Saving each other's lives.
"You need to be with Gift," Adrian said. "The Visions show you with Gift. I'll come. I just want to know what's going on before I do."
Coulter swallowed so hard that his Adam's apple visibly bobbed. Scavenger slammed his pick into the rock, then grabbed Coulter's arm.
"Come on," he whispered.
"I'll be all right," Adrian said again.
Coulter nodded. He understood. He obviously didn't like it, but he understood.
Adrian knew he would. Coulter loved Adrian like a father, but he was Bound to Gift. If Gift died, so would Coulter, and vice versa. It almost made them two parts to the same whole.
Scavenger tapped Coulter's arm. They carried their picks, as they had agreed, away from the spot, dropped them in separate places, and threaded their way through the pile of rock. Adrian had been with them when they planned the escape route. It would take them some time to get out of the quarry.
The escape route had been planned with the Fey in mind. Adrian had thought it would only take the Black King a few days, maybe a week, to get to the northeast corner of the Isle. But so far, he had not sent any of his people here. Maybe the wound that Gift had Seen him get was fatal; maybe the news hadn't yet come to this isolated place.
But even as he had the thought, he knew it was wrong. The Black King wouldn't die. Not yet. Not without the person he came for.
Not without Gift.
Adrian brought the pick down again, determined to keep working until he was sure that Coulter and Scavenger were gone from the quarry. The muscles on his back ached, and his arms were sore. Each thud into the rock shuddered through him as if the ax had pounded into him. His mouth was dry, and he was scared.
He knew that the man talking with the owner had come because of Gift and Leen.
He knew it. He should never have asked them to go to the market. He had known that after they were turned away from the quarry when they all came looking for work. But the group was running out of food, and he didn't want Scavenger to steal any more. They were also running out of Isle, and they didn't want Islanders after them as well as Fey.
But there were no Fey here. None. Scavenger, Gift, and Leen stood out. And if it hadn't been for the strange reaction to Gift's and Leen's height, they would have been working the quarry too.
What was it that Scavenger used to say? Height went with magick.
Until Coulter. Coulter wasn't very tall.
"All right," a voice said behind him. "Knock off."
Adrian stopped slamming the ax into the stone. He kept a grip on the ax, turned, and tried not to look nervous. The owner was behind him. The owner and the man who had been talking with him.
The owner was an older man, face as smooth as the stone that Adrian worked. His eyes were a deep gray, and his mouth a thin line. In the few days that Adrian had worked for him, he had never seen the man smile.
The other man had an entirely different look. He was slender and bowed, as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders. His face was deeply lined, sorrow-lined, as Adrian's wife used to say. Only his eyes held no sorrow. They were as cold and as hard as the mountains.
"Where are your companions?" the owner asked.
Adrian shook his head. "They didn't show this morning."
The owner crossed his arms. "The foreman said they left their markers."
The owner had a simple pay system. Leave a marker in the morning, and pick it up at night. When the worker retrieved his marker, he received a few coins for his daily work. Only a certain number of markers were taken each day. When the quarry had the right amount of workers, everyone else was turned away.
Adrian had forgotten about the markers. "I haven't seen them this morning," he said.
"I thought you three were together," the owner said, his eyes narrowing.
"We arrived together. We made acquaintance." They had agreed on that too. It was better. It prevented too many questions.
"But you're not friends," the owner said, clearly unconvinced.
"No," Adrian said.
"Three strangers, who arrive together, who are not friends."
Adrian shrugged.
"Five strangers," the other man said. His voice was deep, with such subtleties of inflection that Adrian thought the man could hum and be understood. The man had spoken these two words with so much disbelief, it was all Adrian could do to keep from flinching.
"There's only been three of us the last few days," Adrian said. He had been a captive of the Fey for a long time. He knew how to control the inflections in his own voice. He could lie so smoothly no one would ever know what the truth was.
"You arrived with two tall ones," the man said.
"No," Adrian said. "This morning I arrived alone."
"Not this morning," the man said. "Yesterday."
"Yes," Adrian said, "there were some tall ones in the group. But they weren't with me."
"You spoke to them," the owner said. "You made a pact to rendezvous with them."
"Of course," Adrian said. "They gave us breakfast that morning. We agreed to pay them for it when we finished work."
"You took a gift from tall ones?" the man's voice held a shuddery horror.
Adrian shrugged, wondering what local custom he had just stumbled into. "We shared breakfast," he said. "It wasn't a gift. We paid them for it."
"You had commerce with tall ones," the man said.
"Of course," Adrian said. "Tall ones. Fey. You've heard of them, I presume. They've been on Blue Isle for twenty years."
"Rumors," the man said.
"You've seen them," Adrian said to the owner. "That's all they are. They're as much a part of the Isle now as we are."
He didn't want to say more. If the news of the Black King's invasion hadn't yet reached here, he didn't want to bring it.
"Why do you travel with these outsiders?" the man asked.
"I don't," Adrian lied. "I came up here looking for work."
"No one comes here looking for work," the man said. "You sound like you're from Jahn. Men from the city do not need our help."
Adrian sighed. He would have to tell this part. If he didn't, they would remember him when the Black King did come searching.
"They need your help now," he said softly. "I'm probably one of the first. There'll be a lot of strangers up here soon."
The owner crossed his arms as if he didn't believe anything Adrian said. The other man narrowed his eyes, and Adrian could feel the evaluation.
"More?" he asked.
Adrian nodded. "There's been a second Fey invasion. This time, it's their Black King. He's brought thousands of troops with him, and he's determined to overthrow our king."
"Then why were you accepting food from these tall ones?"
"Because they're not part of the invasion force. The second invasion force," he corrected. "They're part of the first. The Black King will try to destroy them as well as Islanders. It's part of their custom."
"And these Fey, they are tall?" the man asked.
"Some," Adrian said, wishing he understood this obsession. "But that little guy who I worked with that first day, the one you hired" — and he nodded to the owner when he said it — "he's Fey. And he's not tall."
The owner frowned and turned away.
Now for the question Adrian had planned to ask. He had to do so in a way that wouldn't reveal his own interest. He leaned on the pick. "Why are you after these people anyway? Did they do something?"
"No," the man said, "except that they tried to have commerce with us."
Adrian swallowed. So Gift and Leen had gone to the marketplace, and their appearance had caused this confrontation. Not because they were Fey. But because they were tall.
"So you're saying that I can't use the money I'm making here to buy things in Constant?" he asked.
"You may," the man said. "They may not."
"Why?" Adrian couldn't keep the shock from his voice.
"Did they teach you nothing in Jahn?
" the man responded, an equal amount of shock in his voice.
"Apparently," Adrian said.
The owner and the visitor glanced at each other as if Adrian had confessed that he didn't know how to eat. Then the man said, "I assume you are a Rocaanist."
Adrian nodded, even though that wasn't really true. He hadn't been to any kind of worship service in decades, but he had been raised in a kirk, and learned the teachings of the Tabernacle as a young boy.
"Then you know the story of the Roca."
Adrian frowned. "I do. But I don't know how it's relevant."
"He was from the Cliffs."
"I thought he was born in the Snow Mountains," Adrian said. "I had heard that years ago."
The man shook his head. "We have unbroken knowledge of his history here. The people of the Snow Mountains took our stories and perverted them centuries ago, in an attempt to seize religious power. We have the original copy of the Words."
Adrian leaned harder on his pick. He felt as if he were suddenly in an intellectual thicket, one that was beyond him.
"There are many writings, and many legends passed down from the Roca's day," the man continued. "Most of those writings and legends were not recorded by the Tabernacle. Most of them were lost — deliberately, we believe — as the Tabernacle solidified its powers."
Adrian blinked. He had expected some strange story, but nothing like this.
The man pushed back the sleeves of his sweater. It was beginning to grow warm. The sun had finally cleared the mountains.
"Many of these stories are about the tall ones. They are evil and they must be destroyed."
Adrian shook his head. He had never heard anything like that. "But I thought people from the Cliffs are tall."
The owner swore softly. The man shut his eyes for a moment, and then opened them, as if he had heard something difficult to bear. "I told Pausho that," he said to the owner. "She would not hear it."
"What?" Adrian asked.
"There is a tall strain in our family lines. We destroy it. Many women — pregnant women — leave before allowing us to take care of it."
The hair rose on the back of Adrian's neck. This man had just calmly spoken of infanticide. "So the tall Islanders that come from the Cliffs are — evil?" He nearly choked on the last word.
"And must be destroyed," the man said in that same calm voice.
Adrian's breath had left his body and he didn't quite know how. He felt as if he had received a blow to the chest. His own culture. These were his people. They looked like him, but they were nothing like him.
They couldn't be.
Could they?
"You — kill? — tall people here," he said, not even trying to hide his disbelief. Gift. Leen. Had they made it out of the market? Had he unknowingly sent them to their deaths?
"We must. It is law," the man said.
"Because the Roca said so?" Adrian asked, still not believing what he was hearing.
"It is not in the Words used by the Tabernacle."
Adrian felt a slight relief at that.
"It is in the Words excised by the Tabernacle."
"They cut the Words Written and Unwritten?"
"The Words were altered by the Tabernacle," the man said as if he were speaking to a child. As if it were the most fundamental thing in the world. "They cut much that they did not want to believe. It is in our Words, in the original."
Adrian's palms had grown moist. He could feel the rising heat of the day inflaming his face.
"He does not want to hear it, to hear anything about his tall friends," the owner said.
Adrian shook his head quickly. "No, no," he said. "I want to hear. I do." But he had to explain his physical reaction. "I'm just shocked that the Tabernacle would change something sacred."
"So are we. But it happened generations ago. The Tabernacle became too involved in itself, and not in the souls of the living. It forgot its roots. Even the Rocaan had no relation to the Roca. That too is a violation of tradition."
Adrian didn't want to hear about that. He wanted to hear about the tall ones.
"So these tall strangers you saw this morning," he said, unable to hide the fear in his voice. And here he had prided himself on his composure. But the Fey had never shocked him like this. "Those people I shared breakfast with. You killed them, and now you're coming for me because I associated with them?"
He had initially meant the question to explain his fear, to let them believe that was what he was afraid of. But it wasn't until the words were out of his mouth that he realized he had asked something that truly terrified him.
Gift and Leen were dead, killed in the place they had come for safety.
And he was next. He wouldn't be able to warn Scavenger and Coulter.
"No, they are not dead," the man said. "We do not kill tall strangers, unless they remain. We ask them to leave. If they do, they will be safe."
Adrian swallowed. He couldn't hide his nervousness now. "Then why did you come to me?"
"If you are associated with them," the man said, "you must leave as well. If you are not associated, but if you are acquainted, you might want to warn them to stay away from Constant."
"But my only contact was the one I told you about," Adrian said.
The man shrugged. "Then you may remain. But realize that if you are caught lying about tall ones, you will receive the same punishment they do."
"Punishment," Adrian repeated. "For doing nothing."
The man raised his chin slightly. "Tall ones can corrupt simply by breathing," he said. "There are many who believe we are too lenient by allowing them to leave. Many believe we should kill tall ones on sight."
"But you don't," Adrian said, hoping he was right.
The man's gaze softened slightly. His face seemed less severe, his eyes warmed. "The Roca was a harsh man who lived in a harsh time," he said. "He always said those times will come again, and we must prepare. We have prepared for generations. But because we have prepared for so long, we must also remember that the Roca urged us to exercise compassion."
Then he smiled, and the look transformed his face again. This man rarely smiled. His face could not accommodate it. The smile looked painful somehow.
"We have exercised compassion with these tall strangers. The next time we see them, we will remember the Roca's words, and prepare for the harsh times." His smile faded. "This is your only warning."
Then he turned and walked away. The owner remained. Adrian felt a shiver run down his back.
"I've been watching you," the owner said. "You are a good worker. You may remain as long as you come to work alone."
"Thank you," Adrian said. The words were strangled in his throat. His voice sounded strange, even to himself. But the owner didn't seem to notice. He nodded once, and followed the man.
Adrian watched them until they reached the mouth of the quarry. Then he picked up his ax. If he left now to warn Gift and Leen, then he might bring the wrath of the whole town on them.
He would stay until sundown. And then he would make sure they left this area as quickly as they could.
TEN
Luke dipped a rag into the pail of water he had brought into the kitchen and wiped the sweat off his face and neck. The morning was hot already and it wasn't yet midday. He scooped some of the water out with a cup and took a long drink.
This lack of sleep was beginning to catch up with him.
He stared through the open doors at the fields beyond. The first corn crop was near harvesting, and he would have to do it alone. The Fey who were in charge of this area had offered to help him, but he didn't want them on his father's property.
On his property.
Luke shuddered despite the heat. He hadn't heard from his father Adrian since he had left with Coulter, Scavenger, and Jewel's son Gift two weeks before. He wasn't sure he would ever hear from his father again.
The Fey were here now, and they owned the Isle. The word had arrived quickly. King Nicholas was defeated. Some said he wa
s dead, others said he was in exile and his oldest son had been slaughtered by the Fey.
Luke knew that the child who had died had not been Gift. It had to have been the golem, Sebastian, and that really had been no loss. The creature would have taken the throne from its rightful heir, and that had always made Luke uneasy.
But then, Gift had made Luke uneasy, with his Fey features pressed on pale skin. Gift looked like his mother Jewel, the woman who had imprisoned Luke and his father Adrian among the Fey and put a Charm spell on Luke so that he would believe he had fallen in love with her.
He still dreamed about her sometimes: her beautiful upswept eyes, her long black hair. She would speak to him in those dreams and he would long to touch her. Then he would realize it was a dream and force himself awake. The Fey had done other things to him in that short imprisonment. They had placed a spell on him that made him into an assassin. He had gone out of himself and nearly killed the Fifty-first Rocaan. If the Rocaan hadn't thrown holy water on him and broken the spell, Luke would have committed murder for the Fey Luke had stayed on the farm ever since.
He had never thought the Fey would come to him.
He sighed and took out the last of the bread. His father had baked before he left, and Luke had baked just after, hoping that his father would return. But he hadn't. He had gone with Coulter who was, in many ways, more a child of his heart than Luke was. Luke's father and Coulter had been damaged in similar ways by the Fey. During their imprisonment — Adrian's was long because he had traded his life for Luke's — they had bonded in such a tight fashion that they seemed like father and son. Adrian never excluded Luke, but he didn't have that closeness with him, either.
Luke always told himself it didn't matter.
But it did.
Especially now. Especially when Luke had been left behind, while Adrian went away to protect Coulter.
As if Luke didn't need protection too.
Maybe he didn't. He was a full adult, fifteen years older than Coulter, old enough to be the boy's father. He didn't need to be jealous of him. Adrian said that Luke needed a family of his own so that he wouldn't be quite so tied to this one.
The Resistance: The Fourth Book of the Fey (Fey Series) Page 7