“Did you see him among the Risen Ones?”
Tears welled up in Alisha’s eyes. “Oh, yes. He…” she turned her face away. “He was just like he always was, only…”
N’vonne waited, and after a moment, she had collected herself. “My Nes—That was short for Nesbert. He was named after his grandfather. Tertio never cared for the name, but I always kind of liked it. Anyway, Nes was full grown. And yet so young!” Her eyes took on a distant expression. “Seeing him again was the most amazing gift Kynell could have given me.”
“And yet you could not see him for long.”
Alisha shrugged, trying not to relive the parting. “No. But a lifetime would not have been enough. It was good to know he was safe. And besides…” she looked tenderly back into the tent. .” . .I’ve got to take care of these little ones now. They need me more than my Nes does.”
For a moment, N’vonne had nothing to say. How much selfless love must it have taken for this woman to pull herself away from her son for the sake of two street kids she’d only just adopted?
Now Alisha was looking up at the black space above them. For a moment, she looked very peaceful.
“Wonder what’s going on up there?” N’vonne asked, following her gaze.
“I don’t know. I can’t even tell if it’s day or night. I know we haven’t been down here for very long, but still, the waiting is difficult. Do you think the Risen Ones would know if anything happened?”
N’vonne shook her head. “I’ve asked them several times. They keep telling me it’s better not to know. Frankly, I don’t like the sound of that.”
Alisha sighed and then glanced around. “I’d better tend to the children. I think I can hear Trint getting into trouble.”
“Are you on trepofam duty today?”
“Yes. But not for a few hours yet.”
“If you like, I’ll go with you. I could stand to do something more practical here than wandering around all day with the Risen Ones. Besides, being with them reminds me of Telenar.” Now it was her turn to look away. What was her husband doing right now? Praying? Fighting Sentries? Talking with Kynell? She had briefly heard of Kynell’s arrival before she had gone underground. She knew it had to be wonderful for Telenar, to be up there with him.
Alisha pretended not to notice her distraction. “I’d like that very much. The kids and I will be at the dining tent for lunch, if you want to meet us there.”
N’vonne nodded then took her leave. It wouldn’t do to be sniffling or dreaming over Telenar in front of a woman who had already lost so much. They parted with a quick hug before Alisha went back into her tent and N’vonne took the long road back to her lonely little dwelling. She had never before so sharply regretted not being a follower of Kynell in her youth. If she had been, maybe she would know some of the Risen Ones who now stood guard over her. Instead, she was certain that her mother and grandmother had chosen the way of Zyreio. The thought that they were now among Obsidian’s army was like a dull, reverberating ache that she could never entirely ignore. Her family had never followed the Prysm; to her father, it was just another corrupt organization that siphoned money for the king. And her mother was so bitter towards life that hope had no room to grow. With two such parents, N’vonne had grown up a defensive, cynical young woman. Though she had never told Vancien this, Hull was the one who had introduced her to Kynell. No wonder she had fallen for him! He had shown her life: the fullest, most abundant sort of life. It was enough to divert her from her youthful angst. Now she lived and breathed the Prysm like it was her lifeline. And on top of that, she was married to a priest!
These thoughts carried her back to her own tent, where she decided to steal a quick nap before going about her duties. Only when she crept into her bedroll did she realize that she didn’t feel lonely at all. The One who had brought Hull to her, who had given her to Telenar, and who now was presenting her with a friend in Alisha was still there. He had walked with her the whole way. And even while he walked on Rhyvelad, she knew he was still standing guard over her. She felt as certain about that as she did the rock underneath her. So she slept.
__________
The munkke-trophes were all for staying put. Even though Ragger felt some obligation toward his captain, it was easy enough to assure him that where Gair had gone, he could not follow. So, like a good soldier, he assigned himself the post of first sentry and chief hunter. Sirin, meanwhile, couldn’t help but fret a little about what he was going to do. Lucio and Teehma were equally restless. Not a few leagues away, the battle to end all battles was taking place and they knew nothing about what was going on. It was maddening and reassuring at the same time.
“D’you suppose the city’s been overrun?”
“Lucio, for the last time, I don’t know!”
“But Trint an’ Ester are safe, right?”
“Listen, young man, if you ask me that question one more time I shall use this cane on you.”
So Lucio, having annoyed both Teehma and Sirin past the point of conversation, took up with Ragger. The munkke-trophe had a soft spot for children, so he was happy enough for Lucio’s company. He even took the time to show him a few combat moves, which caught Teehma’s attention, as well. Soon both children were learning how to wield a long-staff and a sword.
Sirin did not approve, but neither did he object. “Good for the muscle tone,” he grunted once when Teehma asked him about it. “Not that I think you’ll be doing any fighting. When you come up against a Chasmite, only Kynell will be able to help you. Not some sliver of metal.”
Teehma was feeling particularly independent at that moment. She had just had her first lesson from Ragger and he had complimented her on how well she moved with the long-staff. The world was at her feet.
“Yeah, well, what if I don’t believe in Kynell?”
Sirin looked at her with sad eyes. “I know you don’t believe in him, child. Or I figured as much.”
The insightful comment stung. “Huh. Well, you’re right. So what?”
The munkke-trophe narrowed his eyes a bit. “You are not ready to have this conversation. Here, right before your very eyes,” he waved a furry arm in the general direction of the battle, “is proof that Zyreio exists and plots against us. Only a fool would not believe that Kynell exists, as well. And only a very lost little girl would not want him to exist.”
“But Zyreio we can see…sort of.” Teehma protested. “We saw his army, anyhow. We haven’t seen Kynell or his army.”
“You’ve seen Captain Gair and Lieutenant Ragger. Are they not enough for you?”
“You know what I mean. The dead soldiers. We haven’t seen them.”
“I fail to see why you should want to see a dead soldier when you do not even acknowledge the living ones,” Sirin sniffed.
Teehma couldn’t suppress a growl. “You’re impossible to talk to.”
“I know exactly what you’re saying,” Sirin continued. “But it seems to me that you are so resistant to the truth that a vision of Kynell himself would not satisfy you. What disturbs me is why you don’t want him to exist.”
“I want him to exist plenty,” Teehma said as she watched Ragger and Lucio duel. “But wanting doesn’t make it so. Trust me, I’ve wanted lots of things and they haven’t happened.”
Sirin had finished scraping the pelt from one of Ragger’s kills. It was warm enough in the afternoon that he could start bleaching its underside in the orblight. Teehma hoped that it would soon contribute to their bedding; she missed the soft mattresses of the munkke-trophe’s house.
“Sometimes,” he said so softly that she had to lean in to hear him, “your soul desires something because it exists to be desired.”
His comment brought the conversation up to an uncomfortably philosophical level. She was puzzling out a response when, to her relief, Lucio trotted up.
“Come on, Teehm,” he panted. “Ragger says he’ll teach you how to block an’ parry, if you want.”
No offer was more readily acc
epted. She jumped to feet and bolted over to Ragger, leaving a surprised Lucio in her wake.
“What’s up with her?”
Sirin shook his head. “She’s struggling with some difficult questions.”
Lucio sat himself down and began munching on a piece of fruit. “Oh yeah? Like what?”
“If you’re so curious, why don’t you ask her?”
Lucio spat out a seed. “Maybe I will. So,” he continued, changing the subject, “how long are we going to stay here? ‘Cuz I’ve been thinking of ways to build a shelter, if we need it. It still gets pretty cold at nights, and it might rain again.” He blushed at his own forthrightness.
“And what have you come up with?”
Lucio hefted his shattered pole-ax and began talking. Soon the two had wandered over to the trees, testing their thickness and flexibility. Sirin provided guarded guidance while Lucio hopped from one candidate to another, giving emphasis to his ideas with great swoops of his arms.
Ragger and Teehma, meanwhile, went through the prescribed motions. It did not take long for the munkke-trophe to realize his pupil had lost some of her zeal.
“It seems to me, young miss, that your focus is not what it could be.”
Teehma dropped her makeshift weapon, not bothering to hide her frustration. “I’m sorry, Ragger. I just…” Suddenly, and quite to the consternation of her instructor, she burst into tears. “I just…just don’t want to know!” This last part came out as a wail that caught even Lucio’s attention, though Sirin, with great composure, steered his attention back to the trees. Ragger hastily put down his sword.
“Don’t want to know what?” he soothed, laying an awkward paw on her shoulder.
“Anything! I don’t want to know what’s going to happen. Or that my father is in that horrible army. Or if, if…if all the Prysm stuff is really true.”
“Goodness, I can see why you wouldn’t want to know about your father. But if this ‘Prysm stuff,’ as you call it, were true, why wouldn’t you want to know?”
Teehma sat down on the grass with a thump. All she could manage was a meek shrug. “It’s too scary,” she threw out. Then, through her tears, she tried to rephrase. “It’s too big for me. And if Kynell’s really out there, what does he think of me? Why did he let my parents die? Why did he take Trint and Ester from us?”
Ragger sat down next to her. The girl’s questions were impossible for him to answer, but his heart still went out to her. He picked a blade of grass and started to tie it in knots.
“I wish I could answer your questions, little one. Nobody can do that but Kynell. But I can tell you this: he loves you. More than Trint and Ester ever could, I think. And he loves your parents.”
Teehma wiped a hand under her nose. “If he loved them, why would he let my father become a Chasmite?”
Ragger sighed. “I didn’t know your father, of course. But I suspect your father had a say in that. Those who don’t choose the Prysm are given what remains. And that is Zyreio.”
This was of little comfort. “But what if he made a mistake? We’re all allowed mistakes, aren’t we? What if he doesn’t want to be a Chasmite any longer?”
Ragger hoped that his look conveyed all the compassion he was feeling for this troubled girl. She looked truly distressed. Her face was streaked with tears, her nose runny, and, much to her annoyance, a strand of hair kept escaping from behind her ear.
“You love your father. Kynell knows that. And you can trust Kynell to do what’s right with him. Kynell is real. Your father knows that now, better than even you or I can know it. And if he loved you—as I’m sure he did—he would tell you to give yourself to the Prysm while you still can.”
Teehma stared at the grass. Maybe Ragger was right. Maybe her father would say something like that. She hoped so. The paw on her shoulder tightened.
“But I must also tell you, young miss, that you don’t have much time. If, Kynell forbid, the Chasmites win this battle, they will overrun Rhyvelad. If we survive, our lives will be short and difficult—yes, even more difficult than the life you have led. And if we don’t survive, we will be rushed to the side of our master. So now is the time to hurry to the god who loves you. Not to Zyreio.”
Teehma absorbed the whole speech, but that last phrase stuck in her mind. He had said it before; it seemed like an important point. “Kynell loves me?”
But Ragger had jerked his head up as if he had heard something. He sniffed the air with the most peculiar expression. “Something’s about to happen. We must hurry.”
Before she could respond to this strange comment, Sirin and Lucio returned from their study of the surrounding timber. Sirin had just opened his mouth to praise Lucio’s resourcefulness when Ragger stopped him.
“Sirin, we have to go Lascombe.”
“What? Why? Our first priority is to keep these children safe.”
“This is more important.”
Sirin looked offended at the other munkke-trophe’s calm insistence, but in the end, he could do nothing. Ragger did not bother to explain. He only began packing up their things, paying special attention to their rude weapons.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The betrayal at the southeast gate had taken everyone by surprise. The defenders had been so intent on the enemy outside that they had not considered potential traitors among them. But the Risen Ones stationed at the gate were putting up a valiant fight. Chiyo’s old friend Hunoi, who had been struck down by an arrow in the marshes, seemed to take down three Chasmites with every blow. But the Sentries and fennels pouring in through the open door outnumbered the Risen Ones six to one. By the time reinforcements arrived, Hunoi had fallen under the overwhelming numbers, the invaders had taken possession of the gates, and Chasmites were branching out into the streets. Smoke darkened the sky as the grinning, agitated reptiles and oversized cats began to torch everything in their path.
Tertio had been assigned to the soaking crew for just such a scenario. He and the other members of the crew had been soaking the city for two nights now—ever since Resurrection Night, as everyone was calling it. They had worked tirelessly, drawing up thousands of buckets of water from the city’s deep wells, and passing them down lines radiating out into the streets. Tertio had been there in the dark morning hours before the first day of bombardment; not being handy with a sword or siege engine, he had joined in with the rag-tag group of older men, young women, and priests, all of whom were determined to stay above ground. Many had been part of Lascombe’s poverty-stricken lower classes, but that seemed like distant history now. To Tertio’s great delight, his son Nes had joined him for a time, and Tertio had basked in his company. But then he left, claiming that he had other duties to attend to. His departure had broken Tertio’s heart, but there was nothing he could do. Nes was not his son any longer, if indeed he ever had been—he was Kynell’s. So he had continued upending buckets, grateful that the splashing water helped cover his watering eyes.
When the rumors of Kynell’s appearance reached him, he had shaken his head in wonder. A day ago, he would have disbelieved the messenger, but after seeing Nes, anything seemed possible. His instinct had been to drop his buckets and find him, and he was just preparing to do so, when Kynell came to him—or rather, to his crew of soakers.
As a tall man, Tertio had been assigned to the end of the water line, tossing up the buckets’ contents as far as they could reach. The messenger had scarcely departed when he heard an outcry of voices about halfway down the line. It was hard to tell if they were in distress or not, so he and those around him hurried down the road, anxious to prevent any trouble or injury.
What he found was buckets scattered on the ground, dropped from hands that had lost any function. The owners of those hands were solemnly watching the new person that had come among them.
“Is it really?” thought Tertio to himself as he stood at some distance. His insides had frozen and, without knowing it, he had stopped breathing. The man moved with purpose, shaking listless hands, g
reeting men and women by name, and even cupping the cheeks of a few with his hands. He behaved as a celebrity, a father, and a friend all in one. To those who bowed, he placed his hand on their head.
Then he had come to Tertio, who had dropped his bucket along with the rest.
“Hello, my tall one,” he said, for he indeed had to look up at Tertio, a situation Tertio quickly fixed by dropping to his knees.
“My God,” Tertio muttered, “do not look at me. I’m not worth looking at.”
But Kynell was looking at him, as well as pulling him back up to his feet.
“You are right to kneel, but now I want you to stand. There is much to be done. Please, may I have a bucket?”
Four buckets were instantly pushed in his direction. He selected one then looked back to Tertio. “We shall water these buildings together. It is as necessary a task as all the others.”
And so all that morning and the following day, Kynell worked with the soakers, sometimes right next to Tertio, sometimes further up the line. When eager volunteers asked to work next to him, he would always allow it, only sending them back to their duties after they had passed an hour or more in his company. That night he had left without explanation, only to return bleary-eyed but purposeful the next morning.
Whenever Kynell came near him, Tertio had taken the opportunity to protest that surely the god of the Prysm would feel more at ease in the presence of the city’s leaders. They could certainly use his help there, he added. In truth, it was making him nervous that Kynell was spending all his time soaking, a task which was only necessary if the worst were to happen. Everyone, Tertio knew, would feel more at ease if Kynell were up on the battlements, deciding how best to annihilate the Chasmites.
“This task is necessary,” Kynell had insisted, and his tone allowed for no further questions.
They were seven blocks away from the southeast gate when the fennels and Sentries broke through. Tertio’s heart stopped when he heard their roar of triumph. He looked at Kynell, who had calmly dumped another bucket. His expression, difficult to read at times, was solemn, and a nerve in his jaw was twitching.
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