Remnants: Season of Wonder (A Remnants Novel)

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  I knew the others were as dehydrated as I. If we’d been Drifters, we might have drawn weapons for the right to drink until sated. But we were Ailith kin. And so, we reached down deep and practiced respect, even in the midst of our desperation.

  It took an hour for us all to finally sit back, bellies full of water, faces and hands and arms washed in the delicious, clean water.

  Niero saw them first and let out a low sound of alarm, hopping to his feet, knees bent, crescent sword drawn.

  We lumbered to our feet too, still exhausted, even if we were no longer thirsty.

  I saw then what had caused Niero’s alarm. Men and women with shaved heads, dressed in robes the same color of red as the rock, helping them blend in. Each carried a staff in one hand.

  “Be at peace, brother,” said one to Niero, letting his staff fall a little farther from his body. “You have made it across the Great Expanse. Come and abide with us. We offer you sanctuary for the night.”

  “Who are you?” Niero called.

  “We are your brothers and sisters,” he said, obviously no sort of answer at all. With that, he turned to begin climbing back up the rocks, the five others following after him.

  “Where do you abide?” Niero called, chasing after them, pausing at the hill’s ridge then looking back at us. We followed, hesitantly, not sure that this was at all wise.

  “Be at peace,” said the man at the top beside him, just before he disappeared over the remains of the rockslide.

  “Are we in Pacifica?” Niero persisted, as we topped the rockslide too, then picked our way down the other side. Ronan reached up and took my hand over a tricky jump. I allowed it not out of need, but of pleasure. In the crate, being so close to him … I thought for a moment.

  “Pacifica, yes. But there is a time to walk, and a time to talk,” said the man, glancing over his shoulder at Niero, interrupting my dreamlike, fuzzy thoughts. “This is a time to walk. Be at peace. We will talk in time.”

  We frowned, but followed. Perhaps this was but more of the Maker’s provision, a chance to rest. Recuperate, after our harrowing crossing. Our armbands felt neutral — neither warm nor cold. We followed the desert dwellers across several rocky hills, then down into a valley that grew cooler with each step. We could hear water again, and as we turned a bend in the trail I noted that we were on the edge of another small canyon, with a creek at its bottom. But halfway down was a channel, dug into the cliffside and carrying swiftly flowing water. An aqueduct?

  I think that was what it was called. I remembered my parents teaching me about such things. The Romans had built many of them, shifting water to dry cities across hundreds of miles. Farmers had used them once in our own lands to water fields. I glanced up at the strange, light clouds, wondering again about the lack of rain. In all my days, I’d never experienced such dryness. Even the eastern desert grasses had been lush and clumpy in the damp sand, in comparison to the occasional, stubborn cactus here on the western edge, the soil dry and biting at our skin. Memory of my thirst made me want to dip into the aqueduct, now beside our trail, but I feared it would be rude. I also feared that I’d have difficulty stopping again — part of me wanted to get into the narrow trough, feel it wash over me, reassure me that my thirst was over.

  We continued down, down, down into the canyon, each step blessedly cooler. We were almost beside the small riverbed at the bottom — so much blessed water after the dry abyss — and continued to follow our red-robed guides at a steady, unrushed pace. When we rounded the next bend, Niero stopped short and I almost ran into him.

  “Niero?” I asked. But then I saw what had drawn his attention. Ahead, above and on the other side of the river, was a long, sloping ramp leading to a palace that seemed to have been carved from the cliffs themselves. Room upon room, with small balconies, boasting baskets of well-watered flowers and deep green vines, in bright contrast to all the rock.

  “It’s Wadi Qelt,” he hissed over his shoulder. “We’ve stumbled into Wadi Qelt.”

  A shiver ran down my back. Wadi Qelt? Where Keallach’s Hoarfrost palace was? Asher had spoken of desert fathers and mothers, a sanctuary …

  Niero actually took a step backward into me, as if he intended to turn around and leave. But as I looked up and around, I saw another group of robed monks among the cliffs and trail behind us. Were they peaceable? Even if they were, if we tried to leave now, would it draw undue suspicion?

  Three ahead of us turned and looked back, puzzlement on their faces. “Please, come,” said one, gesturing forward. “There is nothing to fear here.”

  I concentrated on his face, hard, to see if I could detect anything evil about him, but found nothing. No scales, no spooky, misty darkness around. I glanced to Vidar, and he gave me a little shrug. But he looked concerned too … as if he couldn’t get a read on them at all. All I could determine was that they seemed rather innocent. Mindless, even.

  “It’s okay,” Niero whispered as he passed by me. “Keallach isn’t due here until Hoarfrost.”

  I nodded, but my heart was pounding. We needed to enter this sanctuary, eat, refill our canteens, and get out as fast as possible. That much was clear.

  We crossed a small bridge and then proceeded up the path toward the sprawling palace, made partially of adobe and timber in order to blend into the cliff. But it was elegant, refined even in its rustic splendor. We entered through two wide, tall, fortress-like doors, noting the twenty-foot wall that seamlessly surrounded the palace, where the cliff did not provide protection. Inside, thick-beamed porticos with lush, winding vines and fat, purple blossoms gave us shade.

  “You must bathe before you are invited in to the master’s table,” said our guide over his shoulder. “Most travelers enjoy it very much.”

  “I would imagine,” Niero said carefully. “Is your master here this day?”

  “No. The master is in Pacifica. But you are still welcome at his table.”

  Niero smiled, saying, no, just a bit of food for the road and good water for our canteens was all we needed and then we’d be on our way.

  The monk insisted that food was only distributed at the table, and all those who came to the table had to be clean.

  I was trying to stay quiet, obedient.

  While alternately wanting to scream of our imminent danger from our mortal enemy and my need to get rid of the last three days’ worth of grime and sweat I wore as a second skin.

  To sleep. Even the word, sleep, called to me. Sang to me, like a lullaby …

  Our guide agreed to give us new supplies, then led us under the portico and through a small, rounded tunnel that opened up into the most perfect outdoor bath I’d ever seen.

  A long, rectangular pool stretched before us, gloriously blue against the red rock, and at the end, it opened into a small circle. From above, a tiny waterfall moved down the rock, emptying in the circle like it’d been divinely bestowed upon the palace. And five feet away was a separate steaming pool that seemed to enter a cave.

  “Another spring, like the one you found, feeds this small waterfall,” said our guide, studying me with wise eyes that could clearly see my desperation to dive in. I looked around guiltily at my companions, but realized I wasn’t the only one who was literally salivating over the waters before us. I longed to swim the whole, lovely, long length of the pool and then sit in the circle, feeling the gentle spring water falling down, washing through my hair. Just ten minutes would give us so much more energy for the rest of our journey …

  Niero, hands on hips, looked up and around at the cliffs that surrounded us, as if determining the risk, then at all of us and sighed. “All right. Just a quick dip and then we — ”

  We were immediately setting our weapons aside, pulling off our sand-caked, grimy boots and our socks, the dirt on our skin making a line above them. I’d never been as hot and dirty for so long as I’d been in the last days, and here, here it seemed we’d find relief.

  As fast as I was moving, the young men were in first, diving
into the pool in nothing but their long johns, and we women followed in our leggings and camisoles. The water was divine, the pool deeper than I was tall, even with my arms stretched upward. I knew this because I tried, releasing all my held breath and sinking to the bottom, delighting in the sensation of being immersed in total. Of swimming, truly swimming for pleasure, for the first time since, I didn’t know … forever? Even back in the Valley, any extra hours were meant for training. Or meditation. Or helping my parents. And the few times Dad and I’d gone swimming, it had been a hurried exercise, the water so cold it set our teeth to chattering within minutes.

  Still, I remembered hiking with him once, the afternoon uncommonly empty of rain and warmer than usual. We’d come across a pool, a widening in the stream, and with one quick look, raced to pull off our boots and jackets and jump in, clothes and all. He’d taught me to float on my back that day, his hands gentle, reassuring, beneath my thighs and between my shoulders.

  Dad, I thought, floating on my back now, slowly making my way to the circular pool and my companions. Mom. How distant they felt from me now. How long ago our life together felt. They’d sacrificed everything, their very lives, to get me here, to this place. For this time. For this purpose.

  To save the world, somehow. To gather the faithful, to prepare for the future. For change. For hope.

  Were we getting closer to that vision?

  For every step forward, it seemed we took five back. But that was a thought that would take a night’s sleep in order to process fully.

  I turned, dived deep, and came to the end of the pool, the small falls sounding like thunder beneath the surface. Ronan was waiting for me there, as I figured he would be. He smiled. His freshly scrubbed skin, hair — long and loose and fanning behind his neck in a black mass — along with water droplets clinging to his long eyelashes, his nose, the soft lobes of his ears all of it made me look away, quickly, because never had I seen him look so incredibly … clean. And more, of course.

  “M’lady,” he said, smiling and offering me something cupped between his two palms, like a valuable treasure.

  And it was.

  Soap. More of that delicious, creamy, lavender-scented soap of Pacifica.

  I barely stifled a shriek and then hurried to the waterfall, to scrub my hair and neck and face and shoulders. I paused and then pulled out of the stream, submerging my shoulders. I edged a glance downward. We’d forgotten our cuffs! Looking about, I saw that Niero had not joined us, electing to keep watch over our weapons and clothing — as well as the two monks who seemed to have settled into a peaceful meditation, sitting on either side of the long pool to wait for us. I felt sorry for him, that he wasn’t with us, and then I felt latently guilty, knowing I’d seen his displeasure and ignored it, even as I dived in.

  Carefully, I looked down at my right arm, then over to Ronan as he leaned against the edge of the waterfall pool, waiting for me to climb with him into the next. Both our armbands still seemed to retain the protective oil and grime the elders had rubbed into them, even after the soap and water. But what of the others’? I cast a careful look over at the nearest monk, but his eyes were closed now, his face utterly at peace. Was he praying? He looked a lot like the elders in the Citadel. Or even like Azarel when she prayed.

  As I scrubbed my hair, I kept stealing glances at Niero. Then, as I rinsed out the suds, I closed my eyes and reached out toward him, seeking to find what emotions he was feeling, wondering if he was still uneasy here. Or if he was picking up something dangerous. Or glorious. Something. But I got nothing. I frowned and lifted my head out of the stream of water and really concentrated, reaching out with my mind, my heart, the way I read anybody’s emotions these days.

  Again, I got nothing.

  “Dri?” Ronan whispered.

  I turned back to Ronan, planning on telling him to let me be for a moment, but in my searching state, his emotions rocked me.

  My mouth dropped open and I stilled, staring at him.

  Because he wasn’t hard to read at all. Concern. Care. Desire. Delight. And …

  CHAPTER

  26

  Are you … are you reading me?” he asked. I didn’t have to continue to search his emotions to know he was irritated. His face told me as much.

  “No,” I said, moving toward him, to the side of him, lifting myself out of the cool water and padding over to the hot pool, focusing on the steam rising above it.

  “Liar,” he said softly, rising and following me. “That’s my gift. I can tell when you’re telling the truth. And when you’re not.”

  I ignored him, since all I could read from him now was anger. Indignation. I looked at him in confusion, trying to discern what I knew I’d felt.

  “One of us should go relieve Niero,” I said with a sigh to the others, dipping my foot in and then pulling it back quickly. It was incredibly hot. “How are you people sitting in there?”

  “You get used to it,” Vidar said, leaning his head against the edge, looking utterly relaxed. “Trust me. You want in here.”

  “I tried to talk him into a swim,” Killian said. “Niero wouldn’t budge. Truly. You have to feel this water, Andriana,” he said, reaching up to help me climb in. “It melts away every aching — ”

  I gasped, staring at his arm. He saw his cuff then too, and quickly yanked it below the surface of the water.

  Ronan edged past me and crouched down, helping to shield the other Ailiths as they checked their cuffs.

  Each band was gorgeous. Glorious. Pristine. As perfect as the day it was given to them.

  “The minerals in this pool … or the heat,” Vidar said in a low voice, turning his to and fro in the torchlight. “Something took off the protectants.”

  I turned to go after their clothes and nearly screamed when I found a monk, a head shorter than I, right behind me. “Are you finished bathing, friend?” he asked. He held out a red robe to me in one hand, a long sheath of a dress.

  Had he seen Vidar’s band before it was submerged again?

  “Please, it is our custom here in the canyon to dress as the earth herself does,” he said. “For a sense of continuity. We can wash your clothes and return them tomorrow to you as you journey onward.”

  “Oh,” I said, lifting my hand. “There’s no need to go to such trouble. We must be on our way this night anyway.”

  His thin brows gathered in a frown. “But the day is almost done. You must wait until dawn to leave. The city of Pacifica is still three days’ journey away, through rather treacherous paths. It is not wise to try to travel at night.”

  I glanced over his shoulder at Niero, who frowned as he drew closer. But I took the brick-red robe from the monk, seeing no way around it. Even if we left it behind as we sneaked away.

  “Tonight, you dress as we do.” He gestured to one side of the pool, toward a small building I assumed served as a dressing room. Had we offended them, so haphazardly stripping down to bathe, mad to get into the water?

  Niero stood where we’d left him, watching us warily.

  I reached out to take the robes from the monk, glad I could shield my friends from his sharp eyes, while at the same time hoping he didn’t see my trembling. “Here, let us hand out the rest for you.” Ronan was there, then, beside me, helping me lift the robes from the men’s arms as well as help block their view.

  “Thank you,” I said to the monk, refusing to move, as the man’s dark eyes shifted left and right. I felt a bit of suspicion rise between us, and then nothing. What was it about these monks that made them so difficult to read? Only the Sons of Sheol were more difficult … and Niero.

  “You will dress in there,” he said carefully, nodding toward the small building.

  I hurriedly nodded. “Forgive our ill manners. We were so keen to dive into your pretty pool, I’m afraid we didn’t stop to think.”

  “You are not the first weary traveler to do so. Think nothing of it. Dinner shall be served in an hour’s time. Zulon,” he said, motioning to his sm
all companion, “shall escort you to your quarters for the night.”

  “Thank you,” I said again, copying his slight bow. He padded away, and I wondered if it was all in my head. Had I become so jaded, so guarded, that even these monks who were practicing such peaceful ways — generously offering us nothing but kindness and hospitality — set me on edge?

  Which made everyone’s growing concern all the more overwhelming and frustrating. Who cared if they saw the bands? These people were not Drifters. They did not strike me as the sort who would kill us for the treasure we wore. They wore nothing of substance on their person. In fact, they all wore the same red robe, the same hemp belt, and nothing on their feet.

  But wealth was wealth, I thought grimly as I shut the small changing room door, yanking off my wet underthings and pulling on the red robe, grimacing as it pulled taut over my breasts and hips, clinging, then finally reaching my ankles. I was glad for the secondary piece, an evening cape that cupped below my shoulders and crossed in a band over my upper arm. I almost shouted in relief. “You won’t believe the Maker’s provision,” I said, coming back around and looking up in glory at Ronan, Vidar, and Bellona, who stood next in line.

  I flushed at the reactions I immediately could feel in the men. Apparently, I looked … good, really good, in this borrowed clothing. “Look,” I said grimly, gesturing to my arm, willing them to get back to the most important thing — disguising our cuffs.

  “Thank the Maker,” Vidar said, sidling past me. “For more reasons than one,” he said, giving me a long, head-to-toe look over his shoulder.

  “Vidar! Stop!” I was mad at him, but he also made me laugh when I needed it the most.

  “It’s hard to stop,” Ronan said, crossing his arms and looking me up and down too, but now with a more distant, detached manner. “You looked very fine in Castle Vega, but here … You look royal, Dri.”