A Deliverer Comes

by Jill Williamson

  The sun shone brightly over the white snow, but it didn’t feel as cold as it should. Miss Onika led them around the castle, and they flew like streaks on the wind. They followed the prophetess down over the surface of the lake until she stopped, hovering over the icy waters.

  “Concentrate on Er’Rets Point,” she said. “We’ve all been there, so you should be able to travel at once. I’ll be waiting for you at the top of the tower.” And she vanished.

  Oli watched the others disappear one at a time. He imagined the fortress, and in a blink he was standing on the tower roof, looking south to the Northsea. It was snowing here, yet he couldn’t feel the flakes. A person flew up the wall from below and startled him. Hinckdan.

  The Duke of Armanguard chuckled. “Got you good, didn’t I?”

  “This does take some getting used to.”

  Oli watched Hinckdan fly away, twisting like a fish in the ocean. He did not see Rosârah Zeroah. He’d been avoiding her ever since their discussion about Vivia and Oli’s realization that the memory magic had been his all along. What if she’d gotten lost somehow?

  “Rosârah Zeroah?” he called.

  When no answer came, he concentrated on her presence and appeared on the castle parapet. The dowager queen was sitting between two crenellations, staring out at the snowy landscape to the northwest.

  “Wilek and I used to walk in that forest.” She pointed, a pained look in her eyes.

  Mention of the former king struck Oli like a shock of cold water. The black gown she wore was a continual reminder of her mourning, but in the past few weeks he’d forgotten all about Wilek Hadar.

  “I’m sorry for your losses, Your Highness,” he said. “They are great and terrible.”

  “Some days I ache so deeply for the life I had. For a very short time there was more joy and hope than I ever thought possible. Even when Chadek was sickly, he was still ours, and we could hold him and sing to him. He thrilled my soul every day of his short life.” She turned her golden gaze on him and her eyes looked glossy, though he didn’t think it possible to produce tears in this place. “Do you think my son is in Shamayim?”

  “I . . . I suppose so,” Oli said, though he didn’t truly believe the place existed.

  “I know he is. And so is Wilek.” Zeroah smiled. Her eyes flicked down and widened. “You have both arms.”

  Oli again regarded the arm that the cheyvah had eaten. “I don’t know why.”

  “Because in the Veil, you are whole, as Arman made you.”

  Could that be true? Oli had never given Arman much thought. His life had been filled with shadir and their masters, but if Gâzar was real, might Arman be real too?

  “Your Grace,” Zeroah said. “Do you know that—?”

  “Please join me on the tower roof.” Onika’s voice in Oli’s mind.

  Zeroah smiled and lifted off the crenellation. “We will talk later.” Then she disappeared.

  Oli concentrated again on the tower roof and traveled there in an instant. Everyone else was present. Grayson and Hinckdan were swooping about like sparrows, while Rosârah Brelenah and Sârah Hrettah floated out past the edge of the roof, looking down as the skirts of their dresses dangled like bells.

  Miss Onika told the story of how she had come upon shadir in the Veil, heard Arman’s voice, and banished them to the Lowerworld. “You will all learn to do this,” she said.

  Impossible! Oli had never seen such a thing done, not even within the Lahavôtesh.

  “To practice, we must travel near our enemies,” Onika said. “Follow me.”

  And the next thing Oli knew, he was again chasing after the prophetess, this time headed toward an unknown place.

  They arrived on a grassy hillside that was surprisingly green without a hint of the snow that blanketed Armanguard. Oli instantly felt the familiar coldness of shadir, like stepping into a shadow on a sunny day. It made him shiver.

  “Why is it so cold if there is no snow?” Rosârah Brelenah asked.

  “The coldness you feel is the presence of hundreds of shadir,” Onika said. “Look there.”

  She pointed to a gully between two hills that was filled with movement and color. Oli shuddered at the sight of at least fifty shadir, caterwauling and reveling. It took him back to the many meetings of the Lahavôtesh he’d frequented over the years.

  Miss Onika explained how they would banish the creatures. This Oli found ludicrous. The group began to move, and Oli followed, convinced that Miss Onika was about to make a fool of herself. As the humans sailed into the center of the swarm, the creatures parted like fish in a pond, hissing and taunting and screaming. Oli felt his hackles rise. He marveled over the irony that he had once worshiped these creatures, and here he was among those seeking to destroy them.

  “Please watch while Rosârah Zeroah demonstrates this process,” Onika said. “She and I have been practicing.”

  Zeroah had been speaking to shadir? The idea made Oli want to grab the woman and haul her to safety. She did not look afraid, however. She lifted her chin and spoke in a commanding voice to a pale gray shadir that looked like a duck with a fish’s face.

  “You who answer to Gâzar will answer to the one who made him. In the name of Arman, Creator of all things, be gone to the foot of your master in the Lowerworld. Now go!”

  Oli’s heart trembled at the ferocity of the young woman’s voice. To his utter shock, the creature squealed and sank beneath the grass.

  “Well done, Your Highness!” Miss Onika beamed like a proud mother. “You will each try this. Remember, it’s not your power. Arman does this by your faith. Trust that he can and wants to.”

  What words! Could the woman not see how small they were compared to the scope around them—to the distance they had traveled across the Northsea? If the Creator of all things did exist, why would he bother listening to the likes of gnats?

  Oli watched with interest as the others set about the task of banishing shadir. Though he had just witnessed the dowager queen accomplish the task, he expected the others would fail.

  Yet they did not fail. Hinckdan banished a slimy green snake. Rosârah Brelenah’s command sent a cat with pink and blue feathers underground. Danek Faluk ordered a fat brown slug covered in spines into the depths. And Grayson sent three all at once screeching away. Even Lady Brisa, Sârah Hrettah, and Madam Kempe succeeded.

  Arman truly did exist.

  Oli’s gaze wandered over the swarm until he saw a frog-like shadir that reminded him of Paliki, his first bond, though this one was pink and yellow. He approached the creature, eagerness welling inside at the possibility that he could command these creatures that once controlled him—that they might fear him.

  “Foul beast,” he said to the frog, “I command you into the Lowerworld by Arman’s power and might. Go!”

  The frog did not go. It merely stared, bored, it seemed, despite the unrest the other humans had made within the swarm.

  Doubt cowed Oli. What had he done wrong? He recalled Rosârah Zeroah’s exact words and repeated them as best he could. “You who answer to Gâzar will answer to his maker. By Arman’s name, the Creator of all things, be gone to your master in the Lowerworld. Go!”

  The frog snickered. “Fool, human,” it said. “You pretend to be something you’re not. My master and yours are one and the same. You have no power over me.”

  The shadir’s coldness enveloped Oli, dwarfing the confidence he’d so briefly grasped. He should have known better. He’d pledged his soul long ago. How foolish to think mere words could change that.

  “The creature speaks the truth, Your Grace. You have no power.” Miss Onika spoke from Oli’s side. How long had she been there?

  “My words were correct,” Oli said, perplexed how his semantics had failed.

  “The words are not as important as the heart. You trust yourself, Your Grace, which is why you fail. You must give your trust to Arman. This is his power, not your own.”

  Oli didn’t understand. Trust Arman with what
?

  Grayson swooped over and yelled at the frog-like shadir. “Be gone to the Lowerworld by Arman’s holy name!”

  The frog fell away, shrieking.

  Shame festered in Oli’s chest. The boy had succeeded easily where Oli had twice failed.

  Grayson reversed his direction and flew into the swarm, which began to flee like a herd of deer from a predator. Some of the others—Hinckdan, Madam Kempe, Sârah Hrettah, and Zeroah—gave chase, banishing as many shadir as they could while Oli and the others looked on.

  “It’s both exhilarating and exhausting,” Rosârah Brelenah said.

  “Yet we must banish them all if we are to diffuse the power of our enemies,” Miss Onika said.

  All of them? Oli stared after the retreating swarm, awed by the prophetess’s goal. “There are thousands of shadir, prophetess,” he said. “How can so few defeat so many?”

  “One at a time, Your Grace,” Miss Onika said. “We could use your help, but you must choose.”

  That she had singled him out in front of Rosârah Brelenah and Lady Brisa embarrassed him, yet he ached to understand. “Choose what?”

  “Who will be your master? Arman or Gâzar.”

  Understanding came with a heavy dose of humiliation. Oli had made his choice long ago. He couldn’t banish the creatures because he was already one of their number. Nothing could change that.

  At the end of the training, Miss Onika bade them return to their bodies. When Oli opened his eyes, he was back on the longchair with only one arm.

  Enough fantasy. This was the world he lived in, and he must remember that.

  Oli continued to train with Miss Onika’s Veil warriors, though he had no ability to drive away the creatures. As the days went on, it grew more difficult to find shadir, until one day, after hours of searching, the group returned to their physical bodies without having banished a single one. The king joined them in the training room as they discussed ways they might lure the shadir close. Oli knew better.

  “They might seem like dumb animals, but they’re not,” he said. “You’ve destroyed enough of them that they’re frightened. So they’ll hide where you cannot find them.”

  “Where?” King Trevn asked.

  “Where we are not,” Oli said.

  “Then we’ve succeeded,” Zeroah said.

  “Forgive me,” Oli said, “I was unclear. They’re not afraid of the humans they rule. They’ll stay close to home. If you want to find them, you must invade Rogedoth’s camp.”

  “Not yet,” Trevn said. “I don’t want Rogedoth to know what we can do.”

  “He likely already knows,” Oli said. “The shadir would have told their masters, who would have told their mantics, who would have told Rogedoth.”

  “But he hasn’t tried to stop us, so maybe he doesn’t know,” Danek said.

  “How could he stop us?” Brelenah asked. “We have Arman on our side.”

  “He has already stopped us by having the shadir hide,” Oli said.

  Understanding rendered the group silent.

  “There must be some way of luring them to us,” Hinckdan said.

  “None that I know of,” Miss Onika said.

  Oli knew of two ways. Shadir flocked to immorality and to those who used evenroot. Oli had taken a vial of root off his mother when he’d arrested her. He should have turned it in, but it had been too tempting. If he mixed it with wine and ingested it all at once, he might be able to lure dozens of shadir, maybe more.

  Trevn would never allow it, nor would Miss Onika, but they didn’t have to know. These good, pure people had to keep their hearts clear of evil if they were to remain in Arman’s favor. Since Oli could never enter that place—and since he was useless at banishing shadir—this was his best chance to make a contribution to the cause.

  The next time Miss Onika called her Veil warriors together, it would be to wage war against the swarm Oli had summoned.

  Mielle

  Mielle took Bero’s hand as she alighted from the carriage in the Crescent, the neighborhood that had formed around the top of Lake Arman, where many Armanian commoners had built homes.

  Tonis had located the family dwelling of each child that had been falsely conscripted into Lord Edekk’s army or had simply gone missing. What had originally been complaints from seventeen families had grown to thirty-seven.

  Clusters of people stood outside their homes, watching Mielle and her entourage. It wasn’t every day that royalty descended into the Crescent.

  Lady Pia and Bero escorted Mielle toward one of the homes. She met Tonis and Grayson at a door that had been stained grass green to match the shutters on the front window.

  “The family is expecting you, Your Highness,” Tonis said. “Are you ready?”

  “Very much,” Mielle said, eager for Grayson to get started.

  Tonis knocked, and the door opened instantly to a middle-aged man dressed in brown. He stepped back from the door and bowed.

  Bero entered first. Mielle ducked her head and swept inside with Lady Pia. The odor of unwashed bodies, mildew, and chimney smoke reminded her of the homes in the sink back in Everton. This one-room dwelling had a table and fireplace on her right and two box beds on her left. Standing before the beds was a woman, hands clutched before her, eyes puffy. Behind her, three children sat silently on one of the beds, two boys and a girl, all younger than ten.

  “What’s your name?” she asked the woman.

  The woman curtsied. “Hayva, Your Highness.”

  “And this is Master Orban, the father,” Tonis said. “Boy’s name is Kyal. He’s eleven.”

  Mielle took hold of the mother’s hands. “I’m sorry to hear about your son.”

  Tears leaked from the corners of Hayva’s eyes. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  “Some of the missing children were taken by Mett Lycor,” Tonis said. “Does that name mean anything to you? Have you seen him?”

  “People say he’s recruiting for Lord Edekk’s army,” Master Orban said. “It’s been weeks since I saw him around these parts.”

  “Can you describe him?” Mielle asked.

  “Certainly. He’s average height. Short hair. A bit thick around the middle. Wild eyes. Can’t stand still.”

  “Does Kyal have a toy or perhaps a spare tunic?” Tonis asked.

  “Something a hound could use to find him?” Master Orban asked.

  Mielle met the father’s worried gaze. “It will help in our search.” She thought it best not to frighten anyone by discussing Grayson’s magic. These families had suffered enough.

  Hayva lunged between the boys on the bed behind her and grabbed a worn tunic. “This is Kyal’s,” she said, shoving it into Mielle’s hands. “Please find him.”

  “We will do all we can,” Mielle said.

  She sat with Hayva, holding her hand as Tonis asked questions about the day Kyal had been taken. When they had gone and were all back inside the carriage, Mielle gave the tunic to Grayson, and he popped away.

  “I do hope he finds him,” Mielle said, wringing her hands.

  But Grayson returned far too quickly and alone, still holding the tunic.

  “What happened?” Mielle asked.

  Grayson shrugged. “I came out in a desert valley and there was no one there.”

  Desert? Mielle took the tunic from Grayson and handed it to Tonis, disappointed not to have found the boy right off. “Label that, please. We must remember who it belongs to.”

  They rode to the home of another missing boy. The mother gave Mielle a carved bird, which later led Grayson back to the barren desert. After the third attempt resulted in the same location, Mielle decided to try something else.

  “I thought it made sense to begin with the most recent missing children,” she said, “but let’s visit the family of the first missing boy and see if that brings forth a different result.”

  So they went to the home of Zoeb and Oba Winlin, who lived on the outermost ring of the Crescent. Master Zoeb had been there when hi
s son, Nikz, was taken away.

  “Did you know the man who took your son?” Mielle asked him.

  “No, Your Highness, but he said he was a soldier in the Duke of Raine’s army and that my son was needed for an effort to fortify our borders.”

  “Can you describe him?” Tonis asked.

  “Tall and very strong,” Master Winlin said. “He had a great mane of warrior twists. Looked like a mighty hero, so I easily believed his word.”

  “That sounds like Captain Korvoh,” Lady Pia said.

  Tonis nodded. “It certainly does.”

  “Who is Captain Korvoh?” Mielle asked.

  “Captain of Tace Edekk’s guard,” Tonis said.

  Mielle’s pulse began to race at the possibility of catching Tace Edekk breaking the law. All they needed was one piece of irrefutable evidence. Could this be it?

  Oba Winlin gave Mielle a worn blue tunic that belonged to her son. The moment they had all returned to the carriage, Mielle handed the tunic to Grayson, and he left.

  Mielle and her entourage sat silent, glancing from one to another as they waited. She prayed this time might be different, that Grayson would come back with the boy. When he didn’t return right away, hope grew stronger. Oh, how she wished she could mind-speak like Trevn could.

  “This feels right,” she said. “That it’s taking so long.”

  “Patience, Your Highness,” Tonis said. “We mustn’t get our hopes up.”

  A noise grew outside the carriage. It sounded like a fight.

  Tonis leaned out the window. “What’s going on out there?”

  “Two lads going at it,” Bero said. “Sands alive, one of them is Grayson!”

  The guard sprinted away from the carriage. Tonis clambered out, and Mielle followed. A crowd had formed around two young men who were thrashing in the muddy slush. Some of the onlookers shouted cheers of encouragement.

  “Just listen!” Grayson yelled.

  “Don’t care what you say!” the young man replied. “I didn’t want to come!”

  Bero and Lady Pia reached the two young men and dragged them apart.

  “What’s going on?” Bero asked.