The Stones of Resurrection

by Tameri Etherton

  She’d hated it at first, but after a few years, she’d found the forms, or katas, meditative. No matter where they were in the world, Brandt sought out a master to train her. Her mixture of varying styles frustrated many teachers, but the constant learning stimulated Taryn.

  For the better part of an hour, she moved through her kata. Despite the chill air, her shirt clung to her skin from the exertion. The way she flowed from one move to the next was much like the sword work she’d done the night before. Of all the disciplines she’d studied, she’d never trained in kendo, but as she trudged to the stream to wash up before the long ride ahead, she was already planning how to combine her sword work and karate, making it her own.

  The bracing water sent goose bumps over her skin. Standing with her chemise tucked between her thighs, she did her best to rinse herself without offending her modesty as she bent at the waist and poured handfuls of water over her scalp. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. With a flip of her hair, she stood, pulling it into a sloppy knot. Her gaze went to the shore, and she froze.

  Rhoane stood a few feet from the water, sword drawn, a bemused smile on his face.

  “What are you doing here?” She sloshed to the shore and pulled her pants over clammy skin then jerked her arms through her vest. Rhoane didn’t even have the decency to turn around. “You’re staring.”

  “I know.”

  Those two words sent shivers through her and she flushed with embarrassment. And excitement.

  Rhoane adjusted his stance and said in a low voice, tinged with huskiness, “When I saw your empty blankets, I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

  “I like to get a fresh start to the day. Riding a horse is one thing. Smelling like one is entirely different.”

  “You slept well, then?”

  “As well as can be expected.” She stretched her back and legs. “I keep hoping I’ll get used to riding, but it hasn’t happened yet.”

  “In time, Darennsai.” They’d walked a few paces under the cover of trees when Rhoane turned to her. “There is something I need to tell you.”

  His ominous tone set her on edge. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “I should have done this sooner.” His hand rose as if to touch her forehead and then stopped in midair. “May I?”

  “What are you going to do?” She struggled not to flinch.

  “I believe last night someone was trying to access your thoughts. I could not discern who, but I can prepare you against any more attacks.”

  “Read my mind?” It hadn’t occurred to her it was possible. Hayden speaking in her mind at Ravenwood was a fluke, somehow tied to the sword and her heightened sense of danger. “It felt like someone was making an ice sculpture with my brain. Does it always hurt?”

  “Only when they wish you harm. Which I do not.” When Rhoane’s fingertips touched her forehead, a familiar warmth wove its way over, around, and through her body, settling in her skull. Recollections and images swirled into a blurred mess and then came in sharp focus. A woman of immeasurable beauty stood beside a huge tree in the center of a forest. Her dark, waist length hair blew in the slight breeze.

  “She’s gorgeous. Who is she?”

  Rhoane glanced at her, surprised. My mother, Aislinn. Would you like me to teach you how to keep others out of your head? His words whispered through her mind.

  “Yes, please. The idea that someone can get to my thoughts and memories is more than a little disturbing.”

  Communicating with your mind is more efficient. If you do decide to let someone in, all you have to do is invite him or her. Even so, you can control how much access they are allowed. Now, speak to me without words.

  How? She tried to think the word instead of using her voice.

  Exactly, but you do not have to shout.

  Sorry. She pictured Brandt, as she liked to remember him, in his smoking jacket, reading in his favorite chair. She sent the thought to Rhoane.

  Some things never change, I see.

  When the connection ended, emptiness enveloped her. “Now, try to enter my thoughts again,” Rhoane said aloud.

  Confused, Taryn reached out to him with her mind. “There’s something blocking me.”

  “Do you feel what I have done? Recreate that.” He pulled the barrier away so she could sense his actions.

  “I think I’ve got it.” She imagined an impenetrable wall, shutting out her thoughts.

  “You do not need to be so fierce. A gentle block will suffice, but you have the idea.” Sadness clouded his eyes. “You are a fast learner.”

  She wondered whether he felt the emptiness as well. They stood close enough she could smell his scent of a forest after a rainfall, but there was something different, a subtle tang of apple. She breathed him in, let his Shanti and essence linger over her. Calm enveloped her, and she sighed into the morning air.

  Rhoane sought her gaze for a moment, holding it. He was about to speak when suddenly he turned and stalked off. The warmth left her, cold snapping against her like a lash. A violent shiver shook her to the core as she stared after him. Unsure what had happened, she grabbed her sword and headed to the campsite. When she arrived, the others were starting to awaken for the day.

  Hayden looked as if he’d gotten no sleep, Myrddin even less. Rhoane returned as they were putting out the fire and spoke to no one as he readied his horse. Having worked with men her entire life, Taryn had thought she understood them, but as she studied Rhoane, she realized they were as foreign to her as Aelinae. She didn’t know what she’d said to upset him, but if he wanted to talk, he knew where her mind was. She giggled at her little joke.

  “You seem merry this morning,” Hayden said with little enthusiasm.

  She gave him a sly grin, kicking her horse to join the others.

  “Am I to guess at your good mood, or will you share it with me?”

  “I’m here. You’re here. Life is good. What more do you need?”

  He arched his back and twisted from side to side. “A decent bed. I’m afraid my experience with road travel is not what it should be, but you seem adept at sleeping on the ground. What is your secret?”

  “My grandfather and I traveled a lot.”

  “What is it you did to travel so much?”

  Rhoane glanced at her, apprehension woven through the tightness of his features.

  “I suppose you could say we were collectors. We traveled to distant lands, finding treasures for people.”

  “That sounds exciting. Did you enjoy the work?”

  “Very much. But what I liked most was being with Brandt. He was such a character, and everyone loved him. There was this one time,” she started to laugh at the memory, “at a dig in some rainforest, I forget where exactly, but there was this monkey—” She stopped suddenly, the weight of her words falling heavy upon the hush that had settled over the group.

  She’d forgotten they were Brandt’s friends and she was the reason he was no longer with them.

  Faelara broke the silence. “I hope we can prove as entertaining as your grandfather.”

  “Oh, trust me. You are. But, really, if you want to tone down the excitement a bit, I won’t mind.”

  Hayden rubbed his chest where the sword had nearly pierced his heart. “Do you mean to say you didn’t rescue young men from poisoned swords before you met us?”

  “Not hardly! I also had never met a knight or a duke. Which reminds me, don’t you have more to teach me about, uh, what did you call it? The Crystal Court?” She deftly changed the subject.

  “Empress Lliandra’s palace at Talaith? If you’d like. Or, I could tell you about Caer Idris, the home of Lord Valterys. The place is positively steeped in mystery.” Hayden launched into a story about his predecessors and how they came to build the great castle that overlooked the Western Seas. The entire place was made of stone brought down from the north by men who were half monster and lived on fields of ice. Taryn would’ve believed only half of what he said, crediting his imagination for
the rest, except no one challenged him.

  In fact, every so often, someone would chime in to add details to Hayden’s story or to tell a tale of their own. Baehlon and Myrddin took turns spinning a yarn about the older man, the details of which Taryn wasn’t sure she quite understood since both men were laughing too hard to form coherent sentences. Something about Myrddin mistaking a goat for a nymph. Large amounts of alcohol had been involved, of that much she was certain.

  By the time they stopped for lunch, her sides ached from laughing so hard she almost fell off her horse. The light mood continued through their meal, and when Hayden suggested another dance lesson, Taryn didn’t object. Running the steps through her mind, she sashayed to where Hayden waited for her. A fleck of black caught her attention. When she looked up, a huge bird careened through the trees, heading straight for her.

  “What the—”

  One minute she was standing; the next, Rhoane knocked her to the ground.

  “Bloody hell, Rhoane,” she wheezed from under him, all the air having whooshed from her lungs on impact. She pushed him off and rolled to a kneeling position to catch her breath. Another creature swept toward her.

  “Taryn, stay down,” Rhoane warned before unsheathing his sword. The sky had darkened with scores of the flying menaces.

  Ignoring Rhoane, she ran to Ashanni and grabbed her sword. Myrddin raised a hand, sending fireballs at the birds. They banked, missing the flames by a feather. Hayden stayed at his father’s back, slicing at anything that flew too close while Baehlon covered Faelara’s flank. Taryn ran beside Rhoane, using him as a shield as she fought off the incoming beasts.

  Dozens of birds tore at their clothes with sharp claws while others grabbed at their hair with ugly, gnarled beaks. To her left, Baehlon swore as he swung his sword again and again, cutting into one and decapitating another. Taryn dodged thick talons while trying to hit the birds with her sword. For their size, they were fast, darting in and around the group, forcing her to spin and duck to avoid getting cut.

  All around her was chaos. She spied the others through the melee, while trying to keep the pests from attacking her. The birds danced around Faelara’s deadly flames, and she quickly changed tactics, throwing a net of ShantiMari toward the flock, capturing them in a web of power. Still, it was useless. For every bird they killed, five more flew down to torment them.

  Nearby trees whipped their branches out to strike at the birds, causing momentary disarray within the flock. Taryn glanced at Rhoane, whose concentrated stare toward the woods answered her unspoken question. The trees gave the group only a moment of reprieve before the attack resumed, harder and faster than before.

  Duke Anje cried out as a vicious looking bird caught him on the shoulder, tearing through his jerkin. He impaled the creature with his blade, spitting out several curses as he flung it to the ground.

  Rhoane kept close to Taryn, warning her when a bird approached from her blind side and protecting her flank, much like the others were doing for each other. Rhoane swore as a beak nipped his arm, and Taryn smelled the sharp tang of his blood. Panic gripped her, but there was no time for fear. It was a luxury they did not have.

  Another feathered creature angled toward Taryn and she steadied herself for its attack.

  Die, you filthy fucking birds, every last one of you!

  She heaved her sword up with both hands. As the steel met bone, a loud crack stuttered across the clearing. The blade cut into the bird’s rib cage, slicing clean through, sending feathers flying in every direction. A revolting stink assaulted her nostrils. An all-too-human scream came from the beast before it fell to the ground.

  Taryn spun around for the next attack, but Rhoane and the others just stared at her, swords paused in midair, hands held up to an empty sky. All around them birds lay on the ground, each cut in half exactly as the one she’d slain.

  Adrenaline pumped through her veins, even as her stomach soured. “What happened?” The sight before her made no sense.

  “Good question. Would you care to enlighten us?” Myrddin stepped to the bird closest to him, kicking it with his boot. “How is it you managed to slay all these feiches at once?”

  “Feiches?”

  “Yes, these birds. How did you do it, Taryn?” Myrddin’s face was a storm cloud.

  “I didn’t. I mean, I don’t think I did.” Taryn stared in dull shock at the feiche carcasses. “Does it matter? They’re dead.”

  Faelara tread between them, avoiding the birds. “Let’s get away from here before something larger comes to feast.” She looked pointedly at Myrddin. “We can discuss this later.”

  He grunted and shot Taryn a withering glance. “It might be best if you didn’t swing that thing around any of us until you learn to use it.”

  Stung by the recrimination in his voice, she gaped at him. She hadn’t expected applause or accolades, but she hadn’t expected a rebuff, either. Biting back a retort, she turned from him to clean the blade on a patch of moss before sheathing the sword behind her saddle.

  Hayden approached as she tightened Ashanni’s girth.

  “What?” she snapped.

  He placed his fist over his heart and inclined his head. “My lady.”

  Her answering snort made him wince. “Lady, my ass. It’s this damned sword.” She pulled herself into the saddle, turning her horse toward the road. Each time she recalled the scene with the dead feiches, her stomach roiled and the taste of bile teased her throat. Outwardly she remained impassive, but inside was a mixture of excitement and frenzied action, countered by a calm that came from her martial arts training. There was more—a sense of purpose to the killing.

  Taryn, Rhoane said in her mind, do not let Myrddin upset you. The sword and your cynfar were protecting you. You did nothing wrong.

  Thank you. Taryn appreciated his saying so, but Myrddin was right. She had to learn to control the sword before she hurt someone she cared about. Or worse.

  Chapter Twelve

  The dark sea glittered like a jewel encrusted gown, beckoning. How often had he stood on that very balcony and wished for nothing more than to explore the vast wonders that lay beyond the dazzling expanse of ocean? Too often for a man of his privilege, his power. Valterys watched the seagulls hunt for their dinner, dipping into the waves and surfacing with their catch. They were scavengers and hunters. Not too unlike himself.

  At the polite sound of a throat clearing, he turned from the temptation of flying with them, of seeing blood stain their feathers as his sharp talons bit into their feathered flesh. Of hearing their screams as they died.

  A servant stood in the doorway, and Valterys motioned him forward.

  “Have you located Zakael?” Concern laced his words. The man had been gone well over a fortnight.

  “He entered the city not more than a half bell past. The sentry at the eastern gate sent the message, my lord.”

  “Was he alone?”

  “Indeed, my lord.”

  “Very well. Let me know the minute he enters the castle walls.” Valterys returned to his position on the balcony, the sea lost from view as his thoughts clouded.

  He’d placed his trust in Marissa and sent Zakael to Mount Nadrene. All of his plans hinged on the arrival of the anomaly. So far, Marissa had never given him false information. He had no reason to doubt her. Not once in all the past seasons had Lliandra given him hope that his child had lived. With his own eyes, he saw the infant corpse, and yet Marissa claimed there was another, secreted away moments after her birth. A girl. Not the son he’d wished for.

  For near on thirty-five seasons, he and Zakael had searched every kingdom on Aelinae, save for the Narthvier. The Eleri allowed very few to cross their borders, but no matter. Valterys had spies everywhere. If the Eirielle was hidden in King Stephan’s forest, he would’ve known.

  Valterys allowed himself a rare moment of speculation, and a surge of power flowed through him as he dared hope it was true—his and Lliandra’s child, the one of prophecy, was alive
and among them now.

  He would restore Rykoto’s freedom and, in return, be granted immortality. With his rise, all of Aelinae would bow to him as their one true leader. Their Overlord for all time. Valterys smiled to himself. As soon as he had the girl, he could set about destroying Lliandra.

  Zakael swept through the doorway, ignoring protocol to grasp his father’s arm in greeting.

  “What kept you? It has been too long since your last missive.” Valterys kept his tone even, not wanting to alert Zakael to the fact he’d worried about him. “What in Ohlin’s name are you wearing?”

  “I had some difficulties.” Zakael rubbed the back of his head. “I will tell you all, but let me first refresh myself. I’m afraid my horse will be useless for a sennight. Order us dinner. I will meet you here in three-quarters of a bell.”

  The peasants’ garb he wore bespoke of more than a few difficulties. Zakael was nothing if not vain.

  Valterys brooded while he waited for his son. All sorts of scenarios played out in his mind, each worse than the one before. Zakael could be impetuous. The gods knew how many times Valterys had to intervene to save his heir from disaster. Not that Zakael had ever been grateful. No, he’d lamented lost opportunities and raged at his father each time. Valterys vowed the next time Zakael found himself in grave danger, he would not assist in any way. He’d let Zakael handle it, even if it meant harm would come to his son.

  Except, Valterys knew he could never do that—he loved Zakael far too much to see him suffer.

  His son arrived moments before the food and poured himself a large glass of wine without bothering to offer any to Valterys. He kept his anger in check. His son was getting too bold, too full of his own importance. He would need to set Zakael straight soon enough, but not before he got what information he could. When they were seated, Valterys leaned eagerly toward the younger man, prompting him to tell of the events at Mount Nadrene.

  “Glennwoods was there, as was Brandt.”

  “Truly? The Eleri prince and Lliandra’s high priest? But what of my daughter? Did you see her?”