Haven Divided

by Josh de Lioncourt

  “What do you expect me to do about it, Garrett?” she asked. “I don’t keep track of your wife. Maybe she took Miraculum outside for some fresh air.”

  “I’ve looked everywhere,” Garrett said. “There’s no trace of them. It looks like someone was spending a lot of time in the brush on that side of he house. There was also this.”

  He held out his hand and opened his fist. A scrap of light fabric lay in his palm, torn and frayed.

  There was a long moment as Paige looked down at it, and a wave of dizziness washed over her.

  “I don’t—” she began, and then Garrett rose and took hold of her shoulder.

  “Paige?” he growled, and his voice was so low she could feel the vibration in her chest. “What did you do?”

  “I didn’t—”

  He thrust the bit of fabric at her, holding it up against the fabric of the tunic she was wearing. The colors matched too perfectly, right down to the faint film of grime on them both.

  “What did you do?” he roared, taking hold of a fistful of her tunic in one hand and pulling her toward him.

  She wasn’t afraid; she knew he’d never hurt her, but she hadn’t ever seen him so angry in all the years she’d known him.

  “Let go of me,” she said quietly, and for a moment she thought he would.

  Instead, Garrett took her by the shoulders and turned her so her back was to him.

  “There!” he said, his voice reverting back to the low growl that was somehow worse than his shouting. She felt him tugging at the hem of her tunic.

  “There!” he repeated.

  He forced her to face him again. “You caught your tunic on the window sill last night and it tore. Don’t deny it. I know you did. You opened the window. Where are they, Paige?” As he spoke, the heat of his fury seemed to be cooling, replaced with a cold menace that unnerved her.

  She took a step back, pulling out of his grip, and he let her go.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The hell you don’t.”

  They stared at each other for several long seconds.

  “Where are they, Paige? Where are my wife and son? I swear, if you don’t tell me what you’ve done…”

  He left the threat hanging in the air, unable, or unwilling, to finish it.

  “Why would I have done anything with them?” she said, beginning to feel angry now herself. “I was glad you were back, even if we disagreed on the details of how to go forward.”

  “Happy I was back.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Garrett! What you’re saying doesn’t make any sense.”

  “You’re right, it doesn’t. But I’m not going to ignore the evidence in front of my eyes, Paige. What? Am I to believe that someone snuck into your room in the dead of night, stole your shirt, left a scrap of it stuck on a nail at the window in my room, returned it to where it was, then spirited my wife and son away without waking you or anyone else in the fucking house?”

  “It makes more sense than—”

  Garrett threw the scrap of fabric on the floor at her feet.

  “We are done, Paige.”

  He started toward the door, and it was then that she realized Michael was standing in it. His face was grave, and with the beginnings of his beard, the expression made him look far older than when he’d been the confused boy standing amidst the decaying ruins of an abandoned library.

  “We are all done,” Michael said. “Come Garrett. We’ll go find Mona.”

  She moved to the door as they went out, watching them walk away down the dark and narrow hall beyond. She opened her mouth to call after them—

  Just let him go, a voice spoke up inside her head. He’ll be back. In a few days, he’ll be begging for your forgiveness.

  She held her tongue and watched them go.

  As they reached the far end of the corridor, a shape stepped from the shadows. At first, she thought it was the Wraith, clad as it was in dark robes. It wasn’t until the figure spoke that she realized she was wrong. It was the wizard.

  “Sire, you must not leave. Your place is here. Have you forgotten what you must do?”

  Garrett reached out, and Paige thought that he would push the wizard aside like an annoying animal, but Michael caught hold of his arm and pulled him back before stepping forward himself.

  “I know what I am to do,” Michael said. “But I don’t accept that I must do it the way you say. If that was the case, you could use anyone as your pawn.”

  “You are speaking as a child.”

  “No, I’m not. You’ve told me again and again that I am the one who will bring the worlds together. I’ve accepted that. At the lake, I was told much the same thing.” He paused before continuing, emphasizing each word slowly and carefully. “I am the one. Come with me, or stay behind, but you will not control me.” He paused again, and his voice softened. “I saw what that did to Emily.”

  “You understand nothing. I have foreseen—”

  “Did you foresee Derek’s death? Did you foresee Emily going after the boy that helped her and Corbbmacc in the mines? Did you foresee that Mona would be missing when we woke this morning? It seems to me that there have been an awful lot of things you haven’t foreseen.”

  For a few seconds, the wizard and the boy only glared at one another, silently watching as the bridge between them burned. Finally, the wizard bowed his head.

  “I told you back at the cave,” Michael went on more quietly. “We can’t bring the worlds back together by force, chucking our principles to the four winds when they get in the way.”

  “Principles can be recovered.”

  “Recovered when? When it is convenient? It seems to me that throughout Marianne’s kingdoms there have been a great many people who have bent the rules for a greater good, and each time they do, it becomes easier to justify it. I won’t go down that path. I won’t do it.”

  Michael shoved past the wizard, and Garrett followed him, neither of them looking at the cloaked figure as they did.

  Paige watched as they rounded the corner, and then they were gone. Something felt like it was breaking apart inside her. What was this pain in her heart? Guilt? Regret? She wanted to go after Garrett; she wanted to tell him she’d help him find Mona and the boy, but she knew she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  “They will return,” the wizard said, suddenly beside her. She hadn’t seen him move, and his voice in her ear startled her.

  “Is that wishful thinking,” she asked bitterly, “or just another one of those things you have foreseen?”

  Not waiting for an answer, she turned on her heel and went back into her room, slamming the door behind her. She closed her eyes and leaned against it, breathing hard and warring with the sudden flood of emotions that raged inside her. They were enormous; they were overwhelming. Why was she feeling like this? What was happening to her? What was this guilt that was burning holes through her heart like rancid acid? She’d done nothing…

  Had she?

  She forced her breaths to slow and tried to keep from thinking of anything at all. It was a trick the wizard had taught her once, and it had served her well before.

  At last, she had control of herself again. She could hear the bustle as the house was beginning the day. She needed to face her charges and prepare them for what was to come. They would need to be ready to make their stand when Marianne’s men arrived. For the first time in a long while, she remembered the letter she’d written to the captain of Marianne’s guard. She wondered if it had reached him—if it had made any difference at all. If he’d abandoned his post, they might have a chance. Anyone the sorceress could have gotten to replace the venerable Marcom was bound to be less experienced and a far less formidable opponent.

  Slowly, she went back to the basin, trying to avoid looking in the mirror—for some reason, she was afraid of what she might see there.

  Get ahold of yourself, she thought. The Brood needs you. You need to pull it together.

  She forced
her gaze to focus on the mirror. Only her own face, deathly pale now, stared back at her with bright spots high on her cheeks. Automatically, her hand reached for the brush that she kept beside the basin, but it wasn’t there.

  Her fingers closed around something cold and round, and she looked down in surprise. It was a gold holder, dirty and worn. Marianne’s profile was nearly rubbed away and mostly hidden behind layers of grime.

  The sight of the coin sent another wave of such intense emotion crashing over her that she clutched at the edge of the basin to steady herself as she swayed. She bowed her head, letting her hair fall into her face, and through its veil and a blur of tears in her eyes, she saw her brush, lying at the bottom of the basin.

  She stayed that way for a long moment, clinging to the basin with one hand and the holder with the other. Hundreds of emotions washed through her, competing with one another for her soul—fear, anger, regret, loss, guilt—and each and every one disconnected from anything like reason.

  At last, the feelings rolled out like the tide, retreating as quickly as they’d come, and she straightened, staring down at the coin in her hand. A wave of revoltion passed over her, and suddenly she didn’t want to see it anymore—didn’t want to feel its greasy surface against her skin.

  She turned and hurled it away from her, feeling a kind of childish satisfaction as it ricocheted from one wall and bounced across the bare boards of the floor. She didn’t watch to see where it went.

  Slowly, she turned back to the basin and fished the brush from its depths. She examined her reflection, noting that she looked a little better than when she’d first wakened, and began running the brush through her hair.

  She understood the importance of a commander’s appearance to her troops.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The faint smell of old horses and stale hay filled the dark of the abandoned stable. Cold night wind found its way through the cracks between the boards adorned with rusty nails and peeling paint, and outside, the rasp and rattle of the dry leaves seemed unforgivably loud in the silence of the night.

  Mona sat shivering on the dirt floor with her knees to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. The nightshirt she still wore did little to fend off the autumn chill, and the threadbare blanket she’d found in one of the empty stalls wasn’t much better. Her arms and legs were covered with shallow scrapes and bruises; her hair was a wild crow’s nest about her face. It had been a long day.

  All day, she’d tracked Haake as he’d headed back toward the mountains, carrying the bundle she knew must be her son. The bastard was fast, but there were few roads in this direction, so even when she’d lost sight of her quarry, she’d had little fear of losing him entirely. As they made their way east, the population thinned to virtually no one, save for the denizens of Hellsgate. Further south and east, in the desert, the Reavers roamed, and while it was logical to believe Haake was taking Miraculum to them, it seemed unlikely, given what she knew of the man.

  As the day had dragged on, though, Mona began to worry she’d been wrong about losing him. What if he left the roads and headed into the wilderness? Would she be able to find a trail to follow? Tracking had never been her forté. Garrett was much better at that sort of thing.

  Hours had slipped away as the daylight drained from the sky, and she’d seen no sign of the son of a bitch since midday. She was sick with terror for her boy, and only the burning fury kept the fear from overwhelming her. Where were they? Surely, they’d have to stop moving for the night and make camp. If only Haake would chance a fire—perhaps she could catch him unawares in the dark.

  For the hundredth time, she picked up her dagger and got to her feet, pulling the blanket more tightly around her shoulders. Like the stables, it smelled of horseflesh and hay.

  She made her way outside, hardly registering the crunch of leaves beneath her bare feet, or the way the wind sent them scratching at her legs like the brittle fingernails of a deader. Her hair whipped around her face, but she paid it no mind.

  Slowly, she revolved in place, willing her eyes to penetrate the near blackness of the night. Clouds had rolled in as darkness had fallen, and there was little light from moon or stars. If only…

  Mother.

  Again, the word rang through her head, albeit faintly, and the wave of relief that washed over her in its wake made her fall to her knees.

  “Miraculum,” she whispered, bowing her head and closing her eyes. “Where are you, love?” She supposed this was praying; she’d never been part of any of the various religious sects that so many subscribed to, regarding them with mild disdain. Now, though, she understood the appeal of this desperate act—a fervent plea when all seemed lost. She sent the words, the thoughts—the hope and wish and love—hurtling out into the night with all she had left—the wings of her considerable will.

  She didn’t expect an answer, but got one anyway.

  Mother.

  It was so frustrating; so painful to sense him so close but not be able to get to him. The ache in her heart was a physical thing, swelling larger with every breath she took.

  “Where are you?” she whispered again, tears stinging her eyes. “Show me…”

  Seconds stretched into minutes, and there was nothing more. Only the wind answered her prayer, filling the silence with empty words.

  A spark seemed to bloom in the center of her mind—a pinprick of light that slowly blossomed into an image. She saw an old and dusty room where shadows swayed in the flickering light of a fire. Broken and moldering furniture lay in haphazard heaps, and dark curtains were drawn across the one window she could see.

  Haake was crouched beside the hearth of a stone fireplace, hugging himself and rocking slowly back and forth. All she could see was his profile, but even in the yellow light of the flames, she could tell that he was very ill. His face was flushed with fever, and sweat dripped, unheeded, from his hair and into his eyes. His mouth was slightly open, and she suspected he was moaning.

  “Where?” She willed Miraculum to understand. It was ridiculous, of course. No matter how fast Karikis children grew or what strange mind magic he possessed, he was still little more than a baby.

  Still, he felt close, and though she’d spent much of her life mistrusting overt magic, those feelings were being buried under the overwhelming instinct to find her son.

  She waited, and when nothing else came, she got back to her feet and took a few steps away from the stable toward the road, such as it was. She wished—not for the first time—that more people lived out this way. Why were Marianne’s kingdoms all concentrated along the western coast? Hellsgate was a ruin, but surely it could have been rebuilt and made a more hospitable place. If someone was out here, Haake could have never gotten so far with her boy.

  She paused at the side of the road and turned again, scanning the darkness for any sign of light.

  “Anything else, love? Anything at all?”

  She thought she felt something in her mind—a faint stirring…a sense of confusion—but there were no more images. Just another whisper of that one word.

  Mother.

  She paused, facing back the way she’d come. The stable was little more than a darker shape in the blackness, like a stage curtain in a deserted theater. But didn’t it stand to reason that the stable had once been part of a larger estate? What if, like her, Haake had stumbled across the empty ruin and, having had more light than she, had taken shelter in the main house? The idea gained plausibility in her mind as she stood there thinking about it. There were not many structures along this road, and the summer warmth was fading away as autumn took hold. Haake was apparently very unwell, so it was unlikely he could have been as far ahead of her as she’d feared. He certainly would have wanted a place to shelter from the wind.

  Her pulse quickened. Could it be? Could he be that close? Could Miraculum?

  She began walking along the side of the road, feeling for its nearly nonexistent edge with her feet. Weeds brushed her calves, stones bit into he
r heels, thorns tore at the hem of her shirt. With every step, she stared hard into the dark beside and beyond the stable. Far off, a risp screeched, answered a moment later by the hooting of an owl. A cat yowled—or was it a kitsper?

  And then, all at once she thought she saw something. Like the stable, it was more like sensing a presence than anything she could see. Was it real or just wishful thinking?

  She hesitated, afraid to leave the road. What if she was wrong? What if she got lost and couldn’t find her way back until daybreak?

  As if in answer, the wind gusted around her, bringing with it the dry rustle of fallen leaves. They sounded for all the world like the Wraith’s dry and raspy laughter, and she shivered.

  At last, she made up her mind and, clutching her dagger tightly, began slowly toward the shape she thought she saw, moving cautiously and hoping that, if Haake was nearby, the sound of the wind would mask her approach.

  She’d gone perhaps a hundred paces when her foot caught on something and she fell forward, striking her shins painfully on something cold and hard with too many sharp edges. She overcompensated and fell back onto her ass, and her teeth snapped together, biting painfully into her lower lip.

  Grimacing at the pain and coppery taste of blood in her mouth, she scrambled back to her feet, wondering vaguely if whatever she’d fallen over could be used as a weapon—

  And then she saw it—a faint glimmer of light to her right in the dark.

  For a moment, she thought her eyes were deceiving her, or that the clouds had parted just enough to allow a stray moonbeam to reach this desolate piece of ground. But no—it was there, glowing steadily—a beacon of hope in the night.

  Heart racing, she moved toward it, picking up speed as she did. Gradually, a stone wall became dimly visible, just illuminated by a sliver of firelight that found its way between the gap in the curtains at the window. Above, a leathery flapping broke the silence as some winged creature, unsettled by her presence, took wing and fled.