Reaping the Aurora

by Joshua Palmatier

  The tension in the room abated, people returning to their drinks and conversations slowly, the tone more subdued. As if sensing this, Lienta motioned to the watchmen and discreetly exited.

  Kara stared into her cup, until Cory interrupted wherever she’d gone in her mind with a tug on her hand. “Come with me.”

  Her brow furrowed, but she took a sip of the wine and set the cup aside.

  He led her out through the rubble into the barren garden, to the edge of the chasm, the precipice where Hernande had created the bridge. They sat down on one of the low garden walls, away from the others. The sounds of the city washed over them, but it was muted and removed.

  Cory wanted to talk about everything and nothing at the same time, but he let the silence stretch. He’d heard enough of what had happened to Kara, Allan, and Grant inside.

  Eventually, Kara said into the quiet, “What are we going to do now?”

  “We are going to go to the Hollow.”

  Kara faced him in surprise. “Are we now?”

  “Yes.” He stood, letting her hand go, and shifted to stare down into the chasm. “I’ve been thinking about it for the past month, in between worrying about whether you were alive or dead. We came here, to the Needle, with the idea that we could heal the ley and restore what was once great about Erenthrall, recreate it anew, but without the Baron and the Dogs and the Primes and all the rest. We’ve healed the ley, but I think in the process we destroyed any chance we had of recreating Erenthrall.” He turned to Kara. “It’s gone. The Amber Tower, Grass, the Nexus. The barge system, the flyers, the districts and mercantiles and parks. All of it. We can’t rebuild it, not like it was. I’m not certain we should have even tried.

  “But that doesn’t matter. The world has changed, Kara. Something new should rise from the ashes, and we don’t need to be the ones who will shape it. As Artras said to Morrell inside, we’ve done enough. We’ve survived enough.

  “So let’s return to the Hollow. Let the Matriarch take care of the Needle. Let the snake-like Gorrani have the ruins of Erenthrall. We had a life in the Hollow once. We should reclaim it. I know Sophia and the others would welcome us.”

  “What about the school? Don’t you have students to teach?”

  “I’m fairly certain I can convince Hernande and the others to move the school to the Hollow—”

  “Sovaan? He’d move to the Hollow?”

  “If we tell him we’ll build a school there, one that he can oversee, perhaps.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Cory stepped toward her. “But it doesn’t matter. Even if what remains of the University stays here at the Needle, I don’t have to be a part of it.”

  Kara looked away. “I’d never ask you to give that up, Cory. Not after everything that’s happened.”

  “You won’t have to.” He settled back down beside her. “And there’s something for you at the Hollow as well. The node.”

  Kara perked up. “I could monitor the ley from there. And almost no one knows it exists.”

  “We don’t have to make a decision right now. You and the others need to rest. We’ve got time.”

  “No. I mean, yes, we can’t leave right now. Allan should spend time with his daughter. And we’ll have to tell the others what we plan and give them a chance to decide. But I think . . . I think the Hollow is a good idea.”

  She grabbed his hand and leaned into him. He placed an arm over her shoulder and they sat and rocked gently back and forth, the low sounds of the others filtering out through the collapsed wall, the rest of the Needle bustling about them.

  Kara opened the door to Marcus and Dierdre’s room, but halted in the entryway. She stared around the chamber, at the table against one wall, the bed set to one side, the blankets rumpled. No one had touched the room since Devin’s men and the Gorrani had attacked the temple, mostly because the Temerites had been focused on more important things inside the Needle and there hadn’t been a shortage of rooms.

  She wasn’t certain why she’d come. Except, from what everyone said, Marcus had sacrificed himself in the end to save Artras, Hernande, and the others in the pit. He’d killed Dierdre and Irmona before that, when Tumbor collapsed. Both of those actions grated against what she knew of Marcus from before the Shattering. She’d loved him once, but he’d betrayed her for the Kormanley. Even after the White Cloaks had captured her and brought her here, even after he’d rebelled against Lecrucius to give her the opportunity to heal the distortion over Erenthrall, she’d had doubts about his motives. After all, with Lecrucius dead and Dalton subdued, he’d wielded more power within the Needle than ever before.

  But that vision of him contradicted his actions after they’d seized control, especially in the weeks leading up to the disastrous attempt to heal Tumbor and what followed afterward. Who was Marcus, in the end? Was he Kormanley? Was he the Wielder she’d fallen in love with? Had he ever really loved her, or had it all been an illusion that Dierdre had shattered when she’d convinced him to become part of the Kormanley?

  She didn’t know. When Lienta had told her that his rooms had been left untouched, she’d thought maybe she’d find an answer here.

  Heaving an exasperated sigh, she stepped into the room. As she moved about, fingers trailing along the table where a cutting board and knife had been set out, her sense of intrusion faded. Everything was coated with a faint layer of dust. A pitcher had fallen, probably during one of the quakes, its shards littering the floor. The room smelled dry and abandoned, even though there were a few pieces of clothing draped over the edge of a chair.

  Then her eyes fell on the trunk shoved under the bed. She pulled it out, its metal corners scraping on the stone. It wasn’t locked.

  Inside, there were mostly clothes, but buried near the bottom were a few personal effects. A blue pendant that she recognized from when she and Marcus had lived together, before Dierdre. A fragile teacup. An old ring that had obviously belonged to Dierdre.

  But tucked into one corner was a stone, blue-black, with swirls of white in it.

  Her breath caught. “It can’t be.” She hesitated, then plucked it from the corner, rubbed her thumb across its smooth surface, her fingers tingling. “It’s impossible.”

  But she knew this stone. She’d handed it to Ischua when she was twelve and he’d tested her in Halliel’s Park, told him that it didn’t belong. He’d given it back to her when she became a Wielder. She’d carried it with her through the years since, until the Shattering.

  Marcus must have found it in her apartment after the Shattering. She’d never returned there, had assumed it was locked away within the distortion. It must have been, and yet somehow Marcus had retrieved it.

  She suddenly recalled the shards they’d found already healed before they’d been captured and traded by the Tunnelers.

  Marcus must have searched for her. It would be only natural to look in her apartment, where he’d found the stone. Dierdre wouldn’t have had any idea of its significance, of its connection to her.

  She closed her fingers around it and brought it to her chest, her eyes burning with tears.

  Then she stood and walked from the room, leaving the door open behind her.

  Six months later, Cory trudged through the snow that had managed to filter through the trees surrounding the Hollow, his breath puffing in the air before him, his body wrapped in layers of cloth and fur. The sounds of construction on the new school—one that would teach both the use of the Tapestry and how to be a Wielder—faded behind him, along with all the other industrious noises from the much-expanded village. Everyone had decided to follow Cory and Kara’s lead, even Sovaan, abandoning the Needle with its temple and slightly tilted spire to the Temerites. Paul had grumbled, but Sophia had slapped the back of his head and then accepted them all with open arms. It had taken some time for a few of them to adjust, but now they’d settled into a routine, with regular
sojourns to the Needle to trade.

  But every now and then Cory felt the need to get away, especially after a particularly bad night of sleep, interrupted with nightmares where his lungs burned and he found himself trapped behind an invisible wall, unable to move or act as Father Dalton or Darius tortured Mirra or Jerrain or Hernande. The dreams didn’t haunt him as often as they had immediately after escaping the Kormanley, but they still caught him at odd moments. Some of the others, particularly the students, suffered the same.

  Last night’s dream had been particularly bad. Most of the time he could force himself awake before the torture progressed too far. But last night, somehow, Dalton and Darius had managed to seize hold of Kara, and no matter how hard he struggled, how much he beat against the invisible wall, he could not break free. He couldn’t even reach through the barrier and twist the Tapestry.

  He emerged from the tree line onto a promontory of rock, his legs aching, his chest hurting from the cold. After a pause, he hiked the last few yards, brushed the few inches of snow off a large stone, and sat down so he could stare out over the expanse of forest and hills to the northeast. The plains were a sheet of white far to the east, dark storm clouds blotting out the horizon. But the mountains to the north were clear, the blue sky vibrant behind them.

  Out of habit, he searched for the Three Sisters. Except there was only one now. The other two had slowly faded and died out, like all the other distortions they could see from the Hollow. Only the one remained—no longer flashing, but with a long, slow pulse that continued to slow as the months progressed. No more auroral storms plagued the plains either, although there were reports that some had been seen far north, beyond the mountains. No one had gone to verify their existence. The ley appeared . . . settled. No quakes. No new distortions. No ripples in reality. The Tapestry remained taut.

  Cory let the chill wind gust over him, let the glitter of the snow in the sunlight being blown around soothe him. The silence worked away the tension in his muscles; the cold smoothed over the edges of the nightmare.

  He heard someone approaching long before they reached him, footsteps crunching in the snow. He didn’t need to turn to know it was Kara.

  She hesitated at the edge of the forest, then shifted forward and settled beside him, her presence warm and welcome. She reached for his hand and their fingers twined together, strong and tight.

  They sat and watched the horizon in silence, watched the pulse of the distortion to the north.

  Until, with a tiny flash, it winked out.

  Acknowledgments

  This book would not have been possible without the trust and faith of my editor, Sheila Gilbert, and my agent, Joshua Bilmes. Thank them for working out the details and making it possible.

  I must also thank everyone who believed in the series and bought the first two books. Without you readers, the story wouldn’t have any true life. I hope this third novel lived up to your expectations.

  And of course, there were tons of people behind the scenes who helped bring the book about, including everyone at DAW Books, who made the book better; my partner and family, who didn’t kill me when I complained or struggled during the writing process; and my beta readers, who gave me invaluable feedback, such as “This sucks” and “That was cool.” Without all of them, the book wouldn’t be this good.

  Now, to prepare for the next project! (I heard that groan.)

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