The Sheltered City
Page 29
The footsteps had reached them at last, white-clad servitors and armored elves bursting onto the balcony where Liléan lay dead in the rain, but they had come too late. Crossbow bolts flew through the air and were caught in the whir of leaves. Amon looked down on them as he was taken up, their frightened faces receding, and felt almost sorry for them. A hole had been torn in their world, after all.
The lightvines lifted him out of the ragged tear in the canopy Caedian had made and set him down on top of the world. The rain was receding, a mere drizzle now; the darkness of the storm clouds was fading to a velvet gray. Lightning still sparked in the distance, and every now and then he could hear the low thud of thunder.
Caedian, or Seoras, joined him a moment later, sitting cross-legged on a broad, flat leaf—one of the canopy leaves, peeled away from the dome. His head was tilted, his scarred mouth a faint smile. The lightvine collar pulsed around his throat.
Amon’s mouth was dry at the sight of him—elf, dragonblooded, alien. A creature like no other the world had seen, and beautiful. “What happens now?”
“I do not know,” he said. “There is not much time for me.” A flicker of a smile again, so like and so unlike Caedian, all at once. “I have used myself up, you see. Soon I will be little more than sap and light and purpose.”
“We came—” He took a deep breath. “Caedian came to set you free.”
“He did.” He put a hand on his heart—on Caedian’s heart. “I...felt him. The Tree...felt him. Without him to call me, I would have...remained in the dark.” His voice was growing softer, almost halting. “Now...I am free.”
“Free...” Amon swallowed. “Can you—can you tell them?” He made a gesture to the flickering world below them, all the City sheltered under the torn canopy of the Tree. “That the world is more than what they know?”
“These are...my last words.” There was no regret in his voice; he was merely stating a fact. “But...I think...after this night, some will know it...in their bones. Some will have...felt the rain.”
“A poison rain.” It would be, to the sheltered city, leaving dark scars on the Verdancy.
“Yet...something new. Most will fear...but some will look up and wonder.”
The image that came to Amon’s mind was Brother Marton, the young priest-initiate who had served in the dragonhunters’ temple—the young man whom Seoras had known. Had Seoras put the image there? Or was it merely the knowledge that Marton would look up to the tears in the sky and feel not only fear but curiosity. Where there was one who would, there would be more.
“Seoras...”
He tilted his head—Caedian’s head—smiling, listening, surrounded by glittering life.
“Was she right? Has all of this happened before? The dragons—the sun—”
“I do not know,” he said. “Perhaps.” He closed his eyes, in exhaustion or concentration; the lightvines faded a little. All around, the wounds in the canopy were closing like dragonblooded flesh, leaving thick, ropy scars. Then something was growing from the last crack in the canopy, long twisting vines that twined their way down and down the great dome. All the way to the ground, Amon thought—Seoras was growing them an escape. “What I know...is that the Tree has a future.”
“What future?”
He smiled. “To bloom, of course.” Then Seoras reached out with Caedian’s hand and cupped his cheek. “Take care...of my brother, Amon Vraja. Or...I shall haunt you...to the end of your days.”
“Believe me,” Amon said, “I intend to.”
Seoras leaned forward and brought their mouths together in a gentle kiss. The light around Caedian’s throat faded away, and the lightvine fell from him like a dead leaf; when he sagged into Amon’s embrace, the last of his brother’s ghost had gone from his eyes.
“Amon?” He blinked at him. “He was...Seoras was...” There was some of his brother’s ghostly, halting tone remaining in his voice, but behind it was exhaustion, and grief, and the threatening quiver of tears.
“I know,” Amon said, and he held him close.
For a while they remained in each other’s arms, holding fast against the cold air of the fading storm, against the impossibility of where they stood. Then Caedian laughed against Amon’s chest.
“What is it?”
“The vines.” He gestured toward the lengthening vines snaking down the canopy, every other segment glowing faintly in the fading dark. “We are being shown out, I think.”
Amon smiled. “Rescued is the word.”
“Great Mother.” Caedian’s voice was shaky. “I can’t believe—I can’t believe I climbed up here. Look at where we are!”
“Yes. It feels like you can see the whole world, doesn’t it?”
They looked around the landscape that surrounded them. The sun was rising in the distant east. There was a gleam that could be the ocean. Beyond the wastes, there was the dark of the forest. The mountains were gloomy shadows in the distance.
Amon kept his hold on Caedian, partly to steady himself at the sight. The world was immense below him, and only half dead—like him. Like Caedian.
Caedian was looking at him from the corner of his eye. “So. What happens now?”
They could return to Esper, he thought—Karenna had told him they would be welcomed there. They could go to the forest and make a home there, if they wished it, building a house from the white trees, hunting for their food, driving off the dragons or perishing on their teeth. They could walk to the edge of the ocean and back, hand in hand, trying to find other sparks of life tucked away in the darkness of the world.
All of that would have to wait though.
“Now?” He grinned at Caedian and took up one of the long, glowing vines. “Now, we start climbing down.”
* * * * *
For more from author John Tristan, be sure to check out The Adorned—available now!
The Adorned
My name is Etan, and I am Adorned.
A living piece of art, I exist to please the divine rulers of Kered. With nowhere to turn after my father died, I tried my luck in the capital city. Little did I know how quickly I would be robbed, beaten and forced to sell myself into servitude. But I was lucky enough to gain the attention of Roberd Tallisk, an irascible but intriguing tattoo artist who offered to mark me with enchanted ink for the enjoyment of the nobles. I was given a chance to better my station in life, and I could not refuse.
But the divine rulers want not only the art but the body that bears it. In their company I can rise above the dregs of society and experience a life most only dream of, at the cost of suffering their every desire as a pawn in games of lavish intrigue. Their attention is flattering, but I find I’d rather have Tallisk’s.
Caught between factions, I learn that a revolution is brewing, one that could ruin Kered—and Roberd and myself along with it...
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About the Author
John Tristan is a multinational nerd now living in the North of England with his family, where any time he’s not writing he’s probably experimenting in the kitchen or playing video games. He’s the author of The Adorned with Carina Press, and The Peacock Prince, Forest of Glass and the Skoria series with Loose Id.
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ISBN-13: 9781426898662
THE SHELTERED CITY
Copyright © 2014 by John Tristan
Edited by Jeff Seymour
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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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