The Resistance: The Fourth Book of the Fey (Fey Series)

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  "I dunna like it," one of the men said. "He has na protection."

  "Aye," another said. "But he told us ta leave."

  "He did," the third said. "He seemed ta know what he was doin."

  "He wasna actin like himself," the first man said. "Did ye see the look in his eye? Twas odd, I think. Ever since town."

  "Since all them people yelled at him."

  "I ken still hear em," the first man said. "Begone. The word gives me the shudders, it does."

  "Twas like it had a push in it," the second man said. "Ye'd think they'd not treat one a their own that way."

  "Things aren't as ye'd expect here," the third man said.

  There was a pause. Adrian leaned farther forward, trying to see if they were still talking. Their faces were partially illuminated by the torch. It made their skin glow orange. They looked ordinary enough: three men, dirt covering their faces, but not so badly that he couldn't see the shape of their features. Their features were round, almost fat, like baby faces. Islander faces. After all his years with the Fey, he'd know the difference, even in the dark. Fey faces had no softness to them at all. They were all angles and lines and anger.

  "What do ye think that man wants with him?"

  "Nothin," the second man said. "Twas his idea ta stay."

  "It was a bad idea," the third man said. "I don't like waiting here."

  "Ye dunna like it? Ye were ready a give him up from the start," the first man said.

  "Denl," the second man cautioned.

  "Well, tis true," this Denl said, indignation in his town. "Ye'd even sided with that mob below. Makes me wonder if ye'd ha given him up if we hadn't been there."

  "You don't know me very well," the first man said.

  "Aye, I dinna, and after taday, I do na."

  "Denl — "

  Then, from above, a voice screamed, "You lie!"

  It wasn't a voice that Adrian was familiar with, yet it was filled with such anger, such pain, that it made him shudder. What was going on up there?

  "Tis him," Denl breathed. "They have him."

  "What they?" the third man said. "It's just a boy."

  "I dunna care," the second man said. "I promised my sister he'd come back alive." And then he started up the path.

  The others followed, arguing as they went.

  A boy. It was just a boy. No "they." Just a boy.

  But which boy? Gift? Coulter? Or did they mistake Scavenger for an Islander child?

  It didn't matter. All three of them were important to Adrian — and important to the Isle itself.

  He was running before he knew it. Those three men were scared, and scared men did not think. They acted. They might hurt whichever member of Adrian's party was above. They might even kill that person.

  And if it was Gift, he couldn't protect himself. Not like Coulter could. Not even like Scavenger could.

  The numbers would still be off — two against four — but Adrian's presence would level the field somewhat. And besides, those four men would never expect an attack from behind.

  He was only one person, but he could be a ferocious person when one of his friends was in trouble.

  Those men would see.

  They would learn.

  And they might even die.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Pausho clung to her hiding place in the rocks. Fyr moaned beside her. So far neither the group at the base of the trail nor the stranger behind another set of rocks had noticed her.

  That was good. She had had a difficult time following the trail in the darkness. The stranger had been good; he had gone into town, then veered behind some buildings, and backtracked up a side trail. If Zak hadn't pointed the stranger out, Pausho would have missed him.

  Fyr would have missed it altogether. She hadn't even seen Zak. Pausho was questioning bringing Fyr along until she realized that Fyr hadn't tired yet. There was something to be said for young legs.

  The stranger had followed the first group up the mountain. She had recognized two members of that first group: Matthias and Tri. Seeing Tri made a wave of anger surge through her. How could she have been so fooled by him? How could she have missed his tie with Matthias? Matthias was a demon-spawn, tolerated only because his foster mother seemed to have a lot of townspeople in her sway, even now, after her death. But Tri had seemed so normal, so like his father, so willing to be a part of the Wise Ones.

  The willingness should have tipped her off. No one who understood what the Wise Ones did was willing to join them. No one.

  She and Fyr had stopped when the stranger stopped. Matthias and his group had gone farther up the mountain, and then three members of the group had come back down. She could see their faces reflected dimly in the torchlight. Tri looked exhausted and almost frightened. The other two were not familiar to her, but they seemed agitated. She couldn't hear their conversation, but it was animated.

  The stranger could hear it, though. He appeared to be listening intently.

  Had Matthias discovered the tall ones?

  Was he going to join them?

  The very idea made a shiver run down her spine. Matthias was dangerous in ways few people understood. She wasn't even sure he understood it. Tri had no idea who he had hooked up with, and he hadn't been part of the Wise Ones enough to learn all of their ways.

  Besides, he had refused to read the texts. Fool that he was, he didn't avail himself to any of the learning open to him.

  She was relieved about that now. There were things no one outside the sacred circle should know. At first she had feared that Tri knew them. Then she realized that he hadn't bothered to discover them.

  It was good for the Wise Ones and bad for them at the same time. She had been the only one who hadn't trusted him. She had been the one to oppose him. All the others had thought him fine.

  The others would feel betrayed, and they might somehow blame her. Blame her for her animosity toward him from the beginning.

  Then a voice screamed from above: "You lie!"

  It echoed clear and pure through the mountain range. She heard rage and pain and betrayal in that voice, an anguish equivalent to the anguish she heard whenever she placed a newborn in the snow. Even newborns seemed to understand what this adult was doing to them. Even newborns recognized betrayal.

  The cry made the men up front erupt into action. They ran up the path. The stranger watched for only a moment, then he too ran.

  "Should we go?" Fyr asked.

  "We may as well," Pausho said. But she wouldn't run. Let the three groups — the tall ones above, Tri's friends, and the stranger — have their fight before Pausho arrived. Let them kill each other.

  It would make her job so much easier.

  She stood slowly, and listened as she did, hoping to hear more cries from the mountainside. The silence that greeted her was somehow much more ominous.

  She made her way carefully to the path. The darkness was more severe now that the torch was gone. Fyr stayed beside her, comforting in her warmth and bulk.

  "What's happening, do you think?" Fyr whispered.

  Pausho shook her head. She hadn't even a guess.

  The path got suddenly steep. Ahead, she heard voices. The sky glowed with torchlight — more than torchlight. It was almost like a bonfire.

  Her mouth went dry. Ahead she heard voices, yelling. She could barely make out the words — something about attacking the Holy Sir. Another voice rose in denial, and yet another urging someone to stop. Then four voices rose in a single scream.

  She hurried up the path. When she reached the top, she saw four men standing at the edge of the path. Matthias was most visible because of his wretched height. The stranger had moved closer to them, but he had stopped as well. In front of all of them was a man whose body was on fire. Two torches floated beside him as if they were balanced in wall sconces. Even though the fire engulfed him, he didn't seem to be burning.

  "Keep away," he said. "Don't touch me."

  "I was leaving," Matthias said.


  "Your friends were trying to kill me," the burning man said.

  The stranger made his way to the group. He held out a hand. "Coulter — " he started.

  A ball of fire dislodged itself from the man's hand. It flew through the air and landed in the center of the men. Flames splashed like water. One of the men — Tri? she couldn't tell with all the light and shadows — slapped a flame off his leg.

  "Stay back," the burning man cautioned.

  "We're leaving," Matthias said again.

  Another flame ball flew off the man and landed nearer to Pausho this time.

  "I'm not the one who lies," the burning man said. "You are. You said you were leaving, but you're going to find my friends and kill them. Aren't you?"

  "I didn't lie to you about that," Matthias said.

  "And you tried to kill me."

  "I did nothing of the sort."

  "No," the burning man said. "Your friends did."

  A third fireball flew through the air and landed on the path. Pausho moved to the side, near some rocks. She could feel Fyr beside her, breathing sharply the air smelled of smoke. Tiny fires were burning on the ground.

  The stranger had moved even closer. "Coulter — " he said again.

  A fourth fireball erupted, nearly blinding Pausho.

  "Stay back!" the burning man said.

  "It's me," the stranger said. "Adrian."

  "Adrian," the burning man said, and suddenly the stranger was enveloped in light. It pulled the stranger toward the burning man, then past him, and into a protected area formed by rock pillars and a flat top. The light went out as the stranger disappeared.

  "Let us go," Matthias said.

  "Why should I?" the burning man asked. "You lied to me. You tried to kill me, and now you're going to kill my friends."

  "What is this?" Fyr whispered, and Pausho could hear terror in her voice. Pausho didn't know the answer, but Fyr's terror ignited her own. They were facing something they had never seen before. Something beyond them.

  Another fireball flew past them, and landed on the steep slope of the path, tumbling down, igniting small grasses as it went.

  "Stop this," Matthias said. "You'll kill us all."

  "Coulter, please," the stranger said from the blackness behind the burning man. "Let them go."

  On the third mention, Pausho heard the name. She shuddered.

  "What is it?" Fyr whispered.

  "Let them go?" the burning man asked. "So that they can join those women below and then attack us? I don't think so. They want to kill Leen and — "

  "I know," the stranger said, "but this isn't the way to stop them. Let them go."

  "You don't understand," the burning man said, and in his voice, Pausho heard youth.

  And panic.

  "If I let them go " — did she hear a sob, too? — "you don't know what I've unleashed."

  Coulter. She covered her head. Begone, she whispered. Begone. There was panic in her voice as well. Fyr put a hand on her shoulder.

  "That thing knows we're here," Fyr said.

  "I know," Pausho said. But she knew somehow that the burning man's knowledge of her was the least of her worries. This was the thing that the Wise Ones had always feared.

  And she had allowed it to happen.

  Coulter.

  She closed her eyes.

  It was her fault.

  And somehow, she had to stop it.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Con had lost all sense of time.

  The world had narrowed into stench and goo and sharp wooden edges. He was scraped and bleeding, and the decay had gotten into his skin, and he had heard somewhere that such things caused rot and death. Still he pushed through the mess and the darkness, getting splinters in his hands, and having more crates tumble on him, as he tried to get out.

  He had found the sword a while back, but he hadn't had enough room to use the blade. He tied it to his side and continued pushing his way out.

  The catacombs were strangely silent. He had been alone a long time.

  He had stopped screaming as soon as he could no longer hear their footsteps. And then he tried to imagine those Fey as he had seen them, ever so briefly, before Sebastian had pushed him out of the way.

  It took him a while to figure out why Sebastian had done it. Then Sebastian's words from earlier in the day had come back to him.

  Con … it's … Fey … . They … hate … peo-ple … like … you.

  Sebastian thought he had saved Con's life. And maybe he had. Con had been preparing to use his special sword to do battle with them, to fight them as best he could, as long as he could, until he was either dead or incapacitated.

  Or the Fey were gone.

  And he had thought that last an unlikely possibility.

  But they had taken Sebastian, and Sebastian had been his Charge.

  Sebastian had been his friend.

  Con shoved on a crate with all his strength, and it toppled forward, shattering when it hit the stone.

  It hit the stone.

  He waved his hand in front of his face and felt nothing.

  Nothing at all.

  Nothing blocked him anymore.

  He was free.

  He climbed over the last few crates. The darkness in the catacombs was complete. The Fey had taken the torch with them, just as they had taken Sebastian. No light filtered down from above.

  It was still night, then.

  He felt as if he had been imprisoned in that mess for days, and it had only been hours.

  Hours.

  He was so filthy. His robe was matted against his skin. He could feel bits of wood embedded in his fingers and his arms. He had to get clean; he had never felt such a strong urge to get clean before.

  But he knew that would take time.

  Finally his feet touched stone. It felt cool against his skin. Cool and welcome. He took a deep breath. At least the air away from the crates wasn't quite as fetid.

  But Sebastian was gone.

  Con had half hoped that the Fey would have left him behind. They had moved out so quickly that he was certain Sebastian wasn't walking with them. They had to have been carrying him.

  And they were going to take him to the Black King.

  The leader of all Fey.

  What would that monster do to an innocent like Sebastian?

  Con felt along the stone, finding pieces of shattered crate, whole potatoes, turnips and carrots, and bits of cloth. He explored the entire area around the crates and even farther into the catacombs.

  Nothing.

  Nothing except dead bodies and ruined crates.

  Not even a Fey lamp remained.

  Con sat down on the stone floor, the energy that had sustained him since the Fey left dissipated. This was his darkest moment, darker even than when he learned that the Tabernacle had been destroyed. Darker than falling through the crates and being buried in the stack of wood and corpses.

  He had failed his Charge. He had allowed the gentlest person he knew to be captured by the most ruthless in the entire world. The Black King would crush Sebastian with a single sentence. Perhaps the Black King already had.

  "I'm sorry," Con whispered, but he wasn't certain if he was speaking to himself, to the Holy One, or to Sebastian.

  He put his head in his hands. He was just a boy, when it came down to it. Ever since he found Sebastian he had felt like a grown-up, only because he was so far ahead of Sebastian in so many ways. But he was just a boy. He hadn't lived two dozen years yet, hadn't even reached the age where Auds were considered candidates for promotion. Very few Auds at his age even had a Charge.

  He only knew of one other: The Fifty-second Rocaan had had a Charge when he was this young. The Fifty-second Rocaan had gone into the Fey's secret hiding place with a message, without weapons and without anyone beside him.

  And the Fifty-second Rocaan had come out alive.

  But someone had given the Fifty-second Rocaan that Charge. Con's original Charge had been to warn King Nicholas t
hat the Fey had invaded Jahn. Con had never achieved that Charge. The King was fleeing the palace when Con arrived. But Con had found the King's son and protected him.

  Protected him until tonight, until a few hours ago, when the King's son had protected Con.

  Sebastian had suspected this separation might happen. Perhaps Sebastian had been planning to give himself to the Fey ever since he felt that first "difference" in the magick. He had given Con the instructions to find his friends after all, insisting that Con repeat the instructions back.

  Where are your friends!

  South … . A … day's … walk … for … you.

  What about for you?

  Sebastian had never answered that question. Had he known? What kind of magick did that half-Fey stone boy have, anyway? And would it help him in the Black King's hands?

  Or would God help him? Sebastian did have the blood of the Roca in him after all.

  Con bowed his head and said a small prayer for his friend, sending it with his whole heart and mind to the Holy One, hoping it would reach God's Ear.

  God couldn't abandon Sebastian now. Not after he and Con had been through so much.

  Could he?

  The Words said that God liked an active man. Con had done what he could for Sebastian by praying, but he couldn't leave it all in God's hands. If the Words were true — and Con knew they were — then it would also be up to Con to save Sebastian.

  Con had seen the palace. He had seen the Fey all over the lower floors. Sebastian was right; the Fey hated the Rocaanists. They would kill Con as quickly as they would listen to him.

  He needed help, and the people in the cavern behind him wouldn't be of much use at all. Besides, the Fey had to have come from that direction. There was no other way into the catacomb.

  The Fey had come from that direction.

  Con shuddered.

  They were probably dead in there. He was lucky to be alive. Alive, thanks to Sebastian.

  He couldn't leave Sebastian in the hands of the Black King.

  But he couldn't go to the palace alone.

  Where are your friends?

  South … . A … day's … walk … for … you.

  A day's walk. And then time to return. Two days, minimum. Could Sebastian survive the Black King for two days?