Remnants: Season of Wonder (A Remnants Novel)

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  “There were elders among them?” Ronan asked.

  Azarel shrugged. “I suppose. Kapriel never said. What he did say was that Keallach is interested in anyone who will assist him in obtaining ultimate power. Politically, monetarily, physically, spiritually. And he is well acquainted with the ways of the dark.” Her eyes lifted to study me, and I felt a wave of her suspicion on the back of their collective alarm. “But they would only turn their focus on you, Andriana, if they felt the dark within you. Or such a pure stream of light they knew they had to take you down, and fast.”

  “That was it,” Ronan said, his tone defensive. “She was praying. You saw her. We all saw her.”

  I met her gaze, steadily, as I rose, fists clenched. “No. It was the dark that evoked their interest.”

  The others frowned as I sighed, trying to put the pieces together like I had an old wooden puzzle with a notch in the wrong place. “While that Sheolite tracker was fighting death in front of me, and when Sethos focused on me too … it was as if the dark opened up before me. I felt the dead place. And truthfully, I couldn’t help but be intrigued. Curious.” I bit my lip and tried to figure out a better way to say it. “It was like coming across a forbidden door, left unlocked, and just taking a quick peek in to see what the big secret was … I couldn’t seem to resist.”

  They all continued to stare at me in mute surprise. Even Ronan. I shifted, feeling the heat of a blush rising up my neck.

  “And now?” Niero asked sternly. “Now that you’ve glimpsed what is behind the forbidden door?”

  “I won’t be nearing it again,” I said, a shudder running through me.

  “I think the difference,” Azarel said, “is that you were able to open the door. Or as that Sheolite fought death, before you, you were able to follow him into the depths. I think that is what drew their collective interest. That unique power.”

  I nodded again, meeting her eyes, grateful for her understanding even if I didn’t like what she described. For that was exactly what had happened.

  “Until I ended him with my trusty halberd,” Vidar said proudly.

  “Andriana, the more and more you explore your power,” Niero said wearily, giving Vidar a nod, then turning back to me, “the more you might be attuned to the dark and light. Potentially growing in your gift, as Vidar has. This will help you, and us as well. But you must take the utmost care, Andriana,” he said, bending to put his hand on my shoulder. “Because, clearly, that sort of task is very dangerous. You-you almost …”

  His words faded and he clamped his lips shut, as if he’d decided not to finish his sentence on purpose. What had he wanted to say? That I almost died? Disappeared behind hell’s gates? A shiver ran down my spine again. Was that true? Could I really be lost in the darkness? Simply cease to exist? But when I studied his face, it was clear to me. He didn’t fear that I’d die.

  He feared I’d willingly give myself to the powers of darkness.

  That I’d go against the Ailith.

  Rage, hot and sudden, washed through me. After all I’d been through, sacrificed … After Mom and Dad? I stood. “You think I would betray you? The Ailith? Our cause?” I shoved his hand from my shoulder.

  “Whoa, Dri,” Ronan said, rising and lifting his hands out to block me in case I attacked Niero. “He didn’t say that.”

  “He didn’t have to, Ronan.” Some of it was guesswork, putting together his fear and anger — because he was tougher for me to sense than the others — but judging by his expression, I’d guessed right.

  Niero looked sick, moving his head but not quite shaking it. “Andriana, no. You’d never do it on purpose. But this is really big. As your gift unfolds …” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Power begets power. But most people think the greater the power, the surer the foothold. It’s not like that. Think of a mountain peak,” he said, putting his brown hands in an inverted V. “The greater the power, the more narrow the foothold, and therefore the more likely we are to tip either way on its precipice.”

  “You mean fall to the wrong side,” Vidar said.

  I looked to Niero, rage making me tremble, as he rubbed his temple as if in misery.

  “I take it your elders never prepared you for something like this,” Azarel said.

  I looked to her, my anger fading as fast as it had come on. What was wrong with me? Why this sudden fury passing through me? It left me weak, shaken. And weren’t they all simply asking wise questions? “No, they didn’t,” I said dimly, still staring at Niero, still wondering how he could think I would do anything to hurt the people I loved.

  “Asher is wise and will know how we should negotiate this,” Azarel said, looking uncertain for the first time since we’d met. “He has spent much time with Kapriel. He was preparing to head to Georgii Post. Let’s see if we can intercept him there. It’s but a half-day’s journey.”

  The rest conferred, and it was quickly decided to do as she suggested. It seemed the only true avenue open to us, and we had to reach a petrol trader soon.

  “The trademaster at Georgii deals in fuel,” she said.

  “How are we all to get there on bikes anyway?” I asked, crouching, my pounding head in my hands. “We’re already down one. And we need to send Socorro and Dagan back to the Valley, which would leave us two.”

  “Send them on mudhorses to the Valley,” she said with a shrug.

  “Bikes would be better than horses with Drifters about,” Bellona put in.

  “From here until you reach the Great Expanse, the Drifters shall dog you no matter how you travel,” Azarel said. “Once you reach Castle Vega and the Great Expanse, all you’ll have to dodge is Pacifica transports.”

  “Transports?” Bellona repeated.

  “Vehicles that take Pacifica’s people to Castle Vega. They come outside the Wall to engage in depravities of all kinds — depravities they pretend they don’t have. And her merchants go to meet with those of the Trading Union. Because none are allowed on their side.”

  I tried to imagine what she meant about depravities, but then figured it was best to wait and encounter it when we had to — not spend time dwelling on it. Surely it couldn’t be any worse than Zanzibar.

  “Can we somehow get on one of those transports?” Killian asked.

  “No,” Azarel said. “Pacificans all wear an identity chip, embedded under their skin here,” she said, rubbing her right shoulder.

  “A chip,” Killian repeated flatly.

  “Something they can read with a device they wave over you. If you’re found trying to enter the kingdom without one, you’ll be immediately imprisoned.”

  “That wouldn’t be great,” Vidar said. “But hey, maybe that would lead us to Kapriel.”

  “Do you have one?” Niero asked.

  “I did,” she said. “Until I dug it out and destroyed it. If it stays in you, they can find you. Anywhere.”

  “So, if the Maker is leading us to Pacifica,” Killian said, “and if Kapriel is held as a prisoner there, he’s likely behind not one wall but two. How are we to get past the first?”

  Azarel paused. “Across the Great Expanse. The driest, widest desert. They’ve walled everything else. They patrol the Great Expanse, but the only physical barrier is the land itself.”

  “Land a mudhorse can’t cross,” Niero said.

  “A mudhorse could get you partway. But all the way?” She cocked a brow in his direction and shook her head. “Unlikely.” She hesitated. “Although they might get you as far as the mountains that border Wadi Qelt.”

  “What is Wadi Qelt?” Tressa asked.

  “A valley and the home of Keallach’s Hoarfrost palace, on the western edge of the Great Expanse. He took over a sacred sanctuary, once inhabited by those that followed the Way.”

  Ronan grunted, his brow crumpling in confusion. “Why?”

  “Keallach,” Azarel said in a tired voice, “likes to preach enlightenment. He declares we are in the new age of peace among all, so he didn’t wipe out the mon
astery when he built his palace. The desert brothers and sisters still abide there. But do not be fooled,” she said solemnly, looking about at us all. “It’s only his twisted rendition of his early years of training with the elders. Kapriel understood truth and lives by it. Keallach lives to create his own truth.”

  We stared at her. Regardless of how it had turned out, nowhere had we heard of a king protecting anyone of any faith. Wasn’t it a start, at the very least, in the right direction?

  “I have to say, spinning his own truth is a mite better than cutting off their heads and mounting them on stakes for being a follower of the Way,” Vidar said.

  “There is that,” Azarel said, giving in to a small, sad smile. “But trust me, it’s more for show than any heartfelt belief. The Way was likely lost in that place many years ago.”

  “Belief has many layers,” I said.

  “Yes, but — ” she began, frowning at me.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Vidar said, holding up his hands. “You’re saying that the only way past the Wall is through Keallach’s own palace? We’re a little thick at times, I admit, but isn’t that idiotic?”

  Azarel shrugged. “It’s the only way. Pacifica’s Wall is not like Zanzibar’s. You must sneak through it or around it. And through is fairly impossible. Besides, Keallach won’t be there during Harvest. It’s weeks yet before he’d consider going.”

  “We’ll face the challenges of this Wadi Qelt when we reach it,” Niero interrupted, shaking his head. “If we can even reach it. We have three dirt bikes left. I don’t like the idea of any of us trying to outrun the Drifters with mudhorses. We barely escaped them on bikes.”

  “My people,” Dagan said. “When I was a boy, they tried to get a couple of dirt bikes running. They had several, using the others for spare parts.”

  “Did they succeed?” Vidar asked, casting him a hopeful glance.

  Dagan shook his head, looking sorry he’d even mentioned it.

  “Still,” Niero said, “Vidar’s good with engines. Will you let him see those parts?”

  Dagan nodded and he and Vidar rose to go, Bellona right behind them. Tressa and Killian moved off to find us something to eat, while I remained with Azarel, Niero, and Ronan.

  “So …” I said, dreading asking. Knowing I had to find out. “What happened back there? After the attack? How did you drive them back?”

  “We didn’t,” Ronan said, rising. “I mean, we did, to a certain extent. We could fight the Sheolites. We killed a few. Vidar took out that one tracker with his halberd. But they were strong, and gaining strength, as if edified by the dark ones who joined them.”

  “And?” I said when he paused.

  “You began praying,” Niero said, his dark eyes tender, searching me. “Calling out to the Maker. And when you did, we ourselves were strengthened. Sethos knew you were the key — he went after you. Straight for you, Andriana. We only narrowly stopped him.”

  “How? Did you kill him?”

  “No,” Ronan said miserably, as if he’d failed me. “Maimed him. It is as Azarel said — death must come thoroughly to such enemies.”

  “It’s a wound which will not plague him for long,” Azarel said, her tone full of warning. “Trust me. The lizard grows a new tail.”

  “When Vidar killed the tracker that seemed to have you in that death grip, they sensed the tide was turning and disappeared the way they came, back into the forest.”

  I looked in alarm to the waterfall that served as our barrier. “Would they come here? Vidar?”

  “He’d know,” Niero said, nodding, when Vidar shook his head, telling us he didn’t sense them anywhere near. “We can sleep here again but we must move on to Georgii Post come morn, not beyond. I do not want to invite further trouble for our Hoodite bretheren.”

  CHAPTER

  19

  We moved out at daybreak, Azarel riding behind Raniero on a patched-together bike that I feared wouldn’t make it through the day. We saw no one all morning — not a Drifter or Sheolite — and we alternated between being thankful for the gift of it and holding our breath, certain we’d run across our enemies over the next rise. But we made good time across the bumps and divets of the salt plains and entered the red canyons by noon, a muddy river meandering to our left.

  Killian first spotted the Georgii scouts, riding on horses along the curving ridges on either side of us. We slowed down, and lifted white flags to let them know we approached the post in peace. The nearer we drew to the fort, the greater the number of guards on either side of us became. They were still a fair distance away, and high above us on the cliff, but the canyon was narrowing the deeper we went, and around each bend they got closer and closer.

  “Are they armed?” Killian asked, pulling to a stop on a well-worn road between two towers built of stacked flagstone.

  “To the hilt,” Azarel said, studying the cliffs.

  A mirror flashed against the sun, directly in our eyes, and Azarel said, “All right, we’ve been given clearance. Move ahead. Slowly.”

  “What do you do when there’s no sun?” Vidar asked.

  “Pray the white flags are enough,” Azarel returned with a grin, twisting the throttle, leading us out.

  Around the next bend, we saw it, a walled fortress-post that ran from one side of the canyon to the next. It became clear that anyone who came this way had to come through the post, or circle for miles to get around it and on to the most direct road to Castle Vega. Eight guards came out on dirt bikes to meet us and take our papers. Unlike the guardians of the trading posts and Zanzibar, they didn’t look twice at us women, which came as a huge relief.

  “How long do you intend to stay at Georgii Post?” asked the leader, looking at Raniero and Azarel, then letting his gaze drift over the rest of us. He was about five decades. Lighter hair, tanned skin.

  “Three, four days,” Niero said easily.

  He locked eyes with him. “Your papers say you hail from Nem Post. Where from, before that?”

  “Here and there,” Niero said casually.

  “Where specifically?” the man said, his gaze hardening.

  “Does it matter?” Azarel asked, sliding a packet out from under her vest. “We prefer to keep our business to ourselves. Care to help some travelers out?”

  The man hesitated, then pointedly stared at the other men until they looked away. He grabbed the package from her hand and unfolded it, peering inside. He quickly slid it inside his own jacket. “That’ll buy you a decent amount of privacy. Go ahead,” he said, gesturing to the fort gates. “Just see that you do not get into any trouble, or you’ll answer to me.”

  “Understood,” Azarel said, flashing him a small, charming smile.

  We followed her and Niero again, well aware that there was likely a gun trained on every one of our heads as we passed. Up ahead, a drawbridge stood open, allowing us to cross up and over the river, which appeared to flow below the very city. Inside the high, thick adobe walls, I could see that the post was divided into a neat grid pattern, with two-and three-story buildings rising on the far edges, where the walls were the canyon walls themselves. Azarel led us directly east, and into what appeared the poorest sector. I groaned inwardly, thinking of the Zanzibian inn and the flea-infested mats. It looked like we’d be sleeping on our bedrolls again this night.

  Children, barefoot and filthy, shouted as we passed, raising their hands and running after us as if we were exotic animals. They swarmed us as we stopped, begging for food, for coins, for a handshake, for any attention we were willing to spare at all. Never had I seen so many. I laughed and touched one’s head, another’s cheek, shaking hand after hand. A skinny, ragged man with dark curls emerged in the doorway of the nearest building, at first wary. Then upon seeing Azarel, he lifted his hands in greeting, a smile filling his face.

  He pulled Azarel in for an arm clasp, then grabbed her head with both hands and kissed both her cheeks.

  She laughed and yanked away, looking with some embarrassment at all of
us. “Brothers and sisters, this is our brother, Asher.”

  He was shorter than I, dark in skin and hair, but there was a lightness about him that made it impossible to do anything but smile in his presence. He was jubilant that Azarel had returned to his side, tucking her hand around his arm as if escorting her, and staring at all of us in glee. But what was funnier was that she allowed it, shaking her head as if he were a troublesome kin. I never would’ve guessed she had such a soft side.

  “My friends! My brothers and sisters,” Asher whispered in awe, looking each of us in the eye. “Can it be true? Is it possibly upon us at last?”

  “Let’s go inside, Asher,” Azarel said in a hushed tone, furtively looking up and around. “We can talk inside, where it’s safe.”

  He reluctantly turned, and we moved into a building whose ceiling was so low that Killian, Ronan, and Niero all had to duck their heads. In the corner, two men and a woman were busily chopping vegetables and putting them into a huge kettle sitting over a low-burning open fire. Above it, a hole opened to the next floor and, presumably, to the sky beyond that. Inside, it was still fairly smoky, and it was with some relief I sat down on a cushion, down where the air was clearer.

  A girl of perhaps a decade came around with a jug of water and poured us each a cup, then continued to fill our cups as we drained them.

  “We’re blessed with good, clear water here at the post,” Asher said, “given the river passing below us. It’s free of the parasite that plagues many.” He passed a loaf of bread around and we each tore off a piece, trying not to shove it into our mouths too quickly.

  “Are you settling in?” Azarel asked in surprise.

  “For a time. There’s much to do here. Much to do. The people are hungry for the truth.”

  “Asher,” she said, rising and going to the front entry, where she peered both ways before shutting the ramshackle, dilapidated door.

  “Ahh, let them hear. The dark ones are deaf. But the right ears are always open.” He grinned at all of us, and with mouth half full said, “Look at you, the called! Here in this very house!”