Catalyst Moon: Breach (Catalyst Moon Saga Book 2)

by Lauren L. Garcia

  “Beacon was right.” Milo's voice was almost bright as he and Flint trotted back from the carriage. “There was a little flask tucked down there, though there's no telling what's in it–”

  “There's nothing to celebrate when a mage was nearly slain on your watch,” Stonewall broke in, rising, one of his daggers still in his grip. “Why in Tor's name weren't you with her? I gave you an order.”

  Milo’s blue eyes grew huge and round, and the flask in his grip shook. “I just wanted to help the villagers….”

  “That’s what the mages were there for,” Stonewall replied when the kid trailed off. “I expected better of you, Milo.”

  Flint had dropped to a seat, but Milo stood just outside the ring of light cast by the struggling fire, frozen. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly as a flush crept to his already scratched and wind-burned cheeks, then he looked down, clutching the flask. The others were silent, though Stonewall did not miss the scowl Flint shot his way.

  “I’m sorry.” Milo glanced at Kali and whispered, “I’m really sorry. I’m glad you’re all right.”

  Stonewall took a deep breath and sheathed his dagger, using the moment to shore up his calm. “You don’t have the luxury of making that kind of decision, Milo. You had orders; if you couldn’t carry them out, you could have called me or Flint over. But you just left.”

  Flint opened her mouth to speak, but Stonewall silenced her with a glare.

  “It's not Milo's fault, Stone,” Kali said suddenly, causing everyone to look her way. She ignored them all and only regarded Stonewall, brows drawn, mouth tense with anger.

  Stone. Something inside of him seemed to sink and rise all at once. He wished she'd not called him that. He wished she would never call him anything else. “Mage Halcyon–”

  But she cut him off mid-breath. “Milo was attentive and kind. I asked him to leave to go help the villagers. Besides, you gave up any right to care about me when...” She faltered, glancing at the other sentinels as if seeing them for the first time. “When you brought me to Whitewater City,” she finished lamely.

  Beacon's face was a study in feigned indifference, while Milo and Flint exchanged wide-eyed glances. Rook's attention was wholly on the fire, so Stonewall could not read her expression. The Zhee mage regarded Kali with a look he didn't know how to interpret.

  As for himself...

  It took him a moment too long to find his voice. “I don’t doubt your intentions were good, Kalinda, but you are not in command here. I am.”

  “So I see,” she replied. “Sergeant.”

  Stonewall's chest ached at the ice in her tone. His hands tightened into fists at his sides as he said, “Milo, none of us are separate from one another. The actions of one affect everyone around them.”

  As he spoke, he thought not only of Milo, but also of his own choices, and found a new, sudden respect—and an odd sort of empathy—for Commander Talon and the position he’d put her in.

  “Are you really going to send him to the mines?” Flint asked, pulling Stonewall’s gaze away from Kali. There was real fear in the young woman’s eyes, though she quickly hid it with another scowl. “Because if you do, you’d better send me as well.”

  “Relah–”

  A steady throb began to beat behind Stonewall’s temples; never had he wanted a burn so badly as in this moment. But for now, he had to force the desire for hematite away. “That remains to be seen.”

  Quiet fell over the group before Beacon cleared his throat. “Are either of you hungry?” he asked the mages. “We've rations and some sort of bird that was unlucky enough to stumble across Rook. I've no idea what it's called–”

  “Ptarmigan,” Rook murmured, bent over the bird, not looking at the mages.

  Beacon nodded. “What she said. Anyway, it should be edible sometime in the next year or so. In the meantime, there's dried fruit and nuts, if either of you ladies are interested. I mean…”

  He trailed off, face bright pink, and looked away. Utter silence reigned for one moment before Kali cleared her throat and looked at her fellow mage. “Would you like some sentinel nuts?”

  Her voice was deadpan; only because Stonewall knew her well did he catch the gleam in her eyes. Even in the darkest times, she retained her peculiar sense of humor.

  There was no one else quite like Kalinda Halcyon.

  As for the other mage, Sadira shook her head and said gravely, “I fear they would taste of hematite.”

  Flint snorted with laughter and buried her face in her hands. “Gods above…”

  Beacon was grinning too, though the expression faded when he caught Stonewall's eye and he reached for his mender’s satchel. “Maybe later, then. Are you both feeling better? Mage Halcyon, I think that bandage needs to be changed. Why don’t you have a seat?”

  Moments later, Stonewall sat across the fire from Kali, cleaning his other dagger and taking pains not to look at her too much, nor resent his place so far from her side. It was for the best – or so he told himself.

  Beacon carefully pulled the linen bandage from Kali’s neck to inspect the wound, giving a low whistle as he did. “Ea's tits…”

  “What is it?” Kali asked.

  But Beacon did not answer her immediately. Instead, he looked to Sadira, seated on Kali's other side. “You're a marvel.”

  The Zhee mage regarded him calmly. “No, Ser Sentinel. I am a mage.”

  “Yes, but…” Beacon chuckled and tossed the bloody bandage onto the embers, where it smoked before flaring into a brief flame. “Here,” he said, withdrawing a solid, curved piece of hematite from his pack. “You dropped this.”

  He held the torc out to Sadira, who stared at it a moment before accepting and placing it around her neck with a quiet murmur of thanks. Beacon nodded and dug through his pack again, this time withdrawing a strip of clean linen. “You'll have a scar,” he said to Kali. “But that's about all. You're very lucky.”

  “Lucky?” Rook asked. She'd been kneeling before the roasting ptarmigan; at the mender's words, she rose and faced Kali. “Or something else?”

  Stonewall could not see Rook's face, but he heard the accusation in her voice. Anger surged in him and he nearly took to his feet as well...until he saw how calmly Kali met Rook's gaze. His anger did not fade, but he lashed it down and turned his attention back to his dagger.

  “Just lucky, I suppose,” Kali said. “Though to what degree might depend on your definition.”

  Milo sat beside his sister, closer to Beacon and the mages than to Stonewall. The flask he'd found earlier rested at his feet. “Perhaps Seren was looking out for you,” Milo said.

  Kali was silent before she smiled at Milo. “Perhaps.”

  Sadira glanced between them. “Seren? What does the moon have to do with any of this?”

  “Not the moon,” Flint said. “The goddess. Though I suppose they could be one and the same.”

  “Some people believe that,” Kali added quietly to her fellow mage. “I suspect it's because the second moon appeared not long before magic did; there's probably a connection, but I've no idea how such a thing could be so. In any case, there are no temples dedicated to Seren.”

  “Of course not,” Rook said with a shudder. “Who’d want to worship her?”

  “Not many,” Kali replied. “You won’t find her likeness in any temple, that’s for certain.”

  No one had a response to that. Rook returned her attention to their dinner while the twins tried to coax fire from the embers and Beacon tended Kali, who did not look anywhere near Stonewall.

  For himself, Stonewall tried to keep his own gaze from remaining on Kali overmuch, for it was obvious she wanted nothing to do with him. Well, that had been his objective in breaking off their relationship. He should have been pleased. He was not.

  After a few silent minutes, Flint shivered and rubbed her armored biceps, then got to her feet. “Come on, Mi. Let's try to find some dry wood. I'm freezing my tits off.�
�

  Kali glanced at her fellow mage, who nodded, then looked at the burnie twins. “We can help. We've rested–”

  “No,” Rook broke in. She'd been poking one of her daggers at the ptarmigan upon the makeshift spit, but now she stood and glared at the white-haired mage. “I think you've done enough magic, today.”

  Sadira blanched, but it was Kali who replied. “She did as she was ordered. What exactly are you suggesting?”

  There was a challenge in her voice. Stonewall steeled himself for an argument, but did not get up, not yet. He tried to keep his posture and face neutral. But he could not help his thrill of fear and anger at the flash of light upon Rook's dagger as she pointed it toward Kali.

  “You know what,” Rook said. “The thralls… they're magic-made, aren't they?”

  No one spoke; all eyes fixed upon the dark-haired mage, where a host of emotions played across her face: surprise, curiosity, chagrin, and finally unease.

  “Not by any mages,” Kali said at last. “Though I think they are… attracted to magic.”

  Stonewall sat up. “What makes you think that?”

  “Our journey to Whitewater, for one,” she replied, only just meeting his gaze. “They only seemed interested in me when I removed my cuffs. And I think.…” She worried her lower lip, considering. “I think they attacked Parsa again to draw us out.”

  The burnies frowned while Beacon looked thoughtful “It would explain a great deal,” the mender said slowly. “Though, I admit, the notion is strange, to say the least.”

  Rook made a noise of exasperation. “This is madness,” she said to Stonewall. “You don’t believe her, do you?”

  “I have never known Kalinda to be anything other than truthful,” Stonewall replied after a beat, looking at Kali. “Even when that truth is painful.”

  Dark eyes widened and Kali looked at her hands.

  Rook turned her gaze to Sadira, who flinched. “I know nothing of thralls,” the Zhee mage said carefully. “I was sent to Parsa to heal. Heal is all I did.”

  “Why should we believe either of you?”

  Sadira looked stricken while spots of color rose in Kali's cheeks. She met Stonewall’s eyes briefly, and then pulled aside her long, loose tunic to reveal her leggings and the padded brace fitted to her knee.

  Moonlight glinted off of the metalwork as Kali stared Rook down. “Even with this, I can't run very fast or very far. I have no sword or daggers; no way to defend myself. I don't remember much of what happened, only that I was attacked without warning or provocation – by a thrall. I didn't want to kill anyone, but...I had to stay alive. What else could I have done but use my magic? It's the only weapon I have.”

  “Of course you'd claim innocence,” Rook said darkly.

  “But she has a point,” Flint replied. “Being injured is the dregs, let me tell you. I can’t imagine if my leg never healed.”

  Rook blanched. “Do you really believe her lies?”

  “Enough,” Stonewall barked, drawing everyone's gaze his way. “No one is on trial here, Rook, nor is it your place to judge anyone. Let it go.”

  But the other sentinel pointed her dagger in the mages' direction again, her eyes flashing with anger. “Innocents are dead because of them.”

  “No,” Milo said quietly. “Because of us. We killed those villagers.”

  “Better them than us,” Flint replied. “Besides, they weren’t civilians. They were thralls. They’re better off dead than living as monsters – if you can call that living.”

  Her brother looked at her with eyes that were too old for his face. “Do you really believe that?”

  Flint had no response, but Kali looked thoughtful. “Has anyone wondered what exactly happens to a person who becomes a thrall? Does whatever makes them human...fade away? Or is it possible to bring them back? To 'cure' them?”

  Milo sat up, eyes fixed on her. “Cure them…with magic?”

  “Maybe,” Kali said. “I’d have to learn more about them before I could say for certain.”

  Flint grimaced. “Aye, but who’s in a hurry to get close to a thrall again?”

  “Not many, but Mage Halcyon has a point,” Beacon mused, stroking his short beard. “If the thralls appeared among normal folk, after we thought them long gone… perhaps that means their condition can be reversed.”

  “If that’s true,” Flint muttered, grimacing. “We’ve sent many to their next lives, too soon.”

  “But we can help the rest,” Milo said, looking at Stonewall hopefully. “Right?”

  Perhaps Rook was right, and this was madness. But the idea had seeded in Stonewall’s mind; he did not think he would cast it aside any time soon. “I don’t know, Mi,” he managed, risking a glance at Kali. “But it’s worth looking into.”

  The lad’s shoulders relaxed and he nodded once, jaw set with determination.

  Rook glanced between the others, then shook her head and stalked away from the wan light of the campfire and into the night. Stonewall watched her go, then glanced over as Flint made to rise. “Leave her,” he said to the younger woman. “She needs to cool off.”

  Flint frowned, but nodded. Milo nudged her side. “Odd to be on this side of the tantrum, isn't it?”

  “I'd hardly call that a tantrum,” Flint replied, rolling her eyes.

  “Aye, you could do much better,” Beacon said.

  “Shut it, frip.”

  The mender glared, but Stonewall cut him off with a sharper look. “Not another word, either of you.” To Sadira, he said, “Are you rested enough to… supplement our fire?”

  She nodded.

  The others shifted in place, casting a few uneasy looks between one another. Stonewall was not immune from the feeling, either, but… Well, he'd trusted a mage before. And Sadira had not done anything harmful – that he knew of. And she had replaced the hematite torc around her neck, though he was starting to think it didn't matter much to her magical strength.

  And it was cold and dark, and his squad was hungry.

  He gestured to the fire. “If you can, I'd be very grateful.”

  Sadira considered him, then, to his surprise, looked at Kali; something unspoken passed between the mages before Kali nodded once

  “No bonfires, now,” Beacon said nervously. “We don't want to burn the province to ashes.”

  The Zhee mage went utterly still, then lowered her head, closed her eyes, and slipped her fingertips beneath the embers. She did not move; she hardly seemed to breathe. Yet the struggling fire sprang to life, casting bright branches of flame into the cold darkness and sending a bloom of heat against Stonewall's face. Indeed, the others drew back, scooting their logs a pace or two farther away.

  Stonewall looked at Sadira, whose eyes were still downcast as she rose and dusted off her hands. Unsure of the appropriate words, he merely said, “Thank you.”

  “It will burn all night,” she replied, still not looking at him.

  “Not with wet wood,” Flint said.

  The Zhee mage shook her head. “It will burn all night.”

  Thirty-One

  Drake kept pace with the mages, trying to keep them in his sights without looking like he was doing so. It was late, Seren was high and bright overhead, but the streets were thick with folk. Shouts and cheers, songs and laughter all wove between pipers, skirling viols, and the steady beat of drums. Leal strode ahead, her gaze riveted on the surrounding throng, eyes darting, no doubt to find the best route forward. A scout, indeed. Several times, he lost sight of her red lantern, and he spent a few heart-skipping seconds weaving through people in varying states of inebriation. But each time, thank Tor, he eventually spotted a familiar red flame through the sea of golden lamps.

  Gideon and Eris walked beside him, clustered with several of the other mages. Their nervousness may as well have been painted upon their faces. Drake tried to catch Gid’s eye and give him an encouraging look, but the normally jovial man could do little more tha
n nod. Strangely, Gid and the others’ fear lessened Drake’s anxiety. He had to be strong for his fellow mages. And in an odd way, now he felt more like a sentinel than ever before, because he was protecting these people in the only way he could.

  A shout made Drake tense, but it was the harmless sort that led to laughter. He caught Leal's gaze and lifted his staff. She nodded and did the same. Time for a diversion.

  A bloom of flame filled the air as Leal lit her staff. Drake followed a beat later, striding up to Leal, brandishing his fiery staff as if to attack. As they’d practiced, Leal met him, and they mimicked the fierce battle between Amaranthea and the Laughing God. Too bad they didn’t have a third person to play Tor’s role, but their audience didn’t seem to mind. Gasps and exclamations of awe came from the crowd as Amaranthea and Tor fought in earnest, and those folks who had been walking too close fell back, allowing the fire-dancers room to perform. A group of tumblers had joined in the fun, mimicking the whirling fire-staffs as they spun, twisted, and flipped over and around one another.

  Beneath it all,Drake strained to hear the telltale drone of the sentinels' alarm. Surely this wouldn't be so easy; surely it was only a matter of time. But there was no alarm, so when the mock-battle ceased and Leal-as-Amaranthea dealt the “killing blow” to Drake, he stumbled purposefully next to Gid and his wife. Both walked quickly and threw constant, worried glances over their shoulders at each shout. A stab of guilt struck Drake; he should have better prepared them for this ordeal, somehow.

  “You’re all doing well,” he said as he extinguished his staff, though he could light it again at a moment’s notice if need be. “This will be over soon.”

  Gid nodded wordlessly, but Eris shot Drake a speculative look. “Should we try to run for the gates?”

  “No. Running in this lot would only draw unwanted attention. Just…” Drake gestured to the cheerful, drunken crowd. “Hurry. But don't look like you're hurrying. Keep the red flames in your sight.”

  With that, he fell behind them. A moment's concentration, and his staff’s ends flared to fiery life once more, burning brightly even against the hundreds of other lanterns and torches. So thick was the crowd that no one paid him any mind until he started spinning the thing again, this time acting alone. Though it'd been many years since Drake had performed as a fire-dancer, muscle memory held true. With each movement of his hands, the staff became an extension of his arms. The fire's heat, too, conjured memories of Pillau, of performing in the streets for a few coins.