Larren scoffed, something entirely unlike him. But he did not speak, just stood there with his back to the wall, shaking his head slowly.
“He’s been gone our entire lives,” Taei said, and all eyes turned to him. He glanced at Larren. “Most of our lives.” It was rare enough for the Third Keeper to speak. Rarer even than Baas Taldis, but it was the Riverman who answered.
“Here’s hoping it stays that way,” he said and Larren straightened.
Trusted Towles sidled awkwardly between Linn and the others carrying another bucket of scented water. This one smelled strongly of lavender and sour orange, a pungent combination clearly meant to signal that he had had enough of harboring this particular meeting. The baths were no doubt heated overhead and he had customers to tend to.
“Who says the Dark Kind will stop with the coming of longer days?” Linn asked.
“All of our prior experience, since the first attacks occurred not long after I was born,” Jenk said. “These creatures are perverted wretches from the World Apart, leaking in from the broken kingdoms in other lands. They have grown in number, yes, but they have not grown so bold as to attack us in daylight.”
“The Dark Kind used to be a force of nature, and a random one at that,” Linn said. “Now they attack like clock work, as if their scourge is a season unto itself. Before last night, they have never been bold enough to take down an Ember on our borders.”
“An Ember who went out alone,” Kaya said.
Still, Linn could tell all in the room save Baas were unsettled, the Embers most of all.
“What of the Faey?” Baas asked.
“What of them?” Jenk asked.
The hulking Riverman turned to him, the bench creaking under his weight.
“They meddle in the ways of magic, no? Perhaps they have turned the Dark Kind on us, seeking to purge us from the Valley.”
“We settled our issues with the Valleyfolk before you were born,” Larren said. “Besides, only the Eastern Dark can control the Dark Kind.” He looked at Linn, and she was surprised to see that he was waiting for her to speak.
“If the White Crest is alive,” she said, “we will need him to stop what’s coming.”
“What’s already here, according to some,” Larren said.
“We have a week to decide,” Linn said. “Maybe less. We need the days to get a bit longer, but if the Eastern Dark is intent upon us, I doubt it will make a difference.”
“We would be depriving the Lake of many of its stoutest defenders,” Larren said. “On a fool’s errand, to brave the Deep Lands and the Steps, and to see if a Sage that has not been seen in a generation will save us once more.”
“Look at it this way,” Linn said. “If our old enemy has returned, where do you think he’s holed up?”
“He could be anywhere,” Baas said.
“Maybe.”
“We should wait until Doh’Rah, Ninyeva and Tu’Ren make their decision,” Jenk said.
“They are not our leaders,” Linn said, and the unintended venom with which she said it caught the room off guard.
She swallowed.
“They will drag their feet, as they ever have, while we wait for the days to shorten once again. And then we will be asked to hold out another year, to hold out before we make an attempt on the peaks, before we see the state of the World. No. It is time we took our destiny into our own hands.”
“But not with Kole along,” Jenk said flatly. Linn had no response to that.
Baas clapped once, loudly, and rose, the bench sighing in relief. He slapped Nathen Swell on the back and nearly drove the wind from him before heading toward the door, leaving the others stunned. As he walked past Linn, she grabbed him by the shoulder and stopped him.
“You will not come?” she asked, eyes shining.
Baas blushed.
“I will come,” he said, turning to look at the others. “Was that not obvious?”
He smiled warmly at Linn before shouldering a stone-crusted shield that must have weighed as much as him and heading out onto the road, the pink light of the half-day filtering in behind him.
Nathen nodded to Linn and Jenk, boyish features hardening as he tried to match the mood of the room.
“I don’t imagine you’d get too far in the woods without me,” he said, patting Linn on the shoulder with a wink as he followed the Riverman.
Kaya looked unsteady and nervous. She kept switching her gaze from Jenk to Linn and back, unsure what to do and unwilling to commit. With a huff, she shouldered past Linn, the twins following in her wake. While Fihn looked miserable as ever, Taei looked reluctant, even apologetic, as he showed them his back.
Larren straightened and moved to the front of the room, Jenk following his progress. The Second Keeper stopped between them and looked at both, his expression stern as ever, but Linn sensed a touch of unease that made her distinctly uncomfortable.
“What we plan to do is no small thing,” he said.
Linn and Jenk looked at one another before turning back to the Ember.
“Nor does it leave Last Lake in an enviable position,” he continued. “Still, I have had the same thoughts these last few years. No matter what lies in the passes—be it an ailing power we once counted as friend or the agents of one who has long been the scourge of our people, we have a duty to find out.” He looked at Linn. “The burden is not yours to bear alone.”
Jenk’s sense of relief was as obvious as the sigh he expelled. Linn’s was masked, but no less profound. Her knees felt weak. Larren Holspahr was as close to a legend as you could get in the Valley, an Ember of rare power and perhaps the most skilled combatant she had ever seen. Even as she felt the one weight lift off of her shoulders, however, she felt another press down, and had to admit that there had been a part of her hoping Holspahr would be the one to talk some sense into her.
Whatever might come, their path was now set.
“I will leave correspondence with a trusted guard,” Larren said, oblivious to Linn’s swirling psyche. “Tu’Ren and the other defenders will know precisely where we have gone and when we plan to return. That should give them some basis by which to formulate a proper defense.”
The Ember started for the door, grabbing his spear, which nearly scraped the ceiling. “Let us hope that the attacks diminish with the coming of longer days.” He turned back once more with the door half-cocked. “And let us pray that they are not fool enough to follow us.”
The green door closed with a scrape, and they heard the clink of the butt of Larren’s spear on the cobbles as he retreated into the morning light.
“I think I’ll be praying that we’re lucky enough to return,” Jenk said, getting to his feet, much to the delight of Towles, who busied himself pretending to clean the place where he had just been.
Jenk extended his hand, and Linn took it, their eyes meeting through the mist.
“You’ve pushed us onto the right path, Ve’Ran. The only one there was, I expect.”
Linn tried to feel proud of what she had accomplished, convincing even half of the assembled warriors to join her. But Kole’s inhuman screams still echoed in her mind, the Ember crying out from his tower with nothing but a worried father and the salt of her sister’s tears for company.
“Next moon, then,” she said, her usual calm returning like a familiar cloak as she made for the door, grabbing her bow on the way. She flicked a piece to Towles, who fumbled before catching it. “Can’t say I loved that last mix you put in.”
She left Towles blushing and Jenk smirking as she braved the cool blast of Valley air and steeled herself for the walk to the tower.
The fishermen were already calling it ‘The Tower of Screams.’ Their jests covered the dark nugget of fear the hardened men of the shore kept hidden, but Iyana knew better.
She had spent the better part of a week caring for Kole. In fact, she had hardly left his side, a fact not lost on her sister. Even Karin, himself distraught and tortured, cautioned her not to burn herself ou
t. She reminded him that, though Landkist, she was no Ember. Her own fires came from the Valley: these were fires of healing, flames that repaired rather than destroyed, and those were not easily blown out. Not so long as she cared.
Karin Reyna had only left to gather what linens and poultices Iyana needed to work. In truth, she had sent him out as often out of worry for his mental well being as necessity. He was, after all, First Runner. Remaining in a stifled tower with the prone form of his only son had not done him well. Iyana knew him to be a calm-if-introspective man, but the lines of worry on his face had never shocked her so as they did when the golden rays of the first dawn had struck his face.
As she touched her bare hands to Kole’s brow—sticky and cold—Iyana pictured him as she had first known him, when the Ember had been an older brother to her. Though he and Linn had been hardened like all in the Valley, they had experienced some semblance of a childhood before the Dark Kind came. Iyana could not say the same. Though her people counted her gifts a blessing in such times, she often wondered if they were not more curse.
It had taken time before the Embers had managed to shield them from the worst of the night. Iyana’s parents had not made it, and she often wondered if she could have made a difference had she discovered her abilities at an earlier age. But then, Ninyeva could not save them, and she had been trained by the Faey themselves. What could Iyana have done?
She felt the pain leaking into her own veins as Kole fought through whatever nightmares assailed him. She gritted her teeth, willing the pain to dissolve and trying to find him in that bitter darkness. Thus far, she had not come close.
There was something else going on, here. Iyana knew it both because of what she felt when she touched him, and by the fact that Ninyeva had been scarce since examining the Ember when he was first found collapsed in the rain beyond the ruined gate. Something about Kole’s state had disturbed her enough to retreat to her own leaning tower. In the days since, she had only left her chambers to walk in the fresh air. According to those that saw her, her pace was furious, her demeanor increasingly erratic.
Kole had encountered something out in the woods, something more sinister than the usual Dark Kind. Whatever war he waged now, Iyana feared he would have to see it through himself.
Karin was dozing off in his seat in the corner. That was good.
When the other healers had told Iyana to rest, she had told them to leave. When Karin told her later, she had listened, taking what rest she could as father watched over son. The screams had stopped shortly after. Perhaps Karin had managed to reach him somehow. Perhaps Kole had given up. It was impossible to know, the relative silence that had at first been welcome was now disturbing in its own way.
And then there was the matter of Linn. Her sister had come every night for the first three, and then nothing. There had been another attack, and Linn had helped to throw the Dark Kind back. The next day, she was gone, along with Larren Holspahr, Jenk Ganmeer and a handful of others. Tu’Ren had visited Iyana before Linn’s flight, but she had not seen him since.
Iyana tried to concentrate on Kole. Whatever troubles her hero sister would find in the northern forests, it was nothing compared to the storm Iyana would unleash when she returned. She kept special care not to allow ‘if’ into her mind. There were enough of those close by.
“His color has returned some.”
Karin’s voice was soft and reassuring, impossible to startle. Iyana welcomed the reprieve.
“I think the worst has passed,” she said, turning a smile. She took care not to include the ‘hope’ that had been tickling the edge of her tongue.
Karin smiled back. He was not convinced, and they both knew it.
The bond between parent and child had grown into something less warm and more poignant after the Dark Kind had come. Death was a constant companion for the Emberfolk. As such, the community took on the roles formerly reserved for family. Still, there was something to be said for blood. Iyana did not remember her own, but watching the ghosts of emotion pass over Karin’s face as he watched his son, she knew that link was something more.
“Thank you,” Karin said, his eyes watering as Kole’s never could. He said it without looking at her, but the pang of its sincerity struck her like a blow and threatened to shatter the thin veneer that was her resolve—threatened, and then made good on its promise. A single tear began a waterfall, and Karin embraced her as she poured the shared pain of herself and Kole into him.
Karin was made of something stouter than iron. He did not wince, though she felt his heart near to breaking.
Doh’Rah and Tu’Ren argued as only father and son could, and Ninyeva observed with a detachment unbecoming of the Faey Mother.
The first rays of dawn were creeping over the treetops to the north, painting them golden-red like the lit ends of matches. The sun climbed higher each day, but what was usually a time for rejoice was now something else.
In truth, Ninyeva was too spent to involve herself in their quarrel. She had traveled the disorienting roads of the Between twice in the last week, and both journeys had ended with resounding headaches in the place of answers. She knew she should share their concern; a part of her did. After all, Larren Holspahr had apparently gone rogue, taking a handful of Last Lake’s finest north with him.
Of course, Ninyeva knew which of the powerful company had likely engineered the plan, but she kept that to herself. The Dark Months were nearly up, which made the roads to the north safer for traveling. Still, the northern peaks were uninhabited for a reason. The Deep Lands still held residual magic from the White Crest’s fatal clash with the Eastern Dark and his Night Lords, and while Kole Reyna’s condition was improving by the day, his run-in with the Sentinel in the woods had been cause for serious concern.
Word had spread about the young Ember’s condition, and about what had caused it. But only Ninyeva—and by extension the two other men in the Long Hall with her—understood the implications. The Sentinels were no mere foot soldiers from the World Apart, mindless beasts made more of shadow than sinew. These were Captains, cunning and with purpose, and capable of infecting anything with their corruption, even Landkist.
Even Embers.
If Sentinels were in the Valley, they had no doubt been sent. The Eastern Dark had turned his eyes back on them. None of the elders truly believed he had perished in the fight with the White Crest. But his seeming absence had stretched over such a period as to catch Ninyeva in the illusion of permanence as well. Her thoughts kept turning back to Kole Reyna and to his contentious words in the Long Hall the week before.
Reyna was young, but he was a Keeper of the Lake and more powerful than any Ember she had seen at his age, including Tu’Ren Kadeh. Kole had glimpsed something in the red eyes of the Night Lord, and though all signs pointed to the Eastern Dark as culprit, he was as convinced of the White Crest’s presence as he was doubtful of his allegiance.
Could it be so? Could their guardian truly have survived his ordeal? And if so, where had he been?
The memory of Sarise A’zu spinning in her tornado of fire, shadows with red eyes in the passes all around her, was never far from Ninyeva’s thoughts these last days. A vision of death that only one of the Faeykin should have the eyes to see had somehow imprinted on her Ember son. Kole experienced that night in his dreams, and while Ninyeva had done what she could to shield him from their burning reality, he had come through those nightmares changed. He now bore a singular focus. He was bent on the Sages.
The questions swirled, and Reyna seemed to be at the center of it all. Even Holspahr’s mission reeked of Linn Ve’Ran’s desire to interfere on Kole’s behalf.
“I swear, that boy reminds me more of his mother by the day.”
Doh’Rah was not a quiet walker; his cane betrayed him at every opportunity, and still she had not registered his approach.
“I see less of myself in him with each argument.”
Of course. He was talking about Tu’Ren.
Ninyev
a turned from the railing at the back of the Long Hall and saw that the First Keeper had left, the door still swinging from his abrupt departure. It was unlike him to leave without addressing her. Perhaps he had.
“The rest of us see more than enough of you in his veins,” Ninyeva said, turning back to the lake.
Doh’Rah snorted.
“Your thoughts?” he asked, trying in vein to hide his concern.
“The sun rises higher each day. Holspahr and the others will be as safe now as ever.”
Until they reach the Deep Lands.
“When they reach Hearth,” he said, “they will be turned back by my contacts there.”
“They will not go to Hearth,” Ninyeva said with a small laugh. Doh’Rah frowned.
“You have been to see Reyna,” he said as much as asked.
“He will wake within the week.”
“Do you truly think this to be the work of a Sentinel?”
“I do.”
Doh’Rah sighed, and each time he did, it seemed that a bit of him went out with it. Ninyeva was older, but looking at her friend, she sometimes found it hard to believe.
“What do you think they mean to do?”
“Something, I would guess,” Ninyeva said, and when he looked at her with that confused expression, “something more than nothing.”
“Defending one’s people hardly qualifies as ‘nothing,’” he said, but then he looked out onto the shifting water, the light filtering down from the angled roof of the hall to strike its surface. “Still, I suppose we have grown shorter of sight, more concerned with surviving than living these last years.”
Ninyeva said nothing.
“As a boy,” Doh’Rah said, drawing her attention, “I clung to the image of the White Crest as our fearless and benevolent protector.” He laughed sardonically. “Later, when the denizens of the Valley—I don’t excuse our own people from that—turned to killing one another and he stood by, I thought him merely a barrier to the Sages without.”
Valley of Embers (The Landkist Saga Book 1) Page 7