There. Tel, though she couldn’t see his aura clearly. Muscles she hadn’t known were tense suddenly relaxed. And Baku. Both close. Ker sighed. Daughter, that headache was a killer. Ker gave up Flashing outside of her space, turning her awareness on herself.
And that was when she saw the unfamiliar net around her aura. Don’t panic. She patted the spot where her jewel should have been and felt nothing. She examined every pocket twice, as if she’d get a different answer the second time. Panic caught her by the throat. “Breathe, breathe,” she told herself. Paraste, she said, even though she was already Flashing. Her trigger word was so closely linked to a state of calm and quiet, that Ker began to feel better. “Deep breaths,” she said, loosening her arms from around her knees.
“You can find it,” she said, barely speaking out loud. “They can’t hide it from you. They think they can, but they can’t.” She should be able Flash it the same way she could Flash Tel. It was as much a part of her now as he was. “It’s only a net. I haven’t been dampened.” Matriarch, back in Questin Hall, had threatened Ker with that, when she was trying to sneak away, determined to return to her military life. Back before the Halians came and destroyed the Hall, and Matriarch and everyone else in it.
“Get hold of yourself.” She imagined Matriarch’s stern, contemptuous expression. Nothing the old bat would like better than to see her fall apart. “What are you, three? Your brain’s still working, isn’t it?” And so was her Talent—though now she knew why it felt limited. She was back to having to touch things to learn about them. But she could still see the auras. . . .
“All right.” She began to shift through her colors, looking for the ones that would be the most help in dealing with her net. It didn’t take very long for her to discover that she could only move one color at a time. It was like the children’s game where you tried to race in mill sacks. You could either hop or take very short steps, but you couldn’t run.
She released her breath in a silent whistle and shook herself. She had to make sure of one more thing. She concentrated on a nearby cushion and gave it a push. Nothing. She squared her shoulders and tried again. Still nothing. So now she was like Bakura. Her Talent and the Gifts Weimerk had given her were weak but still there. The Gifts that came from the jewel were gone. Maybe it wouldn’t work for her, even if she got it back.
Well, she’d managed without a jewel before. She’d awakened a griffin and found a Luqs. She could do as much and more again. She’d get Tel, and Baku, and they’d all get out of here. If Baku hadn’t been able to free herself from her own net, well, they’d take care of that as well.
“I’m Griffin Girl, for the Daughter’s sake.”
<
Nothing. Ker’s heart sped up, and her breath came short. “Don’t panic,” she said again. “Deep breaths.” By the time she had her breathing back under control, Ker was thinking more clearly. The netting weakened her magic; she knew that already. Or maybe the griffin was distracted by something that had nothing to do with his Girl.
“Fine. No problem. I can do this.” Ker sat up straight and rubbed at her forehead. When she saw how filthy her hands were, she wondered what her face looked like. She scrubbed her hands on her trousers. Not that they were all that clean. She settled herself with her legs crossed, her hands loosely open and resting on her knees.
She would get the net off herself, jewel or no jewel. She’d undone Shekayrin’s work before she had a jewel. She’d freed Tel of the net that had made him her enemy, and she could free herself now. A little wedge of doubt cracked her confidence. She’d had help before. Weimerk and the other Feelers—Ganni, Hitterol, Cuarel, and Midon. Now she was alone. She squared her shoulders. She was stronger now. She’d learned so much, she’d done so much since saving Tel.
There’d never been anyone like her before, had there? She was Kerida Griffin Girl. She was part of the Prophecy, for the Mother’s sake, the Second Sign. She was the runner in the darkness, who spoke to griffins. Drumming her fingers on her knees, she tried to ignore the little voice telling her that her part might be over. That she didn’t have to survive for the Prophecy to happen.
But Baku did. Baku was the child prophesied by the griffins. The one with all the Gifts. The one who would bring freedom and light, and the day of joining. And it was still Ker’s job to help make that happen.
She needed to assess her situation. Find a new strategy.
The red in her aura that made it possible for her to use a jewel in the first place obviously wasn’t strong enough without the jewel itself to free her of the net binding her. But she had other colors, the shimmering copper ribbon Weimerk had given her at their first meeting, and the moss green, the dusty rose color, the metallic flame.
In the capital, she’d used these colors to grab hold of the Shekayrin’s inner web and tear it apart, destroying him in the process. But surely she’d damage herself if she tried that. She hadn’t been able to get Baku’s net off, even with her jewel. The net couldn’t be lifted off from the outside. That’s why she’d given Baku the jewel. Because Baku was on the inside.
“And so am I.”
That was an idea . . . but would it work, without her own jewel?
“Only one way to find out.” If she was right, it meant taking her free colors and inserting them into the net. The thought alone was enough to make her break out in a sweat. But she had to do something. One step at a time, she told herself. Relax. This was like Flashing. The information was always there, ready and even willing to be found. She just had to let it come to her. She rubbed her palms together, trying to warm her hands.
Ker triggered her Talent again and Flashed her aura, this time concentrating on the colors that were free. Her turquoise, a little faded. The griffin colors, subdued but still the brightest. She drew in the ribbons of color and set them to dancing, swirling and turning in on one another until they made a compact interwoven sphere. Ker smiled, reminded of the intricate glass balls people hung in their windows during the Festival of the Son. Her smile widened. This might be the answer.
She imagined herself a glass blower, blowing with great care into the colorful sphere, expanding it little by little. Unlike glass, her aura didn’t become thinner or more fragile, it simply grew.
“It might work. Maybe.” Ker would have been pleased, if she wasn’t so afraid. She breathed deeply, letting the air out slowly. Now she reversed what she’d done, until her free colors became a tiny ball she could imagine sitting in the palm of her hand. Gritting her teeth, she moved the tiny ball of color closer to the net, floating it from spot to spot, looking for an opening large enough to slip the colors inside. Finally, she realized she was stalling, so she pushed her free colors through the very next wide space she found.
The free colors remained bright and healthy. That had to be a good sign. Once again, she began to blow. The ball of light shivered but didn’t grow. Ker licked her lips and began again, calling especially to her griffin colors to extend themselves.
“Come on, come on. Grow, Mother take you. Grow.” Afterward, Ker thought that the Mother must have heard her, because finally the sphere of color grew larger, and still larger, until it filled the space within the net. This next part was the riskiest of all. What would happen when her colors touched the net?
Ker gathered her courage and continued mentally blowing into her aura. Slowly, her colors began to bulge the net outward. Ker shifted, her back itchy. She refocused. At first, the net just expanded along with her aura, but soon the red lines grew thinner and thinner, until the net was stretched so thin the red lines were no longer visible against the interwoven colors of her aura.
But it was still whole, still confining her. Struggling now, Ker continued to blow, until she felt she must be at her last breath. She imagined Tel grinning at her, shrugging his shoulder, the one that had been injured when she first met him. He waved her toward him, and she took a step forward.
Suddenly, she was free.
<
<
* * *
• • •
“You are singularly calm for a man in your position.”
For some reason Tel had expected this Shekayrin to be like Svann, but this Poppy was nothing like the Sunflower. Svann, for all his power, had a sense of humor, and what Tel now saw was a gentleness—something he never expected he’d think about the mage who had jeweled him into hating Kerida.
“Where was the Princess Imperial planning to go?” the mage asked.
“I don’t think she was planning anything,” Tel said as reasonably as he could. “It was all spontaneous if you ask me.”
“I am asking you, and believe me, you will tell me.” Pollik Kvar took his jewel out from his tunic pocket and held it flat on his palm, studying it almost as though he’d never seen one before. Tel felt the sweat break out on his forehead.
“Where did the girl get this? I have asked her, but I get no coherent answers.”
Tel realized with a shock that the jewel in the mage’s hand was not his own, but Kerida’s. Why can’t she answer? “The girl?”
“She is a witch. From whom did she obtain this jewel?”
Tel blinked. “I didn’t know she had it.” The Shekayrin wasn’t a Talent, so he couldn’t know whether Tel was lying, at least, not easily.
“Very well, a new question. You have been protected against me. Tell me by whom.”
Tel was so tempted to reveal Svann’s name he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from speaking. He told himself it wasn’t Svann he was protecting, but Wynn, and Pella, and Barid.
“It is interesting that you will not speak, since logic alone should inform you that I already have the answer. It could only be the Sunflower Peklin Svann.”
“So, since you already have all the answers, can I go?”
“There are other ways to persuade you to cooperate. The soul stone is not my only recourse.”
“Fine, then. You want to know why I’m so calm? I’ll tell you but listen carefully because I’m only going to say this once.” Tel cleared his throat and cast back into his memory. Come on, you’ve been hearing people recite this for months.
“Let all the people of the land awake and listen, For the day of joining comes. It comes near.
Watch horses of the sea come clothed in thunder. Longships bring nets of blood and fire.
Blood of the earth. Which is the First Sign.
Hear the runner in the darkness, eyes of color and light. Speaks to the wings of the sky. Speaks to griffins. Which is the Second Sign.
See the bones of the earth touch blood and fire. Net the souls of the living. Bones of the griffin. Which is the Third Sign.
See the child eyes of color and light. Holds the blood and the wings and the bone. Child of the griffin. Which is the Fourth Sign.
The child rides the horses of the sea. Bears the blood and wields the bones of the earth. Brings freedom and light.
Freedom and light are near; the day of joining comes.”
Tel folded his hands and smiled. “You see? It’s not about me.”
“What is this nonsense?”
“It’s the Prophecy, you jackass. It means it doesn’t matter what you do to me, or to Kerida, or to your princess for that matter. The Luqs Jerek Brightwing is the child of the Prophecy, and no matter what happens to us, the Prophecy will be fulfilled.”
JURIA Sweetwater had not spoken with this Far-seer before, and she made an effort to look welcoming. The man’s eyes wouldn’t stop moving, as if he were looking for a way out of the room yet feared there was none.
“Can you tell us how many you saw?”
The man swallowed and straightened as far as he could. He had been injured, and without Kerida Griffin Girl here, healing had gone back to what it had been before someone who could look inside people came along.
“I don’t have the numbers,” he said finally, shooting a glance at her before looking away once more. He was a Springer, and it was possible that until now he had never seen any person other than the tribe he had grown up with.
“You did not see the enemy yourself?” Juria risked a glance at Tonia Nast. The Faro of Panthers had seated herself as far from where Juria sat with the Feeler as she could get. No point in intimidating the man to where he couldn’t speak at all.
“No, I mean yes. I did see them.” The Far-seer wrung his hands together. “I don’t know the number. It’s not ten.” He held up his hands, fingers spread. “Not twenty.” He glanced down at his feet. “Not a dozen. Dozens and dozens.” He rotated his hands to indicate that there were many more dozens than he could count.
“I see.” Juria felt like an idiot. The man couldn’t count. “Thank you very much. You may go now.”
The look of relieved gratitude on the man’s face made Juria feel like a bully.
“What do you think it means,” Tonia said, joining Juria at the main table.
“I think the man cannot count,” Juria said, still staring at the curtained doorway the Feeler had used.
“That much was fairly clear, yes.” Tonia poured herself a cup of water and sat back, nursing it in her hands as though it was a goblet of brandy. “Should we get a Talent to get an accurate number from him?”
“A good thought, though it will have to be a Talent he knows if he is not to be panicked entirely.” Juria nodded at the runner just inside the doorway. The boy was gone before she returned her attention to the Faro of Panthers. “But to answer your real question, it appears there are other parties of the Halians Wilk Silvertrees told us about gathering near the Valley of Simcot—though not in it, as far as we can see.” Frowning, Juria looked more closely at the map. “What I cannot see is why they would choose this area at all. There is no place large enough even for the troops that have already arrived.”
“And they don’t seem to care about the entrance there. They haven’t even bothered to look for it.”
At this moment the runner returned to the doorway and hovered instead of resuming his post against the wall.
“Your pardon, my Faro,” he said, speaking directly to Juria. “But the Luqs wishes to speak to you privately in his rooms.”
* * *
• • •
“When were you going to tell us that you could Far-think?”
Jerek wasn’t fooled by Juria Sweetwater’s impassive face. He knew frustrated anger when he saw it. He also knew resignation and fear, though there wasn’t much of the latter in either of the Faros. They couldn’t do anything to him, of course. They couldn’t even discipline him, if it came to that. He was the Luqs of Farama, even though he might feel like a wayward schoolboy at the moment.
“When I decided it was the right time,” he said aloud. He was gratified that his voice was calm and carried just a hint of reprimand—a tone he’d heard his father use many times, though Jerek managed to leave off his father’s sneer.
“Of course, my lord.” Juria bowed her head, but her lips were pressed tight.
“My lord Luqs,” said the Faro of Panthers. “I thought only women could Far-think.”
Jerek glanced up at Ennick standing to his left. He’d come to use him as an emotional gauge. Ennick reacted to the atmosphere of the room almost without being aware of it. Since the big man was relaxed, Jerek could be, too. He glanced at the doorway, where Wynn normally stood. He’d only seen her once since she’d returned with Pella, and now she’d gone to take her place among the archers, drilling for the upcoming battle. He’d have to ask for her to be assigned to him again.
“It’s not just Far-thinking,” he said now, looking first at the Panther and then the Bear. “I have all of the Feelers’ Gifts. I didn’t tell you because for a long time I wasn’t sur
e, and then I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure how you’d react.” Jerek paused, but neither woman spoke. “I’m very aware that you made me Luqs and that you can unmake me just as easily.”
“Nothing easy about it,” Tonia Nast said under her breath.
“So why are you telling us now?” The shadow of a smile hovered over Juria Sweetwater’s lips. “You could have kept it to yourself. We would never have known.”
Jerek squared his shoulders. “It’s more important we defeat the Halians than that I stay the Luqs,” he said. He couldn’t quite read the glance that passed between the two Faros, but—somehow—he felt better.
Tonia Nast snapped her fingers. “The Prophecy,” she said, grinning. “When it says a child will unite the people, it must have meant that she—or he—would have Gifts. You’re uniting not just the people of Farama, but all Gifted people.”
Juria looked thoughtful. “You are the Prophesied One.”
“Or it might be someone else.” Jerek waited, but neither of the Faros spoke. “Or our child.” Jerek wished his face hadn’t grown so hot.
“Your child?” Tonia Nast never looked less like her sister Kerida.
“According to her marriage documents, the Princess Imperial is married to the Luqs of Farama.” He looked from one to the other. “That’s me.”
“How do you know this?”
“I’ve been in contact with the Princess Imperial,” he said. “She’s able to Far-think as well.”
Both women froze, though neither of their expressions changed.
“She’s a Feeler?” Juria Sweetwater finally asked.
“I think she’s more than a Feeler,” Jerek said. “I think she’s like Kerida; she has more than one Gift.”
“And the Halians have not destroyed her?”
Patiently, Jerek walked them through the events, discussions, surmises that he, Kerida, and Baku had exchanged.
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