The Stones of Resurrection

by Tameri Etherton

  She shook out her hands, and a crystal fell from her grasp. Nadra’s tear. She bent to retrieve it and studied Zakael’s profile. He looked peaceful. Except for a trickle of blood from a scrape on his head, he could’ve been sleeping.

  “Someday he’ll pay.”

  “Yes, he will. But not today.” Rhoane led her away from Zakael to the lake, where she rinsed her hands and quenched her thirst. The honeyed water slid down her dry throat, and she drank as if trying to fill the void of Brandt’s loss.

  “Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes, thank you,” she lied. “What do we do now?”

  “Are you well enough to travel, Darennsai?”

  “Why do you call me that?”

  “It is the name my people have given you. It is a name of respect. If it does not please you, I will not say it again.”

  “I was just curious.” After a moment, she added, “Should I call you Rhoane, or is there another name you prefer?”

  “There may come a time when you call me something else, but Rhoane will do for now.”

  “Okay, just Rhoane. You said travel—where are we going?” A chill ran the length of her despite the warmth of the cavern.

  “To meet with some friends.”

  “I take it you two aren’t what you’d consider friends?” She cocked her chin toward Zakael. “What was that fight about, anyway?”

  Dark brows pinched above his straight nose, nostrils flared the slightest bit. “Our quarrel goes back many seasons.” He turned and strode away without further explanation.

  “Got it. Long standing feud. But since this quarrel got Brandt killed, I think I deserve to know why.”

  “Perhaps you do.” Rhoane stopped before a thick wall of crystals. “For now, what you need to know is that Brandt’s death was not in vain.” He motioned for her to follow and stepped around the rocks, out of sight.

  Hidden behind the stones was a campsite of sorts. A small fire burned low, with blankets and cooking supplies laid out in neat array. Before she had a chance to sit down, Rhoane handed her a pile of clothing.

  “I have brought you a change of attire. I am afraid what you are wearing is not what Aelinaens are accustomed to.”

  Taryn gave Rhoane’s leather pants, tunic, jerkin, and boots a long look and groaned. “I’ve gone back to the bloody Middle Ages. I don’t wear dresses, so unless you have something like what you’re wearing, I’ll stick with what I have.”

  “Then I think you will be pleased. There is an alcove fifty paces that way where you will have privacy. Would you like me to walk you there?” He was tall, perhaps half a foot taller than her five feet nine inches, but his closeness dwarfed her. The light from the cavern cast a halo over his curls, keeping his face in shadow. His presence wrapped around her like a comfortable blanket and she had the sense she’d been there before. With him. Strange words drifted through her mind.

  “Darennsai?”

  His voice pulled her from the memory. “I can manage. Thank you.”

  She started to turn from him and paused, her fingertips stroking the soft cotton tunic in her hands. “You knew we’d be returning, didn’t you? That’s why you’ve been waiting and why you just happen to have clothes for me. But why? How did you know?”

  “Yes, I knew. Nadra bade me come to the cavern and wait.”

  The voice from her flat tugged at her. It is time. He is waiting.

  She shivered against the unknown and made her way to the alcove, distracted by the nagging feeling of familiarity. Rhoane, the cavern, even the fresh smell of her garments, triggered memories. Thoughts she’d pushed to the back of her mind came forward, begging to be relived. She pulled the tunic over her head and then shimmied out of her T-shirt. The pants proved more of a problem, but she managed to strip off her jeans and pull on the leather breeches without showing too much bare leg. After several failed attempts to tie the boots, which had more eyelets and laces than she’d ever seen, she gave up and wore her sneakers.

  When she returned to the campsite, Rhoane was nowhere in sight. After an anxious moment where several scenarios played out in her mind—of Zakael returning to finish the fight, or Rhoane deserting her—she spied two mugs sitting on a flat rock near the fire. At least one of her fears hadn’t come true. She sank to the blanket, eyeing the dark liquid in the cup. A hint of spice tickled her nose. Chilies, perhaps, but sweet like cinnamon.

  Her backpack lay on one of the blankets, looking oddly out of place in the pristine cavern. Footsteps crunched against the sand, and she froze, her heart jackhammering in her chest. Rhoane stepped around the crystal wall, and she breathed out, loosening her grip on the boot she held like a weapon.

  Feigning calm, she tossed the boots to Rhoane. “I can’t figure out the laces on these things.”

  “Let me help you.” He sat beside her and patiently showed her how to tie the boots, his fingers weaving the laces with practiced grace.

  When he finished, she stared at the intricate crisscrossing pattern. “I’ll never figure that out.”

  “You will in time.” He handed her a mug. “Drink this, Darennsai. It is called grhom and will give you energy.”

  Chocolate, thick and luxurious, with a snap of heat from chilies, flowed over her tongue and down her throat to settle her aggravated belly. “It’s delicious.” It was actually more than delicious; it was heaven in a cup. She emptied the mug and Rhoane refilled it. She nodded toward her backpack. “Where did you find that?”

  Rhoane followed her gaze. “Where you and Brandt entered the cavern.”

  “Can I keep it?”

  “I am afraid not.” He eyed it warily, as if something horrific might be hiding inside.

  Taryn inhaled a deep breath. “Figured as much.” She pulled the bag toward her and started tossing items on the ground. Notebooks, pens, pencils, toothbrush and toothpaste, books—nothing of real value, but the thought of throwing them away pained her. It was her last link to Earth. To Brandt. “Can I keep any of it?” She clutched a book to her chest. It was her favorite, one she’d read dozens of times.

  Rhoane took the book and flipped through it. “I am sorry, but everything from that world must be destroyed. No one can know where you have been.” He picked up a small velvet pouch and held it out to her. “What is this?”

  Taryn turned it over several times, examining the cloth. “I don’t know. It’s not mine.”

  “It is with your belongings. You have never seen this before?”

  “Never. It looks old. See the stitching—that’s by hand. The silk loop and pearl would place this somewhere in the fifth or sixth century. Brandt might have—” She stopped herself. She and Brandt traveled all over the world to recover ancient artifacts. His job was to acquire items for his clients, not keep them.

  In places, the faded blue velvet was threadbare from years of handling. Whoever owned the pouch had kept it near them. She untied the delicate gold ribbon and slid out a silver disk about the size of her palm. It felt good in her hand, heavy and solid. Her pendant hummed against her skin as a ripple of energy pulsed up her arm, exciting her. When her fingertips touched the silver, etchings moved across the surface. She dropped it as if bitten. When it left her touch, the inscriptions shifted to the edge of the disk.

  Rhoane made a figure eight above his head. “Nadra has twice blessed us.” He picked up the silver piece to examine it. The disk gleamed in the firelight, and Rhoane muttered under his breath while covering the artifact with his hand as if to shield them from it.

  “Do you know what that is? What those symbols mean?” Her fingers flexed, anxious to grab it from him, to again feel the pulse of energy.

  “This is a Seal of Ardyn, lost from our world many millennia ago. How did you come to have it?”

  If Brandt had hid it in her bag, he must’ve had a good reason. “I have no idea. Is it important?”

  His eyes flicked to her and then back to the seal. “Very much so. This seal, one of thirteen total, was created to keep Rykoto l
ocked away in the Temple of Ardyn.”

  “The what locked where?”

  Rhoane stared at her, a shadow of contempt crossing his face. “About ten thousand seasons ago, there was the Great War between two elder gods, Daknys and Rykoto. Before the war, Aelinae was a peaceful world. Rykoto betrayed Daknys and sought to rule alone. He tried to destroy not only the elders but the younger gods, as well.”

  “I thought gods were immortal.”

  “Immortality is subjective. They do not suffer disease and cannot be killed by mortals, but one god can destroy another.”

  “How?”

  “I am not a god and therefore cannot answer that.”

  “Was he able to? Did Rykoto kill them?”

  “He tried, but Daknys and the others were able to seal him away before any real damage was done.”

  “And that little piece of silver is helping to keep him locked up? If it’s so important, how did it get lost? I mean, you’d think people would keep track of that sort of thing.”

  “You make a good point. We must take good care of this.” Rhoane placed the disk back into the pouch, securing the ribbon before handing it to her. “Keep this safe for the time being.”

  “Oh no. If that thing is so important, you carry it.”

  She thrust the pouch at him, but he held his hands up and away from her. “If you will recall, we found this in your possession. You must be the one to safeguard it.”

  “That’s so not fair. I didn’t even know I had it.”

  She touched her belongings with a sigh of regret for the life she left behind. Before she could change her mind, she tossed her things on the fire, ending with the backpack.

  “I don’t have anything to carry it in. You need to take it.”

  Rhoane handed her a leather satchel. “Will this do?”

  Taryn took it from him, shoving the pouch inside. It looked small and utterly unimportant in the empty bag. When the carnage burned itself out, they covered the embers with sand and packed up the campsite. She was about to heft one of the bags onto her shoulder when Rhoane flicked his wrist and the gear disappeared. Energy sizzled up her arm, not exactly unpleasant, but uncomfortable all the same. Like ice held against skin a second too long. Moss green sparks lit out from where the items had been.

  She gaped at Rhoane. “What the hell just happened? Where did your stuff go?”

  “Where we will need it next,” he said with a slight shrug and left the campsite.

  Unsure if she really wanted to know how he made the equipment disappear, she followed in silence. When they neared where she and Brandt had entered the cavern, the void pulled at her, thick with desperation. She hastened her steps, ignoring the temptation to let the sweet emptiness of the portal envelop her once more. From beyond the glittering wall, a hiss recoiled in defeat. Goose bumps rose on her arms and neck. Rhoane glanced at her over his shoulder, a worried look in his eyes.

  “I’m fine. Let’s keep moving.” She quickened her pace, matching Rhoane’s long strides with her own.

  The crystals dimmed behind them as they hurried along the edge of the lake until only Rhoane’s glowing orbs cast small circles of light along the path. When they reached the passage leading them out of the cavern, Rhoane stopped so suddenly Taryn almost ran into him.

  “Follow close. The tunnels in this mountain are treacherous. If you do not know your way, it is easy to get lost.” He set off again without waiting for her to reply.

  After a short distance, a flicker of light caught her eye and she stopped, calling out for Rhoane to wait. Pale green lights crisscrossed an opening off the passageway. When she peered into the darkened alcove, she suppressed a cry. In the center of the space, surrounded by purple quartz walls and a white sand floor, lay an unmoving and very naked Zakael.

  “Bloody hell.” She looked at Rhoane, not sure she wanted to know the answer to what she was about to ask. But she had to know. “Did you kill him?”

  Chapter Four

  Rhoane’s glare cut to her core. “Quite the opposite. I mended his wounds and left him with enough food and water to last the four days until the wards dissolve.”

  “It doesn’t seem fair, does it? We showed him mercy when he gave Brandt none.”

  “It was the honorable thing to do. Let us keep moving.”

  Taryn jogged to catch up. If Zakael were to free himself and follow them—Taryn shook the thought from her mind. She didn’t need to imagine what he’d do to them. Brandt’s last moments were seared into her memory. “Are you sure you can’t make those lights last longer than four days?”

  “What lights?”

  “On the alcove’s entrance. Little green threads like the ones you wrapped around Brandt. I assume those are what you call wards.”

  “In this case, yes. Wards are constraints put upon someone or something. Their uses vary, but mine are to keep Zakael from leaving that space until we are safely on our way.”

  Taryn cast a last glance behind them, but the alcove was no longer in sight. She’d have to trust Rhoane and his wards. Brandt had placed his faith in the man. Thus far, Taryn had no reason to doubt his motives. Unlike Zakael.

  Rhoane led them with quiet authority, directing her to watch her head or check her footing. Some of the passageways were so narrow or shallow they had to sidle through them or duck almost to their knees to continue. Hours passed in relative silence. Taryn did her best to stay a few feet behind Rhoane, but every so often her energy would flag, or her thoughts would slow her pace. These times Rhoane would gently nudge her onward and she would repeat to herself, Don’t think, just walk. For a little while, she would forget the cavern and Brandt’s death, choosing instead to focus on that morning when her life was normal. She’d even play a game with herself, trying to recall exactly how the scone tasted, or the sound the fire made when it crackled. Her distractions worked, until the darkness and silence seeped into her psyche, disorienting her once again.

  When her legs ached and the weight of her heart was almost too much to bear, Rhoane stopped them. Taryn couldn’t see beyond his small sphere of light that bobbed cheerily by his side.

  “Cover your eyes,” Rhoane whispered, his hands pressed against a sheet of rock. A jade outline created a doorway.

  She stepped behind him, hands half covering her eyes. An opening appeared, and he guided her into the late afternoon sun. She squinted against the bright light, blinking until her eyes adjusted to the sudden change.

  Rhoane moved a few feet past her to where the camping equipment lay piled neatly against the mountain. She suppressed a shudder and flexed her marked hand.

  “Can I help?”

  He blew on some tinder until a spark flared up, nearly catching his hair. He leaned back, rubbing his palms against his thighs. “Perhaps later. Dinner will not take long. You should familiarize yourself with our surroundings, but do not go far.”

  They were on a ledge about a hundred feet or so from the bottom of a large mountain, one of many in a range that stretched as far in one direction as it did in the other. A river cut through the steep valley, pooling into a small lake before flowing out the other end to disappear beyond her view. Golden flowers swayed in the breeze and lush green grasses surrounded the lake. After the dank mustiness of the tunnels, Taryn welcomed the fresh air and open space.

  A gust lifted her hair, swirling it around her face as she stood on the edge of the cliff. Birds chirped as they swooped and darted past her through a dazzling blue sky dotted with white clouds that moved lazily away. Everything looked clearer to Taryn, crisp and focused.

  “It’s beautiful.” She turned toward the cave entrance, where the rock was once again solid. “Was that another portal?”

  Rhoane paused in his preparations. A small fire burned, the supplies from the cavern spread around it. “The opening is still there. You just have to know where to look. It would be best if you did not mention portals anymore.”

  “Why?”

  He motioned for her to sit and handed her a
cup of grhom. “Aelinae is a very young world. Much younger than where you came from. Based on what Brandt shared with me, less advanced than that other place, too. Only a few people on Aelinae know of the existence of portals. That is why it is important you do not mention them ever again. If the wrong person heard you talking about another world or portals to the unknown, it would put your life at risk. Many would kill or worse to learn what you know.”

  She could imagine many terrors worse than death. Some she’d seen with her own eyes and hoped to never witness again. “But I don’t know anything about them.”

  “Not only have you been through a portal, you were raised on another world. You know more than anyone else on Aelinae. That is why you cannot be overheard talking of such things.”

  In that moment, she hated Aelinae. Hated the fact her life was ripped from her without warning. Hated that Brandt’s death was the culmination of what she had lost to this new world. Hot, bitter tears streamed down her cheeks, unbidden and unwelcome. Despite her will to not show weakness, the reality of all that had happened since she’d entered Aelinae crashed upon her.

  Rhoane knelt before her but did not reach out for her. There was a time she would’ve walked away to hide her tears, but she wasn’t alone in her mourning. Later she would process all that had happened, but right then, even if it was dangerous to trust him with her vulnerability, she needed him. Needed his strength. Needed to know there was a reason to continue. She leaned into him, a silent invitation.

  His arms wrapped around her, fierce, protective. “Brandt’s loyalty and kindness shine through in you, Taryn. It is not a sign of weakness to show your emotions, but of love.” His whispered words brought her comfort. His body trembled against her; his voice became raw. “I shall miss my friend dearly, of that be certain.”

  For the longest time, she stayed in the safety of his embrace until there were no more tears to shed. Even after her cheeks dried, she lingered. “Sorry,” she mumbled into his shoulder.