adal. I’m glad you came. I don’t know if you remember me; I’m Cerulean. We met in Chariis. It feels like a long time ago now.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t recall meeting you, and I think I’d remember an elf this talkative.”
She laughed. “Of course you would. When you met me, I wasn’t this way. But I’m different now. Much different. A friend of mine, well, let’s just say he taught me that humans were worth talking with. And I’m glad he did. Can you tell him that, when you see him next? He was good for my soul.”
“I’m not entirely sure I have any idea what you’re talking about.”
Garethen shifted uneasily next to me. He stepped away, beginning to circle the clearing.
The elf simply smiled. “You will. You’ll remember when the time is right, Adal. But now, can I ask you what this is? I want to know the story.” She gestured to the object on the ground.
Garethen drew an arrow from the quiver strapped to his thigh. His bow was in his hand. “Don’t, Adal. It’s a trick. I don’t know what this is, but it’s dangerous.”
Cerulean turned a confused smile to my brother. “Really? I just found it. If it’s dangerous, you don’t need to point that at me. I’m not the one who put this here.”
“What are you trying to do to my brother?” Garethen asked, bowstring taught, ready to loose the arrow.
I looked from the elf to my brother. The man I’d grown up with. The man I’d looked up to for so many decades. I felt nothing from the elf. No warning, certainly. And though I had no idea what was on the ground, I couldn’t imagine it could be harmful to me.
But Garethen was right; his instincts had saved so many lives. Why wouldn’t I trust him now?
“Lady elf, may I ask you to move away from whatever that is?”
“Of course.” She stepped aside, to the opposite side of the clearing from me. “I am still curious what it is, though. Could you please tell me?”
“Adal, let’s go home. Leave this elf and her questions here.”
“Gar, she’s fine. She can’t threaten us. Let me see what it is.”
I stepped forward. It was just a few steps. Just a few steps of ground, and then I’d see what this thing was, and it would be fine. A few steps, and I saw it was a stone she was looking at. Just a stone. What a strange thing to ask about.
Another step. There was writing etched on the stone. I couldn’t make it out.
Another step.
“Adal. Please. It’s some sick joke. Don’t look.”
Another step. I could finally make out what it said.
“Naeharum Braden.”
It bore the name of my son.
It was my son’s gravestone.
Chapter Fifty-Four
The elf waited patiently as I stared at the small headstone. It wasn’t even the proper size for a man; it was the kind of gravestone…
It was the kind of gravestone we used for children.
My eyes shot to the elf. “What is this?” I heard it in my voice: the kind of anger I reserved for traitors. Like the ones I’d had exiled to the wastes last season, after they fled from the goblin raiding parties.
Cerulean raised her eyebrows. “That’s what I was asking you. Here, in the middle of a field, by itself, I knew there had to be some story behind it. Do you know the story, O king?”
Behind me, I felt more than heard a bowstring release. An arrow appeared in the elf’s shoulder.
Garethen snarled, “Get away. Get away from my brother. You won’t hurt him like this.”
Cerulean didn’t even wince at the arrow sticking out of her. She raised her eyebrows again. “No. I won’t. But you have.”
“What’s going on here?” I demanded. “Garethen, brother, what’s going on?”
“She’s trying to trick you,” he growled.
“Trick me? How? Did she put this stone here? I know Braden’s alive. And if this is a threat, it’s a strange one. Why lay a stone as if he died years ago?”
And then I saw something.
A child.
My child.
He lay in my arms. Gayala wept behind me. She was undone. We buried him. The nation mourned with us. They hurt so much for us, but they could not know the depth of our pain. We never had another child.
I shook my head. What was that? It made no sense. I looked up at the elf. “Did you do that? I know you elves can speak to each other without words.”
Cerulean shook her head. “I swear on all that is light, Naeharum Adal, I put no images in your head. If you are seeing something, it is you yourself showing it to you.”
“Why are you doing this to him?” Garethen had drawn another arrow. “Leave. Now. I’m done warning you.”
“You cannot slay me, Garethen Talespinner. I belong here much more than you do.”
Another arrow appeared at the base of her neck.
“You cannot harm me. No matter how many arrows you plant in me, I will stand. Adal accepted me; he has never accepted you. He carries you only to destroy you forever. You cannot succeed now. You have been defeated.”
“Garethen.” I raised a hand to my brother. “What is she talking about?”
“Nonsense. Trust me.”
“Tell me what she’s saying, then. Why does she think she belongs here more than you? I can’t remember a time I didn’t know you. A time you weren’t looking out for me. A time you didn’t wanted to protect me from everything. And this elf. I’ve never seen her before.”
That wasn’t right. Somehow, I did know her. I could see her in my memory. She was speaking a story. Something about heroes. Something about holding back the darkness. Chains of golden words wrapped around a stone chimney.
“Who are you?” I asked her.
She offered a sad, sad smile. “A dead friend.”
In my memory, she fell. She struggled with something. A man who burned with blue flames. She protected us.
She had protected me.
She had given herself for me. Whoever this Cerulean was, she had sacrificed herself so I wouldn’t fall into the hands of the Blue Rider. She had known what she was doing.
And now she stood h
ere. In a grain field, overlooking a gravestone that should not exist. Hated by my brother.
But why would my brother hate someone who had given herself to rescue me?
“Garethen. Tell me the truth.”
He loosed a sob. “No. You don’t want the truth, Adal. Please. Don’t make me say it. I’m finally free. I can finally love here. I can do something right. And I made it what it would be like if you were free from the stories, too. I want you free. I don’t want you chained like I am. Like you have been your entire life.”
I turned to face him. “What are you talking about?”
His eyes flickered between me and the elf. He lowered the bow. “Adal. Think about the stories. What does every story need?”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”
“What does every story need, Adal?”
I swallowed and looked around me. “I suppose a hero.”
“And almost every story has something else.”
I looked down at the gravestone again. “Grief. Conflict. Pain.”
“And not only those horrible things.” Garethen’s words came haltingly.
“Someone who causes them,” I finally answered.
“And the stories have their way. They run the world. You might not realize it, but they control everything. And because they say there must be someone who causes the world’s grief… well.” He looked at the elf and then back at me. “Here I am.”
“I don’t understand,” I repeated.
“The stories needed a Fallen Lord. They raised me up, long ago. I stayed so long because, well, sometimes I enjoyed it. But the truth is, I didn’t want anyone else to have to do what the stories made me do.
“But then I made a plan. I decided I would finally stop being the Fallen Lord. But I must make sure no one follows in my footsteps. And that’s why I made this world here in your dreams, Adal. I made this lie so maybe, just maybe, I could tell you the truth.”
“And what truth is that?”
“The Keeper of Tales becomes the Fallen Lord. When I leave my position, it will fall to you, eventually. The tales will wait until the time is right, but you will rise. Unless…” A flicker of hope lit his eyes. “Unless we find a way to stop the tales.”
And then the elf stepped forward. “A world without tales is empty.”
Garethen, my brother, the man I had known since before I could remember, glared at the elf. “A world without tales is free.”
I held up a hand. I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or walk away. “You’re mad, Garethen. You’re my brother. You’re no Fallen Lord. There’s no such thing!”
And he looked at me.
There is a legend we tell in the North. We speak of Aydara, a Spireman, a great man, who comes to visit once a year on the coldest night. He bears fire that will warm homes. He also brings gifts for any child who has warmed the hearts of his or her parents. Of course, Aydara is not real. Parents put out gifts for children. And so someday, every parent tells their children the truth. It is often a heart-rending day. The end of childhood.
I told Braden when he was nine harvests old. It was the day he learned that I was a liar. And on that day, I felt a sliver of what Garethen felt now.
The day I learned my brother was a liar.
And not just any liar. The Father of Lies.
“No,” I said. It was all I could say. “No. This isn’t a dream. This is real. That other place. Where this elf died for me. Where you are my enemy. That’s not real. That’s the dream. It has to be.”
Oh, my brother. He simply looked at me. He hurt for me.
How could the Fallen Lord hurt for anyone?
“Adal, remember this.” Garethen gestured to the fields around us. “Chain me beneath Chariis. Do what you planned. But remember what it was like to be free. To have a brother. To have children. Because here, the stories didn’t say what you must be.”
The sky cracked. Little pieces of it fluttered down to us. Each piece of the sky was another word.
“Chain me up. Once free of the dream, I must be the Fallen Lord again. The tales will allow nothing else, especially in the seat of their power in Chariis. But here, remember me as I truly am. Someone who actually wants to do what is right.”
More words fluttered around us. The land itself began to crack.
The gravestone. My boy’s gravestone. It remained solid.
The elf put a hand on my shoulder. “Adal, not every story brings grief. Remember all the stories you have told that have brought joy.”
Images flickered before me. Nieces. Nephews. Gatherings in Northane. Cheers. Laughter. Families drawing close.
I looked up at the broken sky. Through the cracks, stars shone down. Stars that told the stories of heroes. Of those who fought against the darkness. Who never faced temptations like this. Temptations to rewrite the world.
“Is it worth the price? Remember what you’ve lost, Adal.” Garethen took my hand. “I am centuries, millennia older than you. But you are my brother. You have been chosen to take my place. Trust me, Adal.”
And I looked into his eyes.
Yes. I would trust the Father of Lies, for today, in this dream, I saw he spoke the truth.
Chapter Fifty-Five
I woke.
Ow. My muscles ached so, so much. Pain lanced up my legs and through my back and into my neck. Below me, Kree’Ah’s muscles rippled as he continued his flight. Our white goblin friend huddled in front of me.
Braden. He had grown into such a fine man. That smile. He never smiled evenly, did he? And his beard never fully came in. His wife teased him about it.
His wife. What was her name? The grandchildren. I had grandchildren. I couldn’t picture their faces. I couldn’t hear the sounds of their singing. What did I play with them? Did I tell them the stories marked in the stars?
Wait. I didn’t just have Braden. I had a daughter, too.
It was all slipping away so, so fast. I had to hold on to it. I had to hold onto this other world. This better world. This place where life turned out the way it was supposed to.
Braden. Was he taller than me? What did it feel like when he clasped my hand? No.
All that was left was a gravestone. The other world, all the details, fled. My memories emptied themselves of the dream. My heart, though.... Oh, my heart remembered that contentment. That joy. That simple state of being. I was a king, and my people were content, and my family gathered around me. What more could a man want?
I even had a brother.
What kind of world was it where Garethen was a good big brother?
I lifted the canteen. He was in here. The one who claimed to be my brother. Not of blood, of course. But that he wanted to watch out for me. That he wanted what was best. A world with no Fallen Lord. A world where stories let us live the lives we wanted to live. A world where my son lived.
I howled.
No silent tears. Not this time. My heart would not rest in quiet. I roared out my pain. How many fathers had ever lost a son twice? How many fathers had lost a daughter and couldn’t even remember her name?
Too much. Too much had been torn from me. My arms shook. My voice gave out, and still I howled into the wind.
Badron startled awake and trembled. Kree’Ah tried to turn to see what was happening. The others looked around. Yolian, I think, wept.
No more stories. No more bending and twisting to fit their forms. No more blind trust in old stories that would keep us. No, I was done with stories like that. No more.
Garethen had given me this pretty little world. It didn’t matter that he lied. It didn’t matter if it was all made up. Stories set men against each other. Stories taught us hate. Stories forced Garethen to send the goblins against us season after season. Stories broke hearts and forced tears. They bartered with lives and claimed princes in payment. They created truths and snatched them away.
No more. Let the Library burn.
Just save the people. And that meant making a stand at Chariis. Fine. I would lea
d the people there, push back our enemies. We would store Garethen away, bury him in the depths of the Library, and let him burn with it, until we found a way to conquer the stories. Until we found a way to take control.
Then the people would be safe. The Fallen Lord would be gone. The power of stories broken. And any that remained? I would be their warden. I would keep them away from those they had harmed. Never again would a story cause such pain.
Chapter Fifty-Six
I hurt. My heart. My body. All of me ached.
But at last, at last, the sun set behind us, and below lay Chariis. The valley festered with armies. All flowed toward the Fabled City.
In the dark, we couldn’t tell what armies they were.
I urged Kree’Ah to descend. As we flew lower, I spied dwarven forges, elven tents, men gathered around cookfires.
We had beat Garethen’s armies back. Perhaps it wasn’t too late. Perhaps we could stop the carnage.
Then I saw the brightness behind the city. Fear uncoiled in my heart. “Fly around the city. Don’t land just yet,” I told Kree’Ah. He winged to the left to circle as I had asked.
Behind the city, a thin line of defense beat back an onslaught of goblins and larger creatures. Chariisi flung words to shore up a great shimmering wall. It stopped most creatures from entering, and the few that found a way through were immediately set upon by lines of archers. The defenses were wedged between the attackers and the edge of the cliffs that descended into the city. There was no place to bring reinforcements.
How could an entire army have snuck up on the back side of Chariis without warning? I did not understand.
Finally, I pointed to the Sargon’s Colonnade. “Land there.”
“We will be near should you need us.”
“But this will complete your vow.”
“This is true. But you may have need of me soon. Never let it be said I wasn’t there when I was needed.”
Kree’Ah dove next to the Colonnade, putting out claws so he could cling to the side of the cliff. Dying screams from the battle tore at my ears and heart.
More death. The stories said that in times of crisis, there was always a great battle. And many would die in battle. Because the stories said that’s how it should happen.
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