by David Estes
“Kyla? But how?” She sat in a chair by his bedside, an open book on her lap. And the way the sun was hitting her face…Grey lost his breath for a moment.
“We went back to find you,” she said matter-of-factly.
“But your father…the captain…”
“It was his idea, believe it or not. We sailed south for half a day, and all Da did was pace the deck the whole time. Then, finally, he commanded the men to turn the ship around and make for the Dead Isles. I think half of them soiled their pants when he gave the order.” She laughed lightly.
Grey shook his head in wonderment. He knew the captain’s superstitions, how he believed bringing a ship near the isles would mean certain death. And yet he’d gone anyway. To help him. To save him.
Kyla continued. “Night had fallen, but he refused to sleep, manning the winches himself, steering the ship all on his own. I’d already had plenty of rest after…well, I wasn’t tired anyway, so I kept lookout. I spotted you floating there in the water, and at first I thought you were dead, but then you lifted a hand…well, not a hand, but your”—she gestured to his stump—“arm, and so I shouted to Da who roused the men. They lowered him to the water with ropes and he grabbed you and your sister—”
“Shae!”
“She’s fine. She’s up on deck telling stories to the men. They’re already very fond of her. She smiles more than you ever did…”
Grey swung his feet over the side of the bed and tried to stand up, but everything spun and he fell back down.
“Whoa there, hold on,” Kyla said, resting a hand on Grey’s chest to hold him back. “From the way Shae tells it, you’ve had a helluva ordeal. You need to rest.”
Grey waited for the ship to stop spinning, and then placed his hand on top of Kyla’s. It felt so…natural. So easy. Like the touch of someone he’d known his entire life. “Thank you,” he said.
Kyla’s lips parted slightly, an amused smile playing on their curves. “For what? It was Da who gave the orders.”
“For being here when I woke up. For waiting for me.”
Kyla smiled and leaned toward him. His heart raced as her soft brown lips opened further. She whispered in his ear. “It’s a really good book and I didn’t want to put it down,” she said, pulling back and holding up the novel she’d been reading. “A love story, actually. There’s this princess and this pauper, and, of course, they fall madly in love, but then everything goes wrong, and currently it seems they’re both doomed to be apart.”
Grey laughed and said, “Sounds like real life.” He remembered what he’d felt for Rhea, but how he’d screwed everything up because of his selfishness and bravado. His arrogance.
“Perhaps. But I’ve read this one a thousand times, so I already know there’s a happy ending.”
Grey felt warmth on his cheeks and it wasn’t because she’d told him the book’s ending. No, it had nothing to do with the book, which was pure fiction. It had to do with the girl sitting in front of him, the feel of her hand in his, and what he knew he was about to do.
He leaned forward and kissed her.
At first she froze, her mouth flat and lifeless against his, and he wondered whether he’d made a grave mistake, but then she responded, her lips moving like gentle waves lapping against a shore. This kiss was so different to how it had been with Rhea—so much more tender, slower, like they had all day to finish it. And yet he could feel the passion like an electric current running through his veins, his heart galloping like a thousand horses.
Neither of them pulled away so much as there was a gradual, natural separation when the beautiful, perfect first kiss had finished.
Grey said, “I’m sorry.”
Kyla said, “Never be sorry for that.” Her hand was still on his chest. He weaved his fingers through hers.
“But Callum. He’s waiting for you in Talis. I don’t want to—”
“I loved Callum,” Kyla said. “I could’ve been happy with him, but—”
“You still can.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head, her curls bouncing. “He was my first love, but not my last. I have changed too much. And I don’t know if I could ever look at him again, not when he’ll remind me of her.”
Her daughter. Floating forever amongst the stars.
“But I have my sister,” Grey said. “I don’t know where my path will take me next.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Kyla said, taking Grey’s stump in her other hand. “Wherever you go, I will go too.”
“But your father…”
“Went back for you,” Kyla said. “He’s a practical man. He doesn’t take chances like that for just anyone. He will give his blessing.”
Grey kissed her again, and this time they lingered much longer, letting the ship’s rocking guide their movements, until they were both out of breath and laughing, holding each other closer and closer until their warmth melted together.
Grey found his sister holding court at the bow of the ship. She looked perfectly at home with all the attention, her eyes bright and wide, the breeze tossing her strawberry-blond hair behind her.
“And you say the dead had the legs of a horse?” one of the sailors asked.
“Aye,” Shae said, spitting the word out. She was clearly mimicking the sailors, pandering to her audience. “Which is why they were so fast.”
“But they couldn’t pass through stone?”
Shae shook her head. “If they could, I’d be dead!”
The men laughed and slapped their knees. Shae’s eyes found Grey’s at the back of the crowd. She gave him a slight nod. “And my brother would probably have been turned into one of the horse men. But if you ask me, I think he’d be far more handsome with hind legs and a tail, don’t you think?”
More raucous laughter, the men turning to greet Grey, slapping him on the back and pretending to stab him with their blades. Evidently his actions both on and off the ship had turned the tide of their respect in his favor. And yet, he noticed they still wouldn’t look at Kyla, the shame of their sins clearly written on their faces.
Grey made his way through the crowd to where the captain sat on a barrel, watching but saying nothing, a pipe held between his lips. When Grey reached him, he stuck out his hand.
The captain looked at the offering for a moment, but didn’t take it. Instead, he stood to his full height, looking down at Grey with narrowed eyes. Had he seen the way Grey had been holding his daughter’s hand when they’d approached? Could he still see the slight blush on Grey’s cheeks?
Just when Grey feared the barrel-chested man might shove him overboard, the captain pulled him into an enormous bear hug, slapping his back and squeezing. “Now yer home, son,” he said. “Now yer home.”
When the general hubbub had died down and the captain had ordered his men to “Git back to work, ye lazy dogs!” Grey sat next to Shae on the deck, their legs dangling between the wooden railing. Since he’d been gone, the deck had acquired a fresh layer of salt, and he was surprisingly tempted to give it a good scrubbing. But not now. The captain had exempted him from his labors indefinitely.
“Kyla is pretty,” Shae said, the edge of her lips rising playfully.
“You think so?” Grey said, avoiding her gaze. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Shae laughed. “How are we here?”
“Let me tell you…” Grey said. And then he did, letting the entire story pour out of him like water from a bucket, unfiltered. He made no attempt to justify his choices and took complete responsibility for his mistakes, something he’d never have done while in Knight’s End.
When he finished, Shae said, “I can’t believe Princess Rhea would kiss you.”
Grey shook his head. “After that whole story, that’s your response?”
“Yes.”
Grey laughed. “Fair enough. Sometimes I wonder what she saw in me too. I was a rutting fool back then.”
“And now?” she asked. Grey noticed she hadn’t even bothered to scold his swearing.
“Grey,” Shae said, and her gaze was suddenly serious. “You are better. And you’re forgiven. For everything. You might’ve made mistakes, but that doesn’t change the fact that this was the path we were meant to take.”
Staring into his sister’s eyes, Grey wondered when she’d gotten so wise. However, a question still stood out in his mind. “Why did the furia take you to the Dead Isles? Surely they knew there was great evil there. Surely they knew it was a risk.”
Shae nodded. “They feared they wouldn’t survive, but they went anyway. They were constantly talking about ‘the path of the Oracle.’ She was a woman, I guess, like them, but they spoke of her like a god, the same as when they used Wrath’s name. They said she’d gone to the Dead Isles and hidden something there, so they had to follow.”
The Western Oracle, Grey thought. But she is a myth. Then again, he used to think the ghosts of the Dead Isles were a myth too. “What did she hide?”
“This,” Shae said, and she slipped a tattered book from underneath her leg. Though the cover was grimy and breaking apart, the single word on the front was still readable, because it was carved into the wood, rather than written in ink:
Truths.
“While you slept, the sun dried it out, though most of what was written is lost.”
Grey extended his hand and took it, idly flipping through the pages, which were wrinkled and torn, the ink smeared in illegible rivers of muck.
Grey remembered the way the book had stood open on the table in the room where Shae was held prisoner. He remembered the symbol drawn inside, the same symbol that had been drawn all over his sister’s skin. He scanned her arms, her legs, her feet. The markings were gone, washed away by the sea.
As he moved his fingers through the ruined pages, the book fell open, almost naturally, to one particular page. Like the others, the words on this page had been lost to the ocean. And yet one marking remained untouched. Impossibly untouched.
It was the symbol the Furies had drawn on Shae, half her mark and half another mark.
When joined together they formed a golden key.
His fingers brushed over the drawing. “I don’t understand what this means,” he said. He remembered something from the island, when the Fury was moments away from slitting his throat and the dead horse men moments away from breaking down the door. Something Shae had said to the Furies in order to save his life.
I will tell you everything. I will tell you about the dreams.
Shae was staring at him, saying nothing.
“What have you seen in your dreams?” he asked.
Shae looked back at the ocean, squinting into the sun. “A man,” she said. “A criminal.”
Grey frowned. “What man?”
Shae fingered the spot on her hand where Grey knew her mark was hidden. “One of the marked. Like me. His mark is the other half of mine.”
A fortnight ago Grey might’ve laughed her words away. A dream? Come on. A hidden book titled “Truths” with a weird symbol in it? He’d found more truth in his daily bowel movements. Messages in the stars? Hogwash. And the Western Oracle being a real person? That was the icing on the proverbial cake.
And yet, he knew exactly what this all meant, at least on the surface. “We have to find this man from your dreams,” he said.
Shae said, “I know.”
“Where do we start?”
“He’s a pirate,” she said.
“The Burning Sea.”
“Aye.”
“Pirate’s Peril.”
“Aye.”
“I’ll see how far the captain is willing to take us.”
Grey started to rise, but Shae stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Grey?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for never giving up on me.”
“You’re welcome,” he said.
She released his arm, and when he turned to walk across the deck, he could see land in the distance, just before the point where the sky met the horizon. The air seemed full of plumes of dark smoke, roiling up like swift-moving storm clouds.
And he swore that, just below the smoke, he could see fire.
PART V
Roan Jai Annise
Raven Bane Roan
Rhea
Our heroes and villains must face fire and truth, which, by the reckoning of the times we live in, are forged of the same material.
The Western Oracle
Forty-Three
The Western Kingdom, Knight’s End
Roan Loren
One week after capture
The door to Roan’s quarters burst open, Rhea’s scarred face filling the space. “To the tower! Now! Ironclad is going to kill himself!”
It only took him a moment to process the words before he was on his feet, rushing after his sister, simultaneously wondering if she was playing some kind of sick game with him.
Still, he couldn’t chance it.
He flew down the corridor after Rhea. Furia were running, too, their feet pounding. They reached an opening cut into the wall with a metal platform. “Inside! Hurry!” Rhea hissed.
He stepped in beside her, breathing heavily, and several furia crowded in beside them. The platform began to rise as a couple of burly guardsmen cranked a wheel attached to ropes. If Roan could’ve stopped thinking about Gareth, he might’ve been impressed by the invention.
My fault, he thought. He had practically admitted to being in love with Gwen, while, the whole time, he’d missed the signs of Gareth’s affections for him, reading them as a stalwart but complicated friendship.
And now his friend was going to kill himself.
My fault.
“He will only talk to you,” Rhea said.
Roan’s head jerked to the side, surprised. He wants me to see him do it. Oh gods, I can’t do this. I can’t I can’t I can’t…
After what felt like an eternity, the lift groaned to a halt and they stepped out into a tiny stone cubicle. A stiff wind pelted him. To the right, steps descended, curving out of sight. Dead ahead was a doorway, already open, two furia standing just inside. They looked back, their crimson hair blowing in the wind.
“Save your friend,” Rhea commanded, pushing him forward.
Roan stumbled, but then regained his balance, stepping quickly inside the room, past the red-clad women.
His eyes shot to the large window, now shattered, which explained the wind gusting inside. A lone figure stood on the edge of the window frame, his back to Roan.
Gareth.
He’s been up here the whole time, with no company but himself, his own thoughts eating him alive.
“Gareth,” Roan said.
“This is for the best,” Gareth said, not turning around.
“Let’s talk. We can work this out.”
His friend laughed without mirth. “Since when have you become the optimist?” he said into the wind.
“Since I met you,” Roan said.
“Not Gwen?”
“Yes. Her too. Both of you have changed me.”
“You’ve changed me, too, friend. But this isn’t about you.”
What? “It’s not?”
“You are always so self-centered, did anyone ever tell you that? Yes, you broke my heart, but that wasn’t your fault. Not really. A heart is not something that can be commanded; it chooses whomever it wishes.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
“I am the Shield,” Gareth said. “Remember?”
Roan frowned, trying to understand what he was getting at. “Not anymore. You tried to save Guy. You did your part.”
“Are you the only one allowed a second chance? A third? I can still be the Shield. If my death can make a difference… I was born to do this, and I won’t be used as a weapon for your sister. If she gets her hands on Beorn Stonesledge, the east will be doomed.”
“Not necessarily,” Roan said. “Your brother is strong, as is his army
.” He remembered the defenses Gareth had shown him in Ferria. “There is still hope.”
Gareth finally looked back. “Yes. There is. Because of me. Remember me fondly.”
Roan saw the look in his friend’s eyes, the goodbye, and he rushed forward, stretching out his arms, his fatemark pulsing uselessly.
Gareth jumped.
Toolatetoolatetoolatetoolatetoolatetoolate
Too late.
Light shot from his chest, a sunburst of whiteness streaming through the window, capturing Gareth’s falling form in a blaze brighter than the sun at noonday.
He stopped, his body frozen in midair, just outside the window.
He twisted his head back and his eyes met Roan’s. How? his expression seemed to say. Why?
“Because I love you, too,” Roan said. He extended his hands and pulled at the light, hand over hand, like he was hauling a rope toward him. Face full of awe and surprise, Gareth floated back inside the tower, until he was able to step down, gaining his feet once more. Standing in front of Roan.
“You love me?”
Roan nodded. “I have for a while. But I love Gwen, too. I’m sorry, I never intended this to happen. It has to be enough for now.”
“I’m crying on the inside,” a voice said from behind. Rhea stood watching, her furia crowded behind her.
Roan turned back to Gareth. “Stay strong. And never stop fighting. You are not the Shield, not anymore.” He extended his arm.
Gareth looked at it for a moment, and then grabbed it, pulling Roan into a hug. Seconds later, Roan was being dragged away, the door slamming in his face.
Yet before he lost sight of Gareth’s face, he saw the change in it.
He saw the recognition.
He was looking into the face of a king.
Forty-Four
The Southern Empire, Phanes, Garadia Mine
Jai Jiroux
One month after capture at the Southron Gates
The backbreaking labor was nothing to Jai. After all, he’d toiled alongside his people in Garadia for years. The only difference now was that he didn’t have a choice.