Reaping the Aurora

by Joshua Palmatier

  The man held her gaze steadily, then nodded, the gesture minute. He opened the door for her and let her slide past. Before he closed it fully, she caught him motioning to one of the others, the enforcer heading off in the direction she’d come from.

  She swore beneath her breath. Technically, she wasn’t part of the inner circle. Only her association with Marcus gave her some leeway to attend the meetings. Often, when they were discussing more important issues, she was asked to leave. She wasn’t certain how much time she’d have with Father now.

  Searching the inner chamber, shrouded in shadows and reeking of incense, Dierdre picked out Father in the far corner, staring out the window, his back turned to her. Sunlight poured in the open windows, that section of the room almost too bright. Through the window, Dierdre could see a black section of the Needle, framed on either side by the cloud-scudded western sky. Soon, the sun would sink low enough that it would reach even the deepest recesses of the room.

  “I’m surprised they let you in to see me after this afternoon’s sermon.”

  Dierdre huffed and joined Father at the window. “They may change their minds. They sent someone to ask Commander Ty if I should be allowed in or not.”

  Father turned toward her, gazing directly at her, as if he could see her, even though his eyes were completely clouded over with a thick white film. His dark hair was streaked with gray, only that above his ears turned completely white. “Then we should talk quickly. Why have you come?”

  “They said you announced another vision.”

  “Yes.” He turned away, gazing out the window again. “It began the night Commander Ty and the others seized control of the Needle. A snake, a dog, and the Three Sisters.” He drew out the last syllable; the hissing sent a shiver down Dierdre’s spine.

  “Then it’s a true vision. You didn’t make it up.”

  “Is that what they are saying?”

  “Even Marcus believes it.” She couldn’t hide her disgust.

  “Ah, Dierdre.” He reached over and stroked her long black hair, then rested his hand on her opposite shoulder, drawing her closer to his side. It was a comforting gesture, and she leaned into him. “Don’t you remember doubting me? Before the Shattering, you questioned my vision of the end of Erenthrall.” She tensed, but he patted her shoulder. “Oh, you never said anything out loud. To me, at least. But you doubted. I could see the uncertainty in your eyes.”

  “I never doubted the philosophy of the Kormanley. The Baron and the Prime Wielder were abusing the ley. That was obvious. It needed to be stopped.”

  “And it was, just not in the way I’d planned. Or imagined.” Outside, the sun lowered enough that the clouds began to change from white-gray to shades of pink, darkening to orange. “Doubt is always part of faith. If you do not question sometimes, then how can your faith be real? How can it have meaning? You stayed by my side, even though you doubted, and your faith was restored by the Shattering and what followed afterward. Now you believe. Marcus will become a believer again as well.”

  Dierdre thought of Kara and her influence, of all the other unbelievers that surrounded them now, but kept quiet. Instead, she focused on the new prophecy. “Your vision . . . what does it mean?”

  Father let her go to step forward toward the light. He turned his face toward the sun, his skin washed with the coming sunset. “I’m uncertain. Like all my visions, it isn’t clear. But the vision . . .” He shuddered. “It is a portent. And it involves the Three Sisters. Of that, I am certain.”

  Behind, the double doors were flung open and the enforcer who’d confronted her stepped inside. Dierdre jumped, startled.

  Father merely said, “It appears our time is up.”

  The informal meeting broke up as soon as the enforcer arrived to ask whether Dierdre was allowed access to Father Dalton. After Commander Ty rose to deal with the situation, the others had merely shared unsettled glances. There hadn’t been anything left to discuss. Marcus stood first, muttering something about finding Dierdre and calming her down, since she’d likely be furious. Cory and Hernande shifted closer to Kara.

  “Do you think she’ll present a problem?” Kara asked, thinking about Marcus.

  “Potentially,” Hernande said. “She is certainly one of Dalton’s more faithful followers, before and after the Shattering, if what you and Marcus have said is true. It will depend on whether she believes in his visions enough to act on them.”

  “She can’t be trusted,” Cory said forcefully. “She and her brother Darius are too close to Dalton. Both of them have visited Dalton on a regular basis before today’s incident.”

  Hernande tugged on his beard. “I would certainly suggest that she be watched more closely from now on. And I’d recommend not allowing her into any of our future meetings.”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Kara said. “I’ll talk to Ty about it.”

  “And what about Marcus?” Cory asked.

  “What about him?”

  Cory stared at her, incredulous. “Dierdre has her fingers wrapped around him. Even if she doesn’t attend the meetings, Marcus is probably telling her about everything you discuss. It isn’t enough to kick her out, you need to deal with Marcus as well.”

  “He isn’t like that. He wouldn’t reveal information he knows is supposed to be confidential.”

  “Really? Kara, he joined a subversive group potentially linked to terrorist acts in Erenthrall. You know he told them secrets about the nodes, about the ley structure. He manipulated the damned Nexus for them!”

  “He’s changed since then. He helped us seize control of the Needle, even killed Lecrucius, our only Prime. And he didn’t support Dierdre today. He agreed that Dalton’s visions were likely fake and that Dierdre shouldn’t have access to Dalton after what happened.”

  Cory’s mouth opened, then clamped shut. He threw up his hands in disgust. “I don’t understand you. He betrayed us all once before, he’ll do it again if it suits him.” He turned toward Hernande, but not before Kara saw the flicker of hurt that crossed his face. “You talk to her. Maybe she’ll listen to you.”

  A pang of guilt burrowed into Kara’s stomach as she watched his retreating back. She held her breath until he’d vanished, then exhaled, gripping the back of one of the chairs. “What am I doing, Hernande? What’s happening here?”

  He said nothing for a long moment, eyeing her with such intensity that she finally met his gaze. “You still have feelings for Marcus.”

  It wasn’t a question, but she protested anyway. “Impossible. He betrayed me for Dierdre, for the Kormanley!”

  “It doesn’t matter. At one point, you loved him. There will always be a part of you that loves him. Cory knows this. Like you, he thought Marcus was dead, that these feelings you had for Marcus were no longer a threat. But now, here, at the Needle, you both discovered that Marcus is alive. And, more than that, he betrayed the Kormanley in order to destroy Lecrucius and save us all. The part of you that once loved him sees hope in that act. Cory recognizes this.”

  Kara couldn’t move. What Hernande had said was too close to a truth she didn’t want to acknowledge. “So what . . . do we exclude Marcus from the meetings because of what he might say to Dierdre?”

  “I think the more relevant question is, do we continue to invite him simply because you are uncertain of your feelings for him?”

  Kara winced and looked away, staring at the sun and planets and moons as they shifted in their orbits in the orrery overhead.

  “We can’t exclude him. He helped us take control of the Needle. We owe him for that, regardless of how I feel about him.”

  “Then someone needs to speak to him about Dierdre and the potential risk she represents.”

  “You don’t think he already knows?”

  “Of course he does. It’s one of the reasons there’s so much tension between them. But it should still be don
e.”

  Kara’s shoulders slumped. “I’ll take care of it. But not right now.”

  She pushed away from the chair and headed for the door. She stifled a surge of annoyance when Hernande fell into step beside her. “Was there something else?”

  “Yes, actually. I’m concerned.”

  “About what?”

  “About you.”

  Taken aback, Kara halted. “Me? Why are you concerned about me?”

  Hernande motioned her forward again. He let her lead the way and without thought she guided them toward the Needle and the new Nexus Marcus and Lecrucius had created there.

  “Since you healed the distortion over Erenthrall—and allowed Morrell to heal your wounds—you’ve been working yourself hard on stabilizing the ley lines and learning to use the Nexus. I know you’ve been studying the distortion around Tumbor as well. But in the last week or so you’ve become . . . prickly.”

  “Prickly?”

  He waved a dismissive hand. “Short-tempered, curt, easy to rile. I’ve never known you to be so tense. The others believe it is simply stress caused by overwork.”

  “The others?”

  “Ty, Marcus, Allan and Bryce before they departed for Erenthrall . . . and Cory.”

  Kara thought back to earlier that evening, when Cory had been goading her with questions, prodding her, like a cook disturbing the coals of a fire, keeping his distance. He’d only come close after she’d caught on to what he was doing.

  “I suppose I have been a little . . . prickly lately.” She couldn’t help a wry, twisted grin at the word.

  “It’s more than overwork, though, isn’t it?”

  They’d reached the lower level of the temple and now stood before the doors leading out to the small stone garden filled with stellae and the black base of the Needle. She shoved through the doors, halting a step beyond, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the light of the sunset, its fiery orange in stark contrast to the thin black spire of the Needle.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “It’s Tumbor.”

  Her heart clenched, although she tried not to let the reaction show.

  When she didn’t answer, he continued. “You’ve been working to repair the ley lines, but I think you’ve done what you can, except for general upkeep. We haven’t had a quake—even a minor one—in two weeks, and yet, instead of relaxing, you’ve grown more tense.” He turned to look at her. She could feel his eyes on her, like an itch against her skin. “The only pressing issue remaining is Tumbor.”

  She let her gaze drop from the lurid sky overhead to the base of the Needle, to the entrance that led down to the pit beneath. “It’s . . . huge. Larger than the distortion over Erenthrall. It’s . . . daunting.”

  “Are you saying it can’t be healed?”

  “No, it can be done. But the ley system isn’t ready to handle it yet. The Wielders aren’t ready.” She wasn’t ready.

  Hernande reached forward and gripped her upper arm, squeezing in reassurance. “There is still time. And don’t forget the mentors. We haven’t yet figured out how we and the other University students can best be used to help heal it, but I know it can be done. You are not alone. But Dalton will not wait. Now that he has begun, he will not stop.”

  Kara bit her lower lip, thinking about all that they’d done with the new Nexus, all that needed to be done if they were going to be able to handle the distortion over Tumbor, all that they had not yet figured out.

  Then she sighed and said, “I know,” stepping forward into the depths of the Needle.

  Four

  “LOOK. To the southeast. I see smoke.”

  Cutter shifted his attention away from the band of wagons headed south along the deep cut—more a ravine now—of the river where it had been diverted by the distortion over Tumbor. With the quickening, the river had formed a small lake at the distortion’s edge, the water eventually carving out a new path southeast around the obstruction. But, unlike the rivers in Erenthrall, it hadn’t found its way back to its former path. Instead, over the last month it had eaten a new course into the plains, diverted into a southeasterly flow.

  The small communities that had survived the quickening of the distortion had adapted. Those north of the city had entrenched themselves into their already established holdings, building up their defenses in the form of wooden stockades and the use of the natural landscape around them. Cutter and the four enforcer scouts that formed his party had spent the last two weeks gathering information about those groups. But as soon as they’d discovered the divergent river, they’d begun following it.

  They were now two days beyond Tumbor, its distortion still glowing a rose-orange tinged with purple behind them. They were keeping a discreet distance from the river, traveling parallel to its course so they wouldn’t run into the occasional small groups of two or three wagons like the one below. Groups of wagons of this size were rare now, having been thinned out after the Shattering by larger groups like the one he and the others from the Hollow had encountered from Haven, intent on theft if not all-out slaughter.

  “Where’s the smoke?” he asked Larrin, who lay in the grass on his right. Larrin was the youngest of their group, nineteen, with unruly brown hair and a gangly body, although he wasn’t especially tall. The other three enforcers were behind them, keeping their horses quiet and out of sight.

  Larrin carefully pointed. “On the horizon. I’d say at least another half day’s ride. Looks to be on the river, though.”

  “Can you see what’s causing it?” Cutter scanned the southeastern horizon, picking out the faint trace of smoke angling up from the plains. His arm throbbed with pain where he’d been shot by the White Cloaks in Erenthrall before Kara and the others had been captured. Morrell had healed it after she’d arrived at the Needle, but Cutter still felt it throb at odd moments.

  He wondered if it were one of the enforcers he now worked with who had shot him.

  Larrin squinted, eyes barely slits, then shrugged. “We’re too far. Could be a bonfire or a campfire.”

  “It’s no campfire.” The smoke was black, the column thick. That’s the only reason they’d been able to pick it out against the blue sky. “It could be another settlement like the one we’ve already passed. Maybe that’s where this group is headed.”

  He glanced back down to the wagons trundling along, a shout from one of the men drifting up toward them. The wagons began to slow, drawing to a stop near a shallow section of the new riverbed.

  “Do you think they’ve seen us?” Larrin asked, voice tense.

  “No.” He glanced toward the smoke. “And they couldn’t have seen the smoke yet either, not from the river. They’re likely stopping to rest the horses.”

  As he spoke, the men—and one woman carrying a sword and crossbow, he realized—called out an all clear, and everyone began spilling from the wagons.

  Cutter waited long enough he was certain they were simply halting at a convenient location, then pulled Larrin back from the low ridge. They rejoined the other three enforcers, Cutter taking the reins of his own horse back and immediately mounting.

  “Find something?” Marc asked as they all followed suit. He was the oldest of the group and resented the fact that Cutter, a mere woodsman from the hills, had been given leadership of the scouting party. Broad-shouldered, he towered nearly a foot over Cutter, but could be surprisingly silent and unobtrusive when he wanted to stay hidden.

  “Smoke in the distance south of here.”

  “How far?”

  “Another hour at most.”

  “We’re already two days out of range,” Marc said, not quite a protest.

  “Another hour or two won’t hurt. I want to see what’s causing that smoke.”

  Marc shrugged. “It’s your lead.”

  The others glanced between the two, fidgeting, picking up on the tensio
n. Cutter ignored them, kicking his mount into motion. They cut away from the river, swinging out and around in a low arch, moving slowly enough they could spot potential threats with time to hide. But they saw nothing, and an hour and a half later they halted, having angled back toward the river again. Larrin—who Cutter had sent out slightly ahead of the group—returned at a light gallop, face grim.

  “There’s a small copse of trees ahead,” he said. “We can use it as cover.”

  “Marc, come with me. The rest of you stay with the horses.”

  They followed Larrin to the copse, skirting between the trees and the underbrush before hunkering down at its edge.

  Ahead, the column of black smoke rose from the burning remains of what had once been a fortified village nestled in a curve of the river. Sharpened logs had been erected in a rough circular stockade around a cluster of a half dozen buildings. But the defenses had proven worthless. One section of the wall had been pulled down—Cutter couldn’t see how—and the buildings inside were only charred remains, three of them still burning furiously, flames shooting toward the sky. Carrion crows circled the destruction, and Cutter picked out over two dozen bodies inside the enclosure, left where they’d fallen, distorted by heat shimmer.

  “What’s that?” Marc asked, nodding toward a dark stain on the grassland a short distance from the walls. The enforcer’s tone had changed. The derogatory hint of disrespect that had colored all his comments since they’d left the Needle had died. “Did the grass catch fire?”

  Cutter frowned. “No, it’s not scorching. It’s not dark enough.” Then it hit him, and his stomach turned. “It’s the rest of the villagers. What’s left of them.”

  Larrin gulped, then bent over and retched into the underbrush to one side. When he stood back up, his face was white and he still looked sick. His hand trembled as he wiped a string of bile from his mouth. “I didn’t notice it before,” he said weakly. “I only saw the fire.”