“I have food and water,” Peterion replied. “I just can’t reach them.”
Birlerion stirred, his movements were sluggish. “Have you thought of trying to contact Marguerite?”
“Don’t be daft, Birlerion. She went with the Lady; how would you contact her?” Marianille asked, her gaze boring into him. Her lips tightened as she watched him.
“No, she didn’t. She is here with us. I think she would hear you, Captain, if you called her.”
Jerrol stared at him, trying to understand what Birlerion wasn’t saying. He seriously needed to sit down and talk with him. The man knew so much more than he shared. Case in point … what was he doing to help Peterion that was taking so much effort? Whatever it was, he could only do it for so long. He was already showing the strain. “I need to speak to someone. I’ll be back in a bit,” Jerrol stated.
Jerrol sat cross-legged on the sand under the crescent moon, suspended in the dark blue sky amongst a swathe of sparkling stars. A soft benediction descended around him. He smiled gently and dug his hands into the sand beside him.
The Lady had said, the very first time she had spoken to him, that he should soothe the Land and make her his ally. He hadn’t understood what she’d meant at the time, but he had an inkling now. The storms had been unnatural. She must be quite distressed at the pain such a sudden displacement would cause her. He offered her love and support and a way to relieve her pain.
He sank his thoughts down into the ground, through the layers of shifting sand, past the sentinal and the buried village. He avoided what looked like a transparent shield, holding the sand above the temple. Was that what Birlerion was doing? He reached a deep cavern below. He touched the river that thundered through the dark caverns, weaving his way deeper and deeper until he came to rest and sent out a welcome. He waited patiently, extending tendrils of gentle expectation and suggestions of partnership.
The moon progressed across the sky as he waited. The faintest streaks of grey began to alleviate the darkness and spread across the horizon. A hesitant query intruded on his awareness and he gently responded with a reply: He was Jerrolion, Lady’s Captain and Oath Keeper, come to help in her time of need. A stronger response followed, with a snap of anger in its tail. He soothed her. He could only help if she let him; he reminded her of his Oath, which she had accepted.
She hesitated, suspicious, and extended an ancient touch; a soft questioning that struck him to the core and exposed him for who he was. He almost groaned. Why did these powerful deities want to strip him bare? And why was it always him?
“Because,” she said, as a soft sigh rippled through his body, rifling through him and exposing every aspect of his soul. She slowed as she reached his memories of the Sentinals. He had the impression that she was searching. She paused on Birlerion but continued so quickly, he may have been mistaken. “We want to know to whom we are entrusting our possibilities and our children.”
Her anger and pain washed over him, and then a soft sigh of acceptance. “We find you worthy. My sister and I rarely agree, but on this occasion, I accept your Oath and your proposal and will do as you suggest. I must admit, I hadn’t thought to relocate, but why not? The relief will soothe. And Oath Keeper, more of your forgotten are waiting. It is time; they have suffered enough. The lost weep bitter tears. The debt that was not is paid many times over. Heal them. Release me. For them, I will help you.”
Jerrol bowed his head in acceptance. “I will do what is necessary,” he vowed.
“I know you will.” She sighed. “Know that I stand ready. The road is long and treacherous. Be strong, Oath Keeper; remember you are not alone.” Her voice faded away and the sense of her all-consuming presence with it. She had sounded tired and weary, worn out from defending against unimaginable incursions and yet at the same time indomitable and unyielding.
Jerrol slumped where he sat, breathing deeply. Her touch had been overpowering. How could anyone overcome her? He stirred as the ground began to shake. Sand drained away like water down a hole. The sentinal tree and the town he protected seemed to rise in its place. The worn bedrock, exposed for the first time in centuries, curved around the houses like a pockmarked windbreak, providing a protective shelter from future storms.
Water seeped into Jerrol’s clothes and he began to laugh. The Land had a sense of humour, it seemed. A spring doused him as it erupted around him, filling the indentation left in the bedrock now exposed to the early morning sun. He reached up as Zin’talia grumbled her way to the water’s edge, complaining about being left behind again.
Jerrol stood, dripping in the shallows as the door to the Lady’s temple opened and Erissia peered out. Her face was tense, creased with lines and wrinkles, but her beady eyes were sharp. Her piercing black gaze took in the surroundings: the morning sun, the bare rock, and, lastly, the slender man rising from the water being greeted by a pure white Darian mare, and she smiled toothily. This was what legends were made of.
She moved aside to let the others out.
39
Stoneford Watch, Vespiri
A week later, Jerrol reined Zin’talia to a halt as they reached the Stanton pass. The road diverged, one path snaking through the winding pass to Stoneford, the other leading north to Velmouth. He turned to Marianille and Niallerion. They were all dust-ridden and weary. “Chryllion will introduce you to Lord Jason. You can all rest at Stoneford tonight. I need you to escort Nil’ano to King Benedict in Old Vespers. Parsillion and Darllion will be there to make sure you get an audience. It is imperative you get the accords to the king safely.
“Nil’ano, I’ll leave you to report to the king if you arrive before me. Marianille, ask Bryce to provide rooms for everyone in the guest barracks.”
“Thanks so much,” Nil’ano grimaced, gripping Jerrol’s arm. “Take care; those assassins are still searching for you.”
“The accords are more important. I will be fine. I have Birlerion, and Serillion and Saerille wait for us at the Towers; they should be protection enough,” Jerrol reassured him. “Your mission is to make sure those papers reach the king.”
“Make sure you get the Captain to Vespers, we’ll be expecting you,” Marianille said, hugging her brother tight.
“Of course,” Birlerion replied, returning the embrace.
Jerrol pulled Zin’talia aside as Marianille led the way down the road. He watched them until they turned the corner before he took the road to Velmouth, Birlerion beside him. Zin’talia pulled at the reins, so he let her stretch her legs for a while, her loping gallop eating the miles towards the Towers.
They had rested for a day at Il Queron, helping the people back to their homes, celebrating the Lady and the Land and the miracle of the new oasis. The legend of the Lady’s Captain had spread through the village, most of them witnessing the miracle with their own eyes as they tumbled out of the temple. Zin’talia had thoroughly enjoyed all the attention.
It had taken another week to reach the border. Jerrol eased his shoulders. He would be glad to sleep in a proper bed for once. It seemed like he had spent months in the saddle; it would be nice to go home and see Taelia. They needed to talk.
They reached the Watch Towers late that evening. Acknowledging the salutes of the rangers on duty, he unsaddled Zin’talia in the stables, leaving a young lad to rub her down. He rubbed his face against hers and paused to stroke She’vanne’s nose in greeting before heading into the main building, carrying his saddlebags.
She’vanne was Torsion’s silver-grey Darian mare. She was old, now. She had been with Torsion when Jerrol had first met him, but she was still carrying Torsion around Vespiri. If She’vanne was in the stables, at least Torsion should still be here.
The last time he had visited the Watch Towers, he had ended up setting the place on fire; he hoped this visit wouldn’t be so exciting. He entered the vestibule, calling out silently to Saerille and Serillion.
There was no response.
“Hello?” he called, as he continued deeper int
o the building.
Torsion strode down the hallway to meet them. “Jerrol? By the Lady, what are you doing here?” Torsion’s gaze darted around to see who else had arrived with Jerrol and spied the Sentinal behind him.
Jerrol grinned and thumped his arm. “Don’t panic, there’s only Birlerion and me,” he said as he eased his bag off his shoulder. “We’re on our way back to Vespers. Thought we’d call in on the way.”
“Back to Vespers? Where have you been? Come through, we were just finishing supper when we heard you call.”
“We?”
“Yes, Taelia and Mary are here. They’ve been working on some engravings we found. They seem to date from when the towers were built. The carvings speak to the purpose of the towers and they mention that grid you were talking about.
“I’m glad you came; you must have known. We were trying to figure out what it all meant, but now you can show us. Amazingly, these towers are connected to the Veil that the Lady created,” Torsion continued enthusiastically. His eyes glittered with excitement. “Taelia told me more about you being the Lady’s Captain; you’ll have to tell me what that means, old chap,” he said as he led the way into a small dining room. “Taelia, look who’s arrived.”
Taelia turned her head towards the door and a smile blossomed over her face. “Jerrol, what are you doing here?” Only Birlerion saw the murderous expression that passed over Torsion’s face at her delighted greeting.
“Just passing through on the way back to Old Vespers with Birlerion. I have to report back to the king,” Jerrol said, dropping his bag in the corner. “How long have you been here?”
“Birlerion,” Taelia greeted the Sentinal with a smile, and then her face creased in thought. “A couple of weeks. Mary and I were sent when Torsion asked the Deane for help to translate these engravings. They are in every tower. We started in the south tower, and we found mention of that grid you saw straight away, did Torsion tell you?”
Torsion laughed. “Give the man a chance. He’s exhausted, by the looks of it. Let’s give him a drink, and he can tell us what he’s been up to.”
Jerrol flicked Torsion a glance and sat in the offered chair. “Thanks,” he said as he took the glass. “Mary, it’s nice to see you again,” he said to the young woman sitting next to Taelia.
“She has been a marvel. I am very fortunate she was able to come with me.” Taelia smiled as she patted her hand.
Jerrol observed Torsion’s scowl with interest.
“I told you I would help you; you didn’t need to bring her.”
“I don’t mind, Scholar Torsion. It has all been good experience,” Mary replied, her voice so sweet it made Jerrol’s teeth hurt. He hid a smile as Torsion’s scowl deepened.
Taelia chuckled. “Now, Torsion you know this experience is invaluable, you wouldn’t want to deprive Mary of the opportunity. Anyway, you were supposed to have left for Old Vespers. Didn’t the Deane want a report?”
“We have too much to do here,” Torsion snapped.
“You shouldn’t ignore the Deane’s orders,” Mary pointed out. “She might not allow you to return.”
“More reason not to leave,” Torsion growled.
Birlerion shifted in his chair and Torsion transferred his scowl to the Sentinal instead of Mary.
“He’s been grumpy all day,” Taelia said. “Ignore him. What brings you here Jerrol? We weren’t expecting you.”
“Just passing through. We’ve just completed a quick circuit of the Families to make sure all was well. The king wanted to reinstate some contact. It just takes so long to cross that desert. Even Zee was glad to leave. Even though she loves the Baliweed, she was starting to complain.”
“I didn’t complain that much,” Zin’talia complained in his head.
Jerrol stifled a laugh. “Where is the Announcer?”
“I’m not sure who you mean. When I got here with the rangers, there was only the pot boys and a couple of the kitchen staff. No one else was here.”
“Not even the Warden?”
“No. No one seems to know where he went.” Torsion looked away. “I guess he got fed up with being out here in the back of beyond. It does get a bit lonely.”
Jerrol watched him. “We’ll probably need to make sure there is a regular rotation to keep the troops alert. How many scholars did you bring with you?”
“How many? There’s only Taelia, Mary and me.”
“What? Liliian couldn’t spare you some journeymen? This place is huge. One person can’t possibly investigate it all.”
“He’s right, Torsion. There should be more scholars here. Even with what we’ve found already, we can’t possibly cope with all the work,” Taelia agreed.
An expression of distaste flashed across Torsion’s face. Didn’t he want more help? Or maybe he didn’t. Birlerion shifted in his seat again and smiled blandly at Torsion as his scowl descended on him.
Jerrol knocked his drink back and leaned forward. “Time for a bath and bed, if you could show us where we can sleep. We’ve been sleeping rough for weeks. We can check out the Towers in the morning and I’ll show you where the grid is.” He stood and drifted over to Taelia. “Sleep well,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss the top of her head.
She smiled up at him, her hand rising of its own accord, though she altered the move as soon as she realized what she was doing. “Jerrol?”
“Later,” he whispered, turning to Torsion with a bright, “Lead on, where do we sleep in this place?”
Torsion tapped his finger on the table before managing a false smile. “This way. I’ll be back shortly, Taelia.”
Jerrol bathed, feeling much better for being clean, washing off the dust and sweat of Terolia, but not the memories. He returned to the room Torsion had shown him and changed into some clean clothes before lying on the bed. He stared up at the ceiling and concentrated on reaching Serillion. The empty space echoed; the silence daunting. Where were they? He could sense the edges of the Veil, but it was muted; he knew he would have to go to a tower to get a clearer view. The question was, should he go now or tomorrow?
As Jerrol tried to decide, he fell asleep; an exhausted sleep that was disturbed by bad dreams. Pleading eyes drilled into him and he heard falling rocks and the frantic screams of people dying of suffocation. People dying beneath a collapsing mountain.
He sat up, his heart racing and breathing heavily, all thought of sleep lost. The sound of his shouts echoed off the walls. Had anyone heard him? Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he tried to control his breathing. He stood and rinsed his face and then stared out the window. The Lady’s moon was still high in the sky. Everyone would be asleep. He shrugged into his jacket and left the room, his sword belted around his waist.
Jerrol ghosted down the corridors and across the courtyard, easily avoiding the inattentive guards, which made Jerrol frown. King's Rangers should be much better trained and knew how to stay alert on boring watches.
He entered the Watch Tower and made his way up the stairs. Opening the first door, he found it occupied. A man lay in a reclining leather chair. It had been rotated flat to make a bed, but it didn’t look like the man had been moved. The Watchers had been sleeping much as the Sentinals had slept for the last three thousand years, atrophied in position, but they were not being cared for. Torsion had not alleviated the situation. Why not?
“Boy, where are you? Take down those co-ordinates, the Veil still hasn’t been sealed,” a hoarse voice split the silence.
Jerrol shut the door and approached the Watcher. “How do I seal the Veil?”
The Watcher’s hand reached for him and gripped Jerrol’s wrist in a bony grip, the fingers surprisingly strong. “You are late; your people are struggling.” The Watcher’s eyes gleamed in the dark. “You need to be quick. You know how to seal the Veil. Do it properly and do it once. They will not be able to penetrate again for years. If you don’t, we will all be at risk.”
“How long will it take?”
“As
long as it needs to. Do it properly.” The voice strengthened. “Go now, Captain, before you are too late.”
Birlerion stared up at the stone tower, breathing in the moist night air, so different in texture to the dry desert air. It was strange to be back in his uniform and no longer draped in soft robes. It was funny how quickly a person could adapt. He had always liked the desert, adjusting to the slower way of life as naturally as breathing.
The Captain’s cries had disturbed him. He had been unable to sleep himself; the plight of the Terolian people was heavy on his mind. The sight of so many bodies discarded in the tunnels haunted him. He couldn’t get rid of the thought that there were many more unseen, buried in the mined-out passages. They weren’t even forgotten, because no one knew they were there. Hundreds of them, lost.
He planted his feet at the base of the tower. He would wait for the Captain; give him the time he needed. He watched the faint sliver of the moon. She was waning; she would be lost to the dawn soon. Her peaceful constancy was soothing.
He allowed himself to drift through his memories of people in the past who he had lost. The deserts of Terolia had brought back memories, many of which he had tried to bury. Thinking of them was too painful, but the faces of family and friends resurfaced, nonetheless. His Darian, Kaf’enir; he missed her light voice and her constant companionship. He missed his family, so hard-won and all lost, especially Tagerill’s father, Warren, who had stood behind him no matter what. He wondered how the other Sentinals coped when the present reminded them so strongly of the past.
40
Watch Towers, Stoneford Watch
Jerrol left the Watcher and continued up the stairs to the empty room at the top of the tower. He perched on the edge of the chair and then laid back. Wriggling into a more comfortable position, he stared up at the ceiling. The gridwork across the ceiling stood out clearly, and as he stared, his mind broke through the stone. Twinkling stars sparkled in an unending panorama in front of him.
Sentinals Rising: Book Two of the Sentinal series Page 37