Fate's Star

by Elizabeth Vaughan

  Chapter Sixty-One

  The airions spotted the entrance to the old eyrie, even thought the trees had grown up in front, blocking it from Kalynn’s sight. They back-winged into the tunnel entrance, Wolfe’s going in first. The clatter of their claws against the stone was an old and comforting sound. Kalynn had to fight the familiar urge to duck her head as they entered its cool depths. Going from sun to shadow in the stone tunnel brought back a rush of memories.

  The solid stone wall at the back did not.

  “Are they behind there?” Kalynn asked as she dismounted. Her airion danced toward the wall, clawing at it and clacking its beak.

  “They’re there,” Wolfe said shortly. He started to unsaddle his mount, grunting with the effort as he dragged off the saddle bags. “She locked them safe away, sleeping, awaiting the call to awaken. Awaiting the day.”

  “A day which comes,” Kalynn said. “The trees have grown up.” She went to the edge, peering out. “The path has certainly deteriorated.”

  “Kalynn,” Wolfe added her saddle and gear to the pile. “It’s been a hundred years, give or take. Trees grow,” he added. “Rocks fall.”

  “Do you suppose the rabbit hutches are still there?” She craned her neck out, looking off to the side. “You can still see a faint trace of the path.”

  “The hutches are sure to be gone, but the great-great-who-knows-how-many-great grand-offspring are probably still there.” Wolfe chirped at the airions. They settled down along the back wall, curling into balls, tucking their wings in tight.

  “I guess,” Kalynn hugged herself. “I guess I thought it would be the same forever.”

  Wolfe came up behind her, and wrapped his arms around her. “Everything changes.”

  She cast a glance back at the airions. “You put them to sleep?”

  “You saw the herd below us, probably the descendants of the feeder herds.” Wolfe rolled his eyes. “She’s not going to be pleased to see us, and even more so if they kill any of those cows.”

  “True,” Kalynn sighed, leaning back against his warmth. “Do you suppose she is there?”

  “She’s there,” Wolfe said confidently. “She’d not stray far from her charges. But let me check,” he closed his eyes. “Yes. With two others, both male.” He frowned. “They are at the old storage cave, loading a wagon with something. We should wait until she is alone.”

  Kalynn nodded.

  “We should be ready,” Wolfe said. “I’m sure her temper has not improved. She might launch a mage attack as soon as she catches sight of us.” He snorted. “Well, catches sight of me,” he added gruffly.

  “She wouldn’t,” Kalynn insisted, suddenly fearful. She turned in his arms to look at him.

  “She might,” Wolfe said. His face was calm and resigned. “I have to assume that she will lash out.”

  “Wolfe,” she put her hands on his chest, felt the steady beat of his heart through the leathers.

  “Kalynn,” Wolfe took her hands in his. His fingers warmed hers. “You’re right, we need to talk to her. But we should be prepared for the worst, yes? If she attacks, stay close. I’ll shield us, and then portal us out.” Wolfe looked down toward the cave. “The men and wagon are leaving. She’s alone.”

  “You are not going to make me walk down that path, are you?”

  Wolfe chuckled. “No.”

  He opened a portal, and they stepped through. Kalynn looked around, recognizing the large boulder that sat by the path, but not much else. The trees had grown up, and the underbrush allowed to thicken. She could hear the cows in the fields beyond. She looked at Wolfe, and he nodded, and gestured for her to proceed.

  The cave entrance had been covered by large wooden barn doors, now closed. There was a small door off to the side. The wagon, and its drivers were gone. Kalynn strode up to the smaller door, Wolfe followed. Kalynn took a breath, and knocked.

  “Who’s there?” came an old, quavering female voice.

  “That’s not—” Wolfe said, but then the door was thrown open.

  An aged, wrinkled woman confronted them, her white hair piled on her head, her back hunched with age. Her eyes went wide, then narrowed.

  “Kalisa?” Kalynn couldn’t hide her shock. Wizened and bent, this could not be—

  “Sister,” Kalisa’s voice emerged from the woman, stiff and angry. She had to tilt her head to see them, and if possible, her eyes got harder. “Stalking Wolf.”

  “No more,” Wolfe’s tone was deceptively mild. “Just ‘Wolfe’ these days.”

  “Come in,” Kalisa shuffled back. “Before you are seen.”

  “What happened to you?” Kalynn asked, unable to stop herself from asking as she crossed the threshold. Wolfe followed and closed the door behind them.

  “You ask that?” Kalisa gave a harsh laugh. “You and the Chaosreaver, who tore the magic of the elements from the Heart of the Plains and the Kingdom of Xy?”

  Wolfe put his hand on Kalynn’s shoulder. “I don’t regret rescuing my warprize.”

  “At what cost?” Kalisa snapped. “I lost everything. My love, my position, my flying—”

  her voice hitched.

  “Yes,” Wolfe spoke cooly. “Interesting, what you have done with the place.”

  Kalynn shot him a warning glance, but finally took a moment to look around. “Is that cheese?”

  The cave had once stored flying gear and saddles for the airion wing. Now there were rows and rows of wooden shelves, covered with wheels of cheese.

  “Those of my blood, my warrior blood, mind you,” Kalisa’s words were brittle. “Those of my blood should have claimed the skies by now, riding airions, defending this land. Instead, they make and sell cheese.” Her disdain was clear. “None of them dream of battle. None of them feel the call of the sky. Cheese.” she looked at the shelves and her lip curled.

  “The gift has not passed on?” Wolfe asked, frowning.

  “And if it had?” Kalisa snapped. “There is no magic here, Chaosreaver, you saw to that. Airions need magic to survive, as so many things do. I preserved what I could, and used the last to sustain my life. The spell fades, after so long. I fade with it.”

  Wolfe extended his hand. “I could—”

  “Don’t touch me,” Kalisa hissed.

  Kalynn stepped back into Wolfe; the hate was palpable in her sister’s eyes and her heart broke to see it. “Kalisa, please,” she asked, extending her own hand.

  Kalisa looked away. “Why have you come?”

  Kalynn let her hand drop. “I have seen,” she said. “The day comes, Guardian. Be ready.”

  “Nothing more helpful than that? No date, no time, no real idea, just a vague warning?” Kalisa snorted.

  “Kalynn has seen,” Wolfe snarled. “You have a duty, Guardian.”

  “I will do as I see fit,” Kalisa snarled right back. “But do not think I do this for you. I do this for Xy, and for my people, and for my love that no one but I remembers. But do not expect forgiveness, Chaosreaver. Or you, sister, for that matter.” Her swollen hands tightened into fists. “I thank you for your warning. Leave.”

  “Let Wolfe offer you some ease, at the very least,” Kalynn took a step forward. “Please, Kalisa—”

  “You say ‘please’?” Kalisa shook her fist at them. “You, who created this nightmare? You, who deprived me of everything dear?” Her face was reddening, her eyes alight with madness. “If I had the power, I would smite you to the ground, and burn and burn both of you to ash.” Her voice dropped into a dark, evil hiss. “You killed my Uppor, and I will never, never forgive. May the very air deny you breath. May the very—”

  Wolfe’s arm snaked around Kalynn’s waist, and she was turned and through the glaring white of a portal in an instant.

  They appeared in the tunnel, Wolfe muttering his own curses in her ear. “If you think I was going to let that bitch curse us out the door and up the mountain, think again.”

  Kalynn shook her head. Everything ached, her body, her heart, her soul. S
he felt as if all the strength had left her limbs.

  “Bitter, withered, dried-up turd.” Wolfe stepped to the saddle bags, and started pulling out their bedroll. “We will spend the night here, and leave in the morning.”

  “She might follow,” Kalynn glanced back at the tunnel’s edge.

  “Without power? In her crippled condition?” Wolfe shook his head as he shook out their blankets. “No. Besides that path is bad enough no one is getting up here this night. Come and get warm.”

  “I’m not cold,” Kalynn said.

  “Then why are you shaking?” Wolfe asked as he knelt on the blankets. He opened his arms. “Come.”

  She went. Let him wrap her in a blanket, and sit beside her. With just a few gestures and words, he had a fire burning and a mug of hot kav in her hands. Then he joined her under the blanket, and wrapped his warmth around her.

  “You’re wasting your power,” she muttered.

  “No,” he said quite strongly. “I am not.”

  Kalynn sighed and let her tears come. “She’s like Charrin and Verice. They’ve locked their bitter hate in their hearts, and won’t let it out.”

  “Only she’s been at it for years in the making,” Wolfe said. “Almost one hundred.”

  Kalynn choked out a smile. “Give or take,” she reminded him as she took his hand.

  “Give or take.” Wolfe looked at their linked hands. “Here I sit, Stalking Wolf, Mage of the Plains, Chaosreaver, feared and hated and yet I cannot ease your pain.”

  Kalynn put her head on his shoulder. “No, Wolfe. You are my tent, my winter lodge, my shelter, my home.”

  “Then shelter in my love,” Wolfe said. “Sleep.”

  Kalynn nodded, and closed her eyes, but sleep eluded her. Instead, her eyes drifted to the solid wall at the end of the tunnel. It seemed to her that shadows moved within, images...and her mind flooded with all the possibilities.

  “Wolfe,” Kalynn sat straight up.

  “Eh?” he asked.

  “They are tied to her, aren’t they?” Kalynn asked. “She locked them away and—”

  Wolfe was already staring at the wall. “Yes,” he said distantly.

  “I don’t trust her,” Kalynn said, hardening her heart to face the truth about her sister. “I think she would rather see them locked away forever. And with her health…” she let her voice trail off.

  “If she were to die, the airions will be locked away forever.” Wolfe shook off the blanket and rose. “If Xyson had only known,” he said.

  “Not even Seers have hindsight, Beloved.” Kalynn rose to stand next to him. “Can you replace the spell?”

  “No,” Wolfe shook his head, his bushy white eyebrows beetled together. “That requires far more power than I dare use. No,” He walked forward, and placed his hand on the wall. “But I can add to it. Bend it a bit.”

  He started to mutter under his breath, pressing his hand flat to the wall. Kalynn settled down, waiting quietly.

  “There.” Wolfe took a deep breath, and returned to her side. “I linked it to the crystal Sword and the Royal Signet Ring. Any with the ability to use magic, who wield the sword and the ring can issue the call.” Wolfe shrugged at her questioning look. “I thought that any who would wield all three would have the best interests of Xy at heart.” He took Kalynn’s mug and drank. “Wouldn’t old Xyson laugh at that.”

  “You have enough power left?”

  Wolfe nodded. “We’ll fly out at dawn.”

  Kalynn draped the blanket back over both of them. “I still grieve,” she said. “She is old and crippled, and it will get worse for her from here.” She pressed her hand to Wolfe’s heart. “But no regrets.”

  Wolfe pressed his own warm hand on her cold fingers. “No regrets.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, then Wolfe turned his head slightly. “So,” he said as he waggled his eyebrows. “Perhaps we should balance each other’s elements this night?”

  Kalynn laughed.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  They gathered at sunset, on the First Night of the Festival of Light and Laughter.

  Warna stood next to Verice as the staff, guests and guards clustered at the base of the stairs leading to the main doors of the keep. She breathed a nervous prayer to the Lord and Lady that all would go as planned.

  She and Verice were dressed in simple white tunic and trous, as were about a dozen others. The others were all wearing mourning colors, somber, plain clothing. The crowd was thick, made up of people who had been present at the attack, or who had lost loved ones as a result.

  Priest Dorne stood at the top of the steps, a small metal bowl in one hand, a wooden striker in the other. He stood, watching the sky as the crowd swelled, greeting each other and talking quietly.

  Warna leaned in to Verice, letting her fingers entwine with his. He didn’t look down, but squeezed her fingers tightly. She could feel the tension in his body, his back stiff and straight.

  Finally, a guard on the far west wall lifted his hand and signaled that the sun was below the horizon.

  Dorne lifted the bowl, and struck it once. The bowl rang with a pure sweet tone, calling all who heard it to silence. The tone hovered in the air, throbbing like a heartbeat, then faded away, slow and steady. Warna strained to listen, not sure when the sound stopped, leaving only silence in the courtyard.

  “This night is the First Night of the Festival of Light and Laughter. With these seven nights and days we celebrate all the gifts that the Lord and Lady have given us.”

  Verice tightened his grip on Warna’s hand.

  “The first gift of the Lord was life, and the first gift of the Lady was death,” Dorne said.

  “And this night is sacred to the remembrance of all those that have gone from our midst.” Dorne’s voice rang out in the silence, echoing against the stones of the courtyard and walls. “Let us grieve for our loss, and honor their memories.”

  He struck the singing bowl again, but this time, the sound was joined by one mael’s voice, catching the tune, and extended it into a song of loss.

  Charrin stood off to the side, clad in white robes, embroidered with gold and green. His song floated above them, joined with soft sobs and whispered prayers from the crowd. Warna’s tears welled, her throat closing, not only for their grief but for her own, for her own family.

  The bowl went silent, and Charrin’s final note faded in the air.

  Verice released his hold on Warna’s hand and stepped forward.

  She felt his pain and ached for him. Ached for the sorrow etched in every line of his body. But her strong mael mounted the steps slowly as Dorne stepped to one side. He raised his hands and opened the main doors and stepped within the darkness and lit the mage lights to either side.

  Warna and the white clad servants followed behind.

  The crowd followed as well.

  Verice was supposed to advance further into the hall, but he froze in the doorway, seemingly unable to move forward.

  They all paused, the others looking at each other uncertainly. Warna understood. “Verice,” she whispered as she touched his shoulder. “Wait here.” She gestured to the others to follow her, and led them past Verice and into the wreckage beyond.

  It hadn’t changed. Nothing had been moved, or altered since the night of the attack.

  The dying light outside was just enough to light the colored-glass windows, letting their hues spill onto the floor. Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter stood silent guardians over the tables still set with dishes, some over-turned, with broken glass and pottery shattered on the floor. The high table, was cracked and the area before it covered in a large reddish-brown stain. Old dried blood.

  Warna swallowed hard. One glance showed her that Ersal and Janella, as well as the other volunteers that stood with her were just as stricken. They’d thought they’d known how hard this would be, but the reality was so much harder.

  They’d planned this in silence, with Charrin and Dorne outside, chanting a dirge. But suddenl
y that wasn’t enough for the emptiness and the ache she felt within. Warna swallowed hard, and gave voice to her sorrow, one long mournful keen for her pain.

  She reached out, picked up a soiled plate, and placed it in her basket.

  Her keen was caught by Ersal and the others and amplified as they joined in, lifting their voices in wordless sorrow. Deeper voices joined in, as some of the men added their grief to the rising tide of sound.

  Verice stood silent, in the doorway, as still as stone.

  The sound of the keening seemed to free them. As they’d planned, the men began to remove the broken furniture and chairs, as the women gathered the shards of glass and pottery. Everything was taken away, the room cleared of everything, all of it carried outside with reverence.

  When the men returned, they carried buckets of water, and clean white cloths.

  Warna took the first bucket, and one of the cloths, even as she continued the song. She knelt on the floor, at the edge of the dried blood, and started to clean.

  The outside light faded as they worked, night having truly fallen. Mage lights appeared around them, and Warna glanced at Verice, sure that he had lit them. But he still stood, unmoving and still. She wanted to go to him, but she knew it was best that this be done and finished as quickly as they could. Only then would she offer him whatever comfort he would accept.

  The weeping grew as they worked, the keening broken with the harsh sobs of those that labored. Each took a turn, taking over from another when the pain grew to be too much. Warna eyes stung, and her voice grew hoarse, but she didn’t stop. No one stopped, until the floor was clean.

  Then the buckets and rags were taken up, and they all started out, weary, their clothing stained and damp. Warna lifted her hand to her hair, drained and exhausted.

  A fluttering of wings caught her attention. Her gaze flew up to the huge circular window, as a small bird flew out. She gaped at its shattered opening. The window. Her stomach knotted in a flash of pain.

  Lord and Lady above, how had they forgotten the window? She glanced at Ersal, who was staring up at the opening with the same stunned look. There was a sharp intake of breath from behind her, probably Janella. They’d focused on the clearing, and the cleaning. All their plans for the use of the Great Hall during the rest of the Festival—