The words were barbed. She handled them carefully. "Yeah."
"But still. Leaving the book there was just a sehk thing for him to do." He glanced at it, heavy in his arms. "Does it even open? What's so great about it, anyway?"
The question took her by surprise. She didn't have a ready answer. "Nothing, really. I just wanted it."
But that wasn't true. She had always loved books. Her mother was a schoolteacher, and had already started teaching Syntal to read. More than once, Syn had picked a book from the shelf and asked Mom to show her how to read it, and they had settled in at the table together and worked over the words. It made her feel grown up and smart. Every bit of casual praise from her mother was priceless as a jewel.
"Where did you get this?" she could see Mom asking, her eyes lighting at the sight of the massive book. "My goodness!"
"I found it in Southlight," Syntal would answer, feeling a quiet thrill at her mother's interest. "I thought we could look at it together. It's too big for me to read by myself."
"Too big for you? Oh, I don't know about that." She would have that secret smile in her eyes, that smile that said, You are my daughter, and you can do anything.
The smile that Syn would never see again.
She stumbled to a halt. Her vision blurred; a hint of freefall fluttered in her stomach. She drew in deeply of cool, black air, shivering on the lip of the pit, fighting for balance.
"Could we open it, you think?" She turned carefully away from her mother's memory and focused instead on Helix. A black wind rushed from the pit, leaving her chest tight and hollow. "It's closed. There's no clasp. But there must be a way to get it open."
He couldn't have understood how badly she needed him, but again, he responded. "Well... yeah, Syn. Of course." His easy agreement—so casual, so crucial—grounded her. The wind from the pit lessened.
Helix shifted, working his shoulders against the book's weight. "It's a heavy bastard though, ain't it? Come on, let's get home."
He had moored a little raft on the riverbed. It bore them across the high Narrel. When they reached the far bank, he set her book on the raft and dragged it toward home.
The village was black, punctuated only by the occasional lantern glowing in a window. One of these burned on the porch of the Smith home, throwing long intimations of loss into the dark.
"Maybe we can try to cut the band open with Dad's smithing shears," Helix whispered, the porch steps creaking as he climbed, "but not tonight. I gotta get the raft back to the river, in case Seth needs to use it, and find Mom and Dad—"
"Wait!" Syntal hissed. He was about to bring the book in the house. "They'll take it!"
He glanced at his arms, as if he'd forgotten the book he was holding.
"We've gotta hide it!" she urged, but had no idea where. She scanned through a mental map of the house, and came up empty.
Helix's brows furrowed. He crept back down the steps and skirted the porch, beckoning her to follow. He stopped at an old, bowed slat of wood in the porch's side, as forgotten by the light as the cave beneath the lake had been.
"Don't tell anybody." His shadowed face was grim. "M'sai? No one else knows, not even Seth, or Iggy—no one."
"M'sai," she nodded.
"Always double-check, make sure no one saw you. You never just come down here to play around. It's not for hide'n'sneak. M'sai?"
"M'sai." She had never heard him so grave. "I promise."
He unhooked the warped board and led her, stooping, beneath the porch. As he replaced the board behind them, gentle awe stole into her chest.
Lantern light drifted through the porch slats, striping the soil with cloudy light. She smelled dank earth and mushrooms, saw the skittering shapes of centipedes. The close, comforting weight of solitude embraced her.
It was a realm apart, a place of aching stillness.
The silhouette of an ancient crate rested against the house's foundation. Next to it, she caught a faint shimmer from the sword Helix had found in the lake.
"I'll put it here." Helix's words were the barest wisp of sound; they could only be heard here, in this hallowed space. He sneaked to the crate with the book. "You can come find it whenever you want. Just don't let anyone see you."
"I won't." The promise was little more than a silent exhalation.
He guided her back into the open night. "I gotta get back and tell Mom and Dad you're well," he said as he replaced the bowed board. "You are well, right? You can open the door to the house, and whatnot?"
She nodded.
"M'sai." That evil grin flashed. "Get inside, you sneak."
As always, despite herself, she felt an answering smile break across her own face. Sentiments clamored for purchase on her tongue: Thank you, or You saved me. Perhaps, I was all alone, and you led me home.
Or simply, I love you.
But she could articulate none of these, and by the time she realized how much she wanted to tell him, he had gone.
Chapter 17
i. Lyseira
She remembered Seth putting her on the horse, with Marlin behind her. She remembered careening through the nightmare streets of Keldale, reaching the gates to find them barred, and seeing her friends drowning in blood. She remembered calling on Akir to heal them, even though she was already near-blind.
After that, there was only holy fire.
Divine flares still dotted her vision; her blood ran sluggish, in streams of cooling lava. But she could hear her friends' voices over the sighing of branches. They were in a little wood.
Grimacing, she counted the shapes of their heads in the dark. Six, she thought around the fires in her mind. We're all here.
But no, that was wrong. Seth wasn't there.
She'd traded him for Marlin.
Angbar said, "Why are we stopping?"
"Seth," Harth said. "Lyseira said he'd be here."
I did? The thought trembled in the furnace of her mind before flashing into fire. "This is where you said we'd meet," came a voice from her throat, "if we ran into trouble. This is where he'll come."
She turned to look at Marlin. "Are you well?" she heard herself asking him. He didn't answer. He was staring into the gloom like a man on the gallows.
She had surrendered everything—even her life, even her brother—to save him, and he wouldn't look at her.
I did what I thought was right. I did what I had to do. And Akir had been there. He had split the crowd, protected her from the mob. He had let her walk through fire.
But now she had breathed so much holy flame that her mouth tasted like ash, and they were still being hunted by every priest and soldier in Keldale. She had surrendered everything to God—that hadn't changed—but she was empty. She had no more strength to channel His will.
Was it worth it? Was it the right thing to do? Like the ones before them, these thoughts flickered to smoke. It didn't even matter now.
They would die here, or they would survive the night. It was in His hands.
ii. Iggy
I'm alive, he told himself, but he couldn't believe it.
Surely he'd died inside the gates, when the soldiers had fallen on him and the world had shattered into crimson shards. He remembered dragging himself toward Helix, certain of the end, and then nothing—until Lyseira's hands had gripped him, and he had woken free of pain.
Then came the flight through the wilderness, a nightmare of shrieking bugles and buzzing arrows. Their pursuers were everywhere, they must have outnumbered them five to one, and there was no cover on the plain—until his mother had heard his panic and a snowstorm had burst from the sky. She had thrown a blizzard around him like a cloak, hiding them all and sending the arrows wide.
I'm alive, he repeated, his mind grey with fading panic. I'm here. They'd made it to the little wood Harth had pointed out on the way in.
"Syntal's a witch," Harth's silhouette said. "Lyseira's a witch. Helix is wanted by the Tribunal. What else? I swear to Akir, if there's more, you are telling me now."
> "Nothing," Helix said.
Harth fumed, pacing. "This is madness. Just... we're just sitting here. They're going to find us. We can't just—"
"Leave if you have to." Lyseira's voice was heavy as lead. Keeping them all alive must have nearly broken her. "I'm waiting. He said he'd catch up."
This argument had been going for ten minutes, buzzing around Iggy's head like a fly. He wanted to swat it.
"Where are you planning to go, anyway?" Angbar said. "You said Shientel was out of the question."
"It is!" Harth snapped. "It's the first place they'll look! They probably have pigeons flying that way right now!"
Unlikely, in the blizzard, Iggy thought, but he didn't say it. His shock at his own survival had left him languid. He was drifting beyond his body, floating above the discussion like a specter. None of it mattered. Didn't they see that?
They were alive because the plains themselves had helped them. The sky and the wind and the snow had reached out to shelter them.
It changed everything.
"Then where?" Angbar said.
The snow pattered against the trees. "I don't know." Harth had never sounded so lost. "But it's stupid to just sit here."
"We can't go back," Helix said. "We can't go to Coram. We can't go home." His voice faltered. "We... God." The rest of his words hung in the air, unspoken: There's nowhere. It's only a matter of time.
Their escape from the gates might have been a miracle, but it was for nothing. They were out of options.
Iggy wasn't sure he believed that. Not after a snowstorm had answered his cries for help; not after the dreams that had sent him reeling into the alley the night before.
There's food and water all around us. There's shelter in the trees. He remembered sleeping in the alley, his mother's embrace keeping him warm. If he asked it, she might do the same for all of them.
I can't tell them that. They'd call me a lunatic.
He wasn't even sure they'd be wrong.
Branches snapped in the undergrowth behind them. Harth's shadow jerked up a hand. "Shhh."
Lyseira ignored him. "Seth?"
Seth stumbled into the little clearing, leading a horse. He was limping.
"Oh no." Lyseira hurried to him, but she was nearly as unsteady as he was. "Are you well? Let me—"
The shrill scream of a bugle cut her off. Iggy leapt on to his horse. "Go!" he hissed. "Now!"
~ ~
Somehow—because they were too weak to argue, because there was no time, because he was the first to ride—Iggy became the leader. He shot away from the horn blast, his friends behind him.
He pushed through the trees as fast as he dared, ricocheting off the wood's yawning threats like an acorn dropped into a stampede. Lights atop a ridge forced them north. An impassable ravine turned them southwest. As it fell behind them they reeled around again, chased by another horn blast.
Suddenly, the trees broke.
The moon gazed through a hole in the clouds, illuminating a sea of snow splayed out to the west. Iggy hesitated.
It's too open. They'll see us a mile off. And the snowfall had ended; their tracks would be plain as day.
The others came to a stuttering halt when they saw him hesitate. Their animals stamped and panted.
Help us, he whispered to the plain. Help, like you did before. If he was wrong, if he was talking to himself, his madness would kill them all.
He snapped the reins, pushing his mount into the open. The clouds surged, dimming the moon and bringing another bout of snow. A sudden, driving wind swept all sign of their passage from the plain.
The bugles called twice more, but they were quieter each time. They're still in the wood, he hoped, chasing each other in circles.
An hour passed, then two. He realized his mare was quivering. They had been pushing hard for too long. His panic would run her to death if he didn't get it under control.
"Shhh," he whispered as he brought down her pace. "M'sai, m'sai." He scratched behind her ear. "You've done well. So well." They had already lost one animal escaping the gates. He felt a flash of self-hate. She didn't ask for this. No one accused her of murder.
"I'm sorry for this, girl," he whispered. "I wish there was another way. When this is over, I'll bring you wherever you want. I swear."
Suddenly he could hear his mother's Pulse again, wrapping them like a blanket. "Do you hear it? Can you feel that?"
He closed his eyes and willed the sensation to flood over her. Her muscles relaxed as relief stole into them.
"Why are we stopping?" Harth said.
Iggy jerked to look at him, and saw his mount in the gloom. She was exhausted. "The horses need rest. We can't push them like this all night. We have to slow the pace."
"We don't have time."
"If we ride them to death we'll be dead anyway. Give them rest."
He jumped down.
"What are you doing?" Harth demanded, a quiver of hysteria in the words.
Stop, he said to the other horses. The words were the rustling of twigs, the hush of the falling snow. Breathe. We rest. "We rest."
"Iggy?" Angbar prodded. "They're still behind us."
"Just trust me." Trust me. He scratched Harth's mare on the cheek. She felt steadier than his own—she was more accustomed to flight and combat—but she was still exhausted.
Iggy opened her to the Pulse, and flooded her with relief.
"Can we wait until we're safe to feed them sugar lumps?" Angbar's voice held the same shivering edge as Harth's. He slapped the reins, but his mount harrumphed and stayed still.
Iggy visited each of the horses, assuring them he would keep them safe, opening them to rejuvenation. He had to look ridiculous, but he didn't care. We stole these animals and forced them to run all night. He would not allow them to be run to death.
"M'sai," he finally said aloud. His delay had cost them precious time. "Let's go."
The night unfolded. Just before dawn, he caught a glimpse of a distant light behind them—a light too clear and smooth to be a torch.
"They're behind us." Lyseira sounded numb. She might have been commenting on a sandwich. "That's clericlight."
We can outrun them. Their horses haven't had any rest.
Neither have ours! something in his mind protested. Scratching their ears is not the same as letting them rest!
He had the sudden, dizzying sense that he was dreaming. The last two days had left him in a world he couldn't even recognize.
"Get to high ground," Seth rasped. His voice was a tattered flag, torn but still flying. "Have to fight."
Iggy looked at the others. Lyseira had healed most of them enough to ride, but she was barely holding on. Syntal could manage nothing until she rested. The two girls were the only reason the group had survived as long as it had, and both of them were nearly comatose. There was Marlin, but the man had said nothing since they'd left the walls; his eyes were dull with cooling shock.
If they fought, they would lose.
Iggy shook his head and pushed on. "No. We have to outrun them."
"It doesn't matter, Iggy," Helix said. "There's nowhere to go."
He's right, Iggy thought. If the Church doesn't kill us, the winter will. They couldn't go home, and they couldn't go to Shientel. But his mother lived in the trees. She could shelter them, if he could only find a place the Church couldn't follow.
His breath caught.
"Rev'naas take this," Harth growled. He yanked a dagger from his belt and peeled toward a hill.
"No!" Iggy rebuked him. "With me! I know where to go!"
Now run, he whispered to the mounts. Run!
~ ~
They shot like lightning across the plains, a froth of shattered snow in their wake. The storm was abating; anyone who found their trail could easily chase them. It didn't matter. They would make the Wolfwood road before their pursuers caught them. Beyond that...
Maybe they'll catch up in time to find the wolves fighting over our carcasses.
; Iggy shook his head. Everything was different now. Before, he had simply spoken with the beasts. Now, he understood them.
They called the road a scar. Just like in his dream. He knew how they saw the world. He'd seen the horrors they'd seen; he wanted to escape those horrors as badly as the wolves did.
Instead of threatening them, maybe he could offer protection. Aid for the winter. Something. They had to listen.
There was nowhere else to go.
The mounts slowed to a steady gallop, keeping their pace better than Iggy could've hoped, but the flicker of clericlight still chased them. When the sun rose it died away, replaced by a distant, churning cloud of snow.
After sunrise he risked another stop to invigorate the horses, as he had before. Then it was flight, and more flight. Snow gave way to frozen earth as they crossed the edge of the blizzard's path. Finally, a few hours after highsun, Wolfwood's broad shadow burgeoned in the west.
"Ignatius." Seth's eyes were vises, locked on the horizon. "Where are we headed?"
"Safety," Iggy grunted, ignoring the question. He whispered to the mare, We make for the wood, and safety.
Her shock hit him like a punch to the gut. The wood isn't safe! It's cursed, guarded by wolves!
Iggy struggled to calm her. Don't fear. I'll speak with them, just like I spoke to you. The animal crackled with anxiety. Please. Haven't we come this far? I haven't forgotten my promise. But we aren't safe yet. Not quite.
Please.
You don't understand, she whimpered. The wolves won't help you! They are servants of the dark wood!
Iggy's blood ran cold. Servants...? What did that mean?
Does it even matter? The riders from Keldale had to have their trail. They couldn't turn back. North and south along the road were equally futile.
He had to pray she was wrong.
I won't force you to enter where it's not safe, he tried to persuade her. But we have to try. Death's behind us, coming fast.
The mare wasn't soothed. Her fear shuddered in her muscles like a spasm. But she did as he asked.
The great wood grew, a giant emerging from the fog. When he saw the line of wolves, he quailed.
Part of him had been hoping they wouldn't be there, that their bizarre cause had somehow been appeased. Instead, there were even more than before: their line stretched along the edge of the forest to the limits of his sight. They sat bolt upright, their eyes alert and cold.
Children of a Broken Sky (Redemption Chronicle Book 1) Page 30