Children of a Broken Sky (Redemption Chronicle Book 1)

by Adam J Nicolai

It was already dead, Iggy gibbered. It's already been murdered, and now you're... you're...

  Her name glowed on the bed sheet like an open wound.

  "This is one of the simplest chants I've found. I can draw anything, but the mark doesn't stay. It'll glow for a little bit and then—"

  "Stop it!" Iggy hissed. The horrors of his dreams were nothing compared to Syntal's vapid desecration.

  "It's all right!" She was smiling as she raped his mother. "This—"

  He lunged at her, shoving her to the floor. The mark disappeared. The Pulse's symphony burst back around him like a dam had broken.

  "Iggy!" Angbar jumped to his feet. "What are you doing?"

  "Never do that again," Iggy snarled. "Do you understand me?"

  The girl clambered away from him, scooting up against the wall, her eyes dancing with panic. She jerked her hands up, ready to chant.

  "Do you even understand what you're doing?" he roared.

  "Oh, Kirith," Angbar said, exasperated. "You sound like Seth! If you didn't want to do it, why didn't you just say so?"

  You're killing it! Iggy wanted to scream. You're like a disease to it! Can you even feel that?

  She couldn't. She was trembling, her lips parted in fear.

  A knock came at the door. "It's Aron," a muffled voice said. "Let me in."

  ~ ~

  The innkeeper, Iggy remembered. Harth's friend.

  Angbar glared a warning at Iggy and held up a finger. Syntal got to her feet, glowering.

  Angbar opened the door.

  "Harth came by," Aron started as he swept through, then suddenly fell quiet. "Everything well in here?"

  "Fine," Iggy said, when the other two looked at him. The word made him sick. He wanted to shake Syntal by the shoulders, make her promise to never chant again.

  Aron closed the door. He was skinny, maybe a few winters short of thirty, with a tight cap of sandy hair. "I heard you shouting from the hallway."

  "Won't happen again."

  Aron considered this. Finally, he repeated, "Harth came by. Asked me to keep you in your rooms until sunset. He'll be back around then with your friends and your horses, and he'll show you out of the city."

  "What?" Angbar said. At the same time, Iggy said, "To where?"

  "I think he said Shientel."

  "Shientel?" Angbar said, incredulous. "That's weeks away!"

  Aron shrugged.

  "What happened to staying with Lorna?" Angbar pressed. "Can't she—?"

  "Look," Aron interrupted, "all he told me was he needs to get you out tonight. He knows the city; if I were you, I'd take him at his word."

  Angbar sagged. "Sehk," he muttered.

  "I've got a performer coming tonight. He usually packs the common room. I'll hold a table for you by the door. You should be able to wait there until Harth comes."

  Syntal was quiet, looking away to hide her eyes; Angbar looked stricken. He'd obviously been expecting something else. Staying in Keldale for the winter, maybe, their running days at an end.

  Iggy thought of getting outside the gates, of escaping the open wound of the city, and had to force himself to be still. It might have been madness, but he could hardly wait.

  ii. Lyseira

  "Here." Harth had led them through the labyrinthine alleys to a crumbling structure with a missing door. Now he indicated the stairs in the back of the place. "Down."

  The steps descended into the smell of rot and old fish, growing darker and colder as they went. "It's dark," Lyseira muttered as she neared the bottom.

  "We can light a torch later. Keep moving."

  She was moving. She was sick of his orders. We didn't ask for this, she wanted to snap. You said the bazaar was safe.

  "Here," he said again, tapping at a doorway. "In here." She could just make out the others as they filed in, feeling their way with their fingers. The walls were cold and sticky. Harth closed a door, clapping a lid on the last bits of grey light that had chased them down the steps.

  The darkness bristled with the sounds of their panting: fevered and frightened.

  Harth lit a torch, turning his face grim with shadows. "This should serve until sunset. Then we stick with the plan. I'll go back to Lorna's, get the horses—"

  "What happened?" Lyseira demanded. "You said the bazaar was safe. Why was the Church there?"

  "Ask him," Harth said, nodding at Seth. "Who were they?"

  "Students," Seth said. "They took the Trial at the same time I did. I beat them all in sparring. Separately," he conceded.

  "What were they doing here?" Harth pressed.

  Seth shook his head. "I don't know. They looked surprised to see me."

  Harth grunted.

  Lyseira was shaking; she was terrified and furious. Akir had abandoned her again. But this time the need was as real as it had been on the road, when the arc hound had attacked.

  She had called, and He had left her to die.

  "We're relying on you," she snapped at Harth. "If you say a place is safe, all we can do is take your word for it. We listened to you, and almost got killed. Do you have any idea what you're doing? Are we even safe here?"

  "No, you're not safe here," Harth threw back. "You're not safe anywhere, least of all in Keldale, because your friend over there is being hunted by the Tribunal for murder."

  "I thought that was your job! Keeping heretics safe!"

  "Tithe-dodgers and blasphemers. Not escaped killers."

  "I didn't kill anyone!" Helix barked.

  "It doesn't matter!" Harth retorted. "Don't you get that? You—!" He cut off, shaking his head. "Forget it. I'm going back for the horses. We wait here 'til nightfall, then with any luck—"

  "I'm coming with you," Helix said. "I have to talk to Lorna again."

  Harth stared at him. Are you mad?

  Helix hurried on. "I saw what happened today. In a dream. The red awning. I saw it. Just like she said Matthew—"

  Harth was shaking his head. "No. You wait here."

  "No! I have to ask her—"

  "God!" Harth cried. "Are you damaged in the head? You're being hunted by the Tribunal. You should be on a ship for Bahir!"

  Helix fell silent, his mouth gaping.

  "Instead you trick me into thinking you've got some petty squabble with the Church? You come to Keldale, and bring your sehking problems to my foster mother? A hundred people saw me kill a Preserver today! Do you know what that means?" His neck bulged, a vein there flickering in time with the torch's shadows. He clapped his mouth closed and held the torch out to Seth, who took it.

  "Sit down," he hissed. "Shut up.

  "And don't. Do. Anything."

  The door slammed behind him like a tomb.

  iii. Angbar

  The common room churned with laughter and conversation. A haze of pipe smoke roiled near the ceiling.

  As Aron had promised, the table closest to the door remained empty. As he guided them through the crowd, the lanterns suddenly flickered and dimmed. A voice boomed from the stage.

  "Good eve, fine ladies and gentlemen of Keldale, the greatest port Or'agaard has ever known!" The crowd applauded.

  I know that voice. Angbar craned his head, but the stage was dark. He elbowed Syntal and whispered, "Was that Marlin?"

  "Here's the table," Aron said. "Keep your hoods up and your heads down. When you see Harth, go." He disappeared, and they all took a seat.

  "Tonight you will see acts that defy reason! When you return to your families and try to explain what you've seen, you'll be forced to tell them... it's unexplainable!"

  A half-circle of floating, colored lights winked to life at the rear of the stage, illuminating the silhouettes of Marlin and his apprentice.

  The crowd cheered again, and Angbar joined them. "That's impressive, huh, Igg?" he said, but the woodsman had put his head in his arms, facedown on the table. Normally Angbar would have prodded him, but now he just shook his head. He had no idea what had gotten into Iggy today, but he was in no mood to poke a sleepin
g bear.

  He took a sip from the mug Aron had left, looking around. The rippling color from Marlin's lights warped the faces in the crowd, making Angbar's head swim. Or maybe that's all the bloodroot smoke, he mused. He glanced at Syntal, and she gave him a smile.

  For just an instant, he imagined that he had invited her here. That instead of waiting for a man they barely knew to help them escape the Tribunal, they were simply enjoying a night together. He smiled back.

  I should take her hand.

  Don't you dare, a voice said. People might not notice a witch sitting by the door, but a nog and a pale girl holding hands? The best thing that comes out of that is getting beaten to death.

  For the love of winter, no one's going to see. It's dark, we're in the back of the room, it's perfect.

  She doesn't want to hold your hand, you idiot. She doesn't think of you that way.

  How do I know that unless I try?

  This isn't a date, moron! Have you forgotten—

  The internal argument died. There was a priest in the crowd, staring at the stage with a look like he'd just bitten into a lemon. His Preserver sat next to him.

  Oh, God.

  "Syn!" Angbar whispered.

  She leaned in toward him. She'd gone to take a bath last night; she still smelled like lavender. "I Ascended to make sure. Yes, he's chanting. He must've done it in the dark, before anyone could—"

  "No!" Angbar nodded toward the cleric. "Look!"

  Syntal followed his eyes and paled.

  "What do we do?" he said.

  "We'd better get outside."

  Good idea. Angbar nudged Iggy, but suddenly the lanterns flared, flooding the room with light. The crowd ooohed.

  Angbar froze. Suddenly, it felt like every eye in the tavern was on them.

  "Only the beginning," Marlin promised. "Can someone help me? Who has the courage?" A handful of audience members made their way to the stage, to scattered applause.

  The Preserver scanned the room, an owl watching an open field. "Wait," Syntal whispered. "That Preserver—"

  "I see him." Angbar shrank into his cloak, wishing he could pull his hood over his face entirely.

  "Brave souls," Marlin announced as his volunteers lined up. "Now, are you all rested? It's the night of Meadows. You plan to stay up, yes? Drinking and watching the show?"

  "And whoring!" one of the men slurred, his eyes glassy with drink.

  "Of course!" Marlin cried. His assistant, a small, furtive-looking man, tossed pillows to the floor behind them. "And your name would be?"

  "Robert!" the man said.

  "You can last all night, then, Robert? You wouldn't be much good if you couldn't."

  "I'm all man," Robert roared, grinning at the crowd and raising his arms. The audience hooted and banged their cups.

  "He's all man!" Marlin announced. "He can go again and again, yes? He can hold his drink, he can have wench after wench! His stamina knows no end! Well, let's put this to the test for all of them! Here is a beautiful woman." Marlin gestured, and his assistant tore the drape from a painting of a scantily clad redhead. "And here are our men!"

  Angbar felt a familiar wave of drowsiness roll over him from the stage. The four volunteers collapsed.

  Marlin's assistant spun the painting around. On the other side, the redhead was pouting.

  "It's true, what the clerics say on Dawnday!" Marlin cried over the roaring audience, chuckling. "The flesh is weak!"

  "Enough!" the priest shouted, shooting to his feet. His Preserver rose with him, sinuously, like a panther stretching.

  The crowd quieted. Marlin froze, his eyes glittery with surprise.

  "I am Father Calfon," the priest said. "Many of you know me. And I am appalled.

  "We are in the last days! You know this! We have seen the tide stop and the sun rise in the south! We've seen fishers catch nothing but weeds for days! And this warlock comes to you, hiding in plain sight, casting his spells while you laugh? Akir weeps!"

  Iggy finally looked up, his face ashen.

  Marlin raised his hands. "Father, I assure you. These are only tricks. Convincing, yes, but tricks." He pointed at his face. "Look at my eyes. Aren't they plain? I would never—"

  "Silence," Calfon snarled. "Your lies won't save you."

  Marlin's jaw dropped, incredulous. "The eyes don't lie, Father! Look—"

  "You!" Calfon stabbed a finger at a man that had been sitting with Robert. "You laughed when your friend fell. Go try to wake him, and see how much you laugh then."

  Angbar glanced at the door. It was a thousand miles away now.

  The crowd parted to let Robert's friend through. Calfon's Preserver followed him.

  "Robert," the man said, shaking his friend's shoulder. "Robert." He didn't wake.

  "It's just a trick." Marlin's chuckle was more of a wheeze. "He'll wake in a moment."

  "Robert!" the man shouted. He shook his friend again. Nothing.

  "He's dead!" someone screamed. A murmur rippled through the audience like an electric charge.

  "He killed them!" someone else shouted.

  Marlin's apprentice darted for the stage door. The Preserver glided in and jabbed him once, precisely, in the neck. He crumpled.

  "Stop them!" Calfon screamed, pointing. "They're trying to escape!"

  The audience erupted, a dry field struck by lightning. The front row surged to their feet.

  Marlin screamed chants. Some of the attackers collapsed, asleep, but the rest crashed onto the stage. He scrambled backward—into Calfon's Preserver, who jerked his arms back. His last chant died on his tongue.

  "Drag him out!" Calfon shouted. "Burn him! Burn him!"

  The mob echoed him.

  Angbar looked at Syntal, frozen to her seat in terror. "We, ah… we'd better go."

  iv. Lyseira

  "This can still be easy," Harth said.

  It was sunset, and they were in the alley behind the building, mounting up. He'd returned with their animals and one extra: another gift from Lorna, its saddlebags loaded with food. They were riding one to a horse until they reached the inn.

  "Aron will have your friends waiting by the door. You just wait outside, I'll duck in and get them, and we'll be on our way to the south gate. As long as no one recognizes any of us, my friend at the wall will make sure we get out."

  He sounded confident, but his constant glances down the alley gave the lie to it.

  "Getting through the gate will be just like on the way in. Stay behind and let me do the talking. Keep your hoods up and try to look poor."

  Shouldn't be hard, Lyseira thought grimly. "You're sure the south gate will be safe?"

  It was hard to tell in the gloom, but she thought he was glaring. "I thought we already talked about this. You're not safe anywhere. But if Jacob's there, he'll get us through."

  He clucked and brought his horse about. For once, he led them down the main thoroughfares rather than keeping to the alleys and side streets. It figures, Lyseira thought. Tonight of all nights she would rather have skulked between buildings like a thief.

  "Please just get us out of here," Lyseira mumbled—to Akir, to Harth, to whoever was listening. The city had turned sinister, bristling with threats. She was no longer sure Akir would save them when they were outside the gates, but she didn't care. She just wanted to escape.

  "Almost there." Harth frowned. "What is that?"

  The rooftops near the inn were dancing with firelight. There was a roar, too: a hundred people yelling. A cold hand gripped Lyseira's insides.

  "Go," Helix said. "Faster, we have to get—"

  "No!" Harth snapped. "Stay behind me. If we..."

  Then they gained the square, and words failed him.

  The mob was a thrashing ocean of blades and bodies, of torchlight flickering in frenzied eyes. In a depression in the middle of the square, someone had built a pyre of butchered wooden shop stalls. A Preserver was wrestling someone onto the central post.

  Syntal, Lyseira thought.
They found her, she wasn't careful enough, it's Syntal.

  Helix's face was grey, his jaw slack.

  We have to save her, she realized in despair. We have to try. They wouldn't be leaving Keldale alive after all. They couldn't let her burn.

  But then her eyes focused, and she saw it wasn't Syntal.

  It was Marlin.

  "Heads down," Harth said. "Keep moving."

  It was Marlin, the chanter they'd met in Coram. The Preserver was tying him to the post. His eyes were rolling with terror. She couldn't hear his screams over the roar of the mob.

  Her relief made her sick.

  She turned away, keeping up with Harth, skirting the square to make their way to the inn.

  They're going to kill him.

  There's nothing I can do.

  They're going to kill him!

  Maybe he deserves it! He's a witch!

  Like Syntal? Like Angbar, soon? Would you let them die?

  I don't even know him! I can't risk my life for—

  That doesn't make it right!

  She drew to a halt and turned. There was a priest on the pyre now, shaking his fist and shouting. Lyseira didn't need to hear him to know what he was saying.

  This is wrong. This is wrong.

  There's nothing I can do!

  The Preserver left the mound, but the cleric remained. He held his hands out, palms down, praying. Flame leapt from the wood. The pyre flowered into inferno.

  Marlin's scream was like nothing she'd ever heard.

  "Lyseira, come." Seth was tugging on her arm, but she couldn't look away.

  Is this Your will? she demanded. It could have been Syntal up there! Why do You give them everything they ask for? Is this Your will?

  The crowd roared. Those in the front stumbled back, recoiling from the heat. The priest's eyes were embers, his smile lurid in the flames. The fire couldn't touch him.

  He stepped out, unharmed, as Marlin shrieked.

  "Lyseira," Seth insisted.

  Akir wants him to die, Marcus whispered. He's not just letting him burn—He lit the fire!

  Now get out of here. He's your God. Obey His will.

  She hesitated, horror grappling with outrage in her blood.

  Then she kicked both heels into her mount. It reared once, protesting, and launched toward the mob.

  No, she snarled. I have a will of my own.

  "Lyseira!" Seth barked. "No!"