Xavier gazed out at them grimly.
“What is the matter with you people?” he asked, suddenly, going off script. “For hundreds of years, you have demanded vengeance. I am your saint! I am giving you what you want. I have done it all for you!”
The silence resounded like thunder. His brother was regarding him with angry disapproval. In the temple, the drums began to beat anew, as if they had been waiting for this moment to be heard.
Xavier put his hands to his head, pressing his fingers to his temples.
“Stop the drumming, Brother!” he ordered. “The sound is maddening. I cannot hear myself think.”
Lightning flared, filling the sky with purple fire. Thunder cracked. Raindrops spattered.
“Go on with your speech, Naomh,” said the Blood Mage, frowning.
Xavier shook his head impatiently.
“I ordered you to stop the drumming!”
The Blood Mage drew back, stepping away from his brother. His lips compressed. He made an abrupt gesture with his hand, and a ram’s horn blew a single blast, a signal to the drummers to stop. The drummers were thrown into confusion, the rhythmic beating faltered until it eventually petered out.
“When I was young,” Xavier said in a low voice, repeating what he had once told Cecile, “I thrilled to hear the drums. My father told me the sacrificed went to their deaths willingly, proud to be chosen. Now I hear their screams and I know my father was lying.”
In the quiet, Cecile could hear the raindrops dripping from drenched garments onto the wet cobblestones.
“The drumming will end,” Xavier said harshly. “The sacrifices will end. The blood magic will end. Release these young ones.” He gestured to Gythe and Sophia, standing in the background, forgotten until now. “I don’t need them. The storms will end when the drumming ends.”
The Blood Mage was livid. “You do not know what you are saying, Naomh…”
Cecile heard the menace in his voice and she saw, with shock, that the Blood Mage gripped a knife, his hand wrapped around the blade, deliberately driving the sharp edges into his flesh. Blood welled from between his fingers.
Xavier faced the crowd, holding out his hands in supplication. “At last I can hear the words you do not speak. I will do what I should have done, what my father and grandfather and all the other Xaviers should have done. I will find a way to improve lives, not destroy them. I will end this war, sue for peace—
“By my command, the blood magic will end!” Xavier flung his arms wide and raised his voice to be heard by everyone in the square. So still was the crowd, his voice might have been heard in heaven. “You will obey! I am Xavier!”
The Blood Mage dropped the knife to the ground, then raised his bloody hand. The drops burst into green flame.
“You are not Xavier!” he said. “You never were.”
He flung the drops of blood onto his brother. The drops exploded, tearing into Xavier’s body like bullets. He stared at his brother in amazement, then his face contorted in agony. His own blood blossomed on his chest and arms and legs, pouring from a dozen wounds. He sagged to his knees on the stage and doubled over, gasping.
No one moved except Brother Barnaby. He shoved aside the shocked guards and jumped onto the stage. Kneeling beside Xavier, Brother Barnaby gently lifted him in his arms.
Xavier looked into the sky, into the storm clouds. He tried to speak, coughed, choked, and shuddered. His body sagged. Brother Barnaby lowered him down onto the stage that was soaked with blood and rainwater.
Xavier lay unmoving, staring into the storms.
A murmur of shock and disbelief ran through the crowd, rippling over them like a breath of wind across a still and silent sea.
Their saint was dead. And no one knew what to do.
37
When we sing, the magic sings.
—Princess Amelia Louisa Sophia
The crowd was no longer silent. Some began to shout in anger; some wailed in grief. Their rumbling vied with the thunder of the coming storm. The soldiers guarding the stage raised their long guns, but they seemed uncertain. Who was the enemy?
The Blood Mage had only moments to recover, to take command. He stepped to the front of the stage and raised his bloody hands.
“I am not Xavier!” Ian cried. “But I am the true heir of my father and my grandfather and all those saints who came before me! My brother was weak, like that first Xavier, who worshipped a God that cast us into darkness and despair. I, Ian Meehan, will lead you to war against our foes!”
He seized the ram’s horn and blew a blast. The drumming recommenced with renewed vigor, and the pounding beat seeming to shake the ground.
“Let our rage rise up and engulf them. Our despair will become their despair. Our darkness will become their darkness. Let the drums sound! We will shatter their magic, shatter their world.”
As if by his command, the wizard storm broke overhead, lashing out in fury. Lightning blazed and thunder boomed almost continuously. The rain beat down on Xavier’s body, washing away the blood.
In the confusion and turmoil, the Blood Mage seemed to have forgotten about Gythe and Sophia. They stood at the back of the stage, holding fast to each other, staring in horror and shock at the body of the murdered man. Any moment, Cecile feared, he would remember them and he would take them away.
The Blood Mage continued his harangue, but the crowd wasn’t listening. They were in a dangerous mood, surging and heaving, some cheering, others enraged. Kneeling beside the body, Brother Barnaby tried to find Cecile. She could see him searching for her, even as he prayed.
Cecile tried to reach the stage, but she was caught in the turmoil of people around her pushing and shoving. She lost her balance and almost fell. A hand gripped her arm, steadied her.
“My lady! Are you all right?”
“Miri! Thank God!” Cecile clutched at her gratefully.
“I saw you from a distance. I have been trying to reach you!” Miri gasped.
“All hell is going to break loose,” said Cecile grimly. “We have to get Gythe and Sophia to safety.”
“We will,” said Miri. “My friends are here. They will help. Did Brother Barnaby give you the pistol?”
Cecile nodded and motioned to the pistol tucked into the waistband of her skirt.
“I have my own,” Miri added. “Remember, these pistols are magic, so we must be careful.”
Miri fixed her gaze on her sister. “Gythe, dear! I am here.”
Gythe suddenly raised her head and scanned the crowd. Miri gave a little wave, and Gythe whispered something to Sophia, who looked around for them. Cecile drew her hood back from her face, and Sophia almost immediately saw her. The princess’s face brightened.
“We’re going to come to your rescue,” Miri mouthed. “Be ready.”
Gythe shook her head vehemently. “No, sister, you must not!” She raised a warding hand, motioning Miri to keep away. She said something to Sophia, who, seemingly in response, reached out to Gythe and resolutely clasped her hand. Cecile didn’t know what was going on, but she could see plainly that neither young woman had any intention of leaving the stage.
“What are they doing?” Cecile asked, dismayed.
“They are going to do what Gythe came here to do. They are going to stop the storms,” said Miri.
“We cannot let them,” Cecile said firmly. “It is too dangerous. They don’t understand—”
“They do understand. They understand that the dragons cannot fly, that Stephano cannot attack the fleet unless the skies are clear.”
“If they fail—” Cecile stopped, realizing that Miri understood the peril as well as she did. “We have to move closer.”
She and Miri began to push through the crowd, fighting their way slowly toward the stage. Men and women wearing green joined them, shouting as they went, stirring up trouble, inflaming an already volatile situation.
“He killed our saint!” the rebels were shouting. “Stop him! Stop the drumming!”
The soldiers
had scrambled onto the stage in an effort to keep from being trampled by the mob. Waves of angry people lapped at the foot of the stage, and thus far the soldiers were keeping them at bay, but the sea of humanity was likely to soon break over their heads.
The Blood Mage stood glaring at the crowd. He had acted on impulse, and probably had not considered how the people would react to the assassination of their saint. Or perhaps he had assumed they would follow him.
He cast a glance at his temple, a safe haven standing on the opposite shore. Between him and the temple, though, stood a raging sea of fury.
“Clear the way for me!” the Blood Mage ordered. “Disperse these people!”
The soldiers raised their long guns, and green light flared. Fireballs burst over the heads of the crowd.
Some drew back, frightened, but the attack seemed to embolden others.
“They can’t kill us all!” shouted a man wearing a green hat.
One of the soldiers lost his nerve and fired directly into the crowd. A woman screamed and fell, then one of the rebels drew a gun and shot back, the green glowing bullet felling the soldier.
At that, some of the soldiers turned and ran. Flinging off their helms, they threw down their arms and jumped from the stage. As if waiting for a signal, the people surged forward. The Blood Mage shouted angry commands to the bat riders circling overhead, and bats swept down on the crowd, striking with their claws, driving people back and adding to the chaos. All the while, Brother Barnaby remained on the platform, crouched protectively over Xavier’s body.
Cecile and Miri found themselves caught in a human riptide, in danger of being dragged under. They held on to each other, struggling to keep from falling and being trampled. A familiar-looking man in a green cloak carrying one of the long guns, seeing their distress, pushed and shoved and knocked people aside to reach them.
“Patrick, help us!” Miri cried, catching sight of him. “We are trying to reach Gythe and Sophia!”
“Keep close!” he ordered.
They followed in his wake. When a guard sought to block their way, someone behind Cecile shot him, the fireball half blinding her as it blazed past. The soldier tumbled off the stage into the crowd.
Three steps led from the ground up to the stage. Miri pushed past Patrick, prepared to dash up the stairs to rescue the women.
“Don’t go! Not yet!” Cecile warned.
One of the bat riders wearing a crimson emblem had landed in front of the Blood Mage and offered his mount to him. As he was about to climb into the saddle, the Blood Mage pointed at the body.
“Bring my brother to the temple.”
The soldier advanced toward the corpse. Brother Barnaby rose to his feet and moved to stand between bat rider and Xavier’s body.
“You will not defile the dead,” said Brother Barnaby.
He had no way to defend himself and was so slight of build, a breath could have knocked him over. His robes were wet and bloodstained and hung from his thin body. Yet he stood and spoke with such dignity that the soldier stopped, hesitant to carry out his orders.
Gythe and Sophia joined the monk, presenting a solid front of faith, innocence, and love.
The Blood Mage shoved the soldier aside and walked toward them. People in the crowd began chanting Xavier’s name. Brother Barnaby did not move. Gythe and Sophia stood with him. The body lay at their feet.
Cecile drew her pistol. She had no clear idea of what she was going to do. She knew only she had to stop the Blood Mage. Miri seized hold of her.
“Watch!”
Radiant blue strands of magical fire whirled and danced in the air above Gythe. The crowd hushed, watching in awe. Gythe plucked the sparkling magical tendrils from the air and began to weave a spider’s net of blue light around herself, Sophia, and Brother Barnaby. The net glistened, shimmering and sparkling in the rain.
The bat shrieked and flew off the stage, leaving its rider and the Blood Mage stranded. He looked to his soldiers, those who were left. He would get no help from them. They were as mesmerized by the magic as those in the crowd.
The Blood Mage seemed uncertain what to do. Cecile watched him, the pistol hidden in the folds of her cloak. He cast a narrow-eyed glance at the people—his people—trying to gauge their reaction. The brawling and tumult had ceased, and they gasped in wide-eyed wonder as the blue magical light spread over the stage, glittering in the falling rain so that it seemed they were standing amid a shower of sapphires. The blue light surrounded Xavier’s body with a soft blue glow.
Cecile kept watching the Blood Mage. He couldn’t leave the stage; if he did so, the crowd might tear him apart. He could try to fight the magic with his own. Cecile saw the thought cross his mind. His brows drew together. He rubbed his fingers, still gummy with blood.
“Signal the drummers,” he ordered the man with the ram’s horn. The man blew a blast and the drumming boomed.
The Blood Mage focused his attention on Sophia and Gythe, observing them with keen, shrewd eyes that glittered with the blue light.
Cecile relaxed for a moment, released the hammer of the pistol and thrust it back into her belt. Patrick looked over at Miri and frowned.
“What are they doing? What is going on?”
“They’re going to stop the storms,” said Miri.
Gythe began to sing in the Trundler language. Her beautiful voice soared over the pounding drums, and was quickly joined by Sophia’s voice. She knew the song and she sang it in Rosian. Cecile recognized an old hymn, one she especially loved.
She had learned it as a child; a simple song in praise of God, describing mankind bowing in reverence, listening to His voice. The rain poured down on the already sodden, drenched crowd, but people did not leave. They listened to the song entranced, with softened expressions.
The tempest increased in fury with lashing rain and buffeting winds. Lightning leaped from cloud to cloud. The thunder seemed to boom in time with the frantic beating of the drums.
Gythe and Sophia kept singing. They seemed in a world of their own, neither Above nor Below, far from the storms of nature or man. Sophia knew this hymn well. She had sung it many times, seated in the church pew between her vacuous mother, who would be fretting at her daughter’s lace and fussing with her hair, and her self-absorbed father, fuming over some fancied insult by the grand bishop. Sophia had scarcely dared raise her voice above a whisper then. Now she was singing with joyous abandon, her face upturned to the rain, the blue magic glowing in her hands.
Gythe was serene, ecstatic. Where had she learned this hymn? From Brother Barnaby? He was singing silently, his lips moving. The two young women continued to work their magic. The Blood Mage stood in the background, hidden behind a curtain of rain, his crimson robes all that could be seen.
Gythe stopped singing the hymn and switched to a tune popular with jongleurs and street performers. She began to sing “The Pirate King,” the song that told of his exploits and made him into a hero. There was no doubting her intent. People in the crowd looked toward the Blood Mage, their expressions grim. They all knew the truth—how the Pirate King had tortured his brother, Xavier, forcing him to reveal the secrets of contramagic, then corrupting the magic and using it for killing.
As Gythe sang about the Pirate King, Sophia continued to sing the hymn. The two melodies blended well, twining about each other. The young women raised their cupped hands. Sophia held a blazing ball of blue flame. Gythe reached out to the people. Her hands burned with green fire. She raised her voice in the rousing chorus and the people began to sing with her. She flung the ball of fiery contramagic into the air. Sophia lifted her shining blue flame to meet it.
The green and blue magical glow twined and twisted and began to swirl about Sophia and Gythe. The two women continued to sing, their voices carrying with surprising clarity over the roar of the storm and the pounding of the drums. People gazed in rapt joy.
The green magic and blue flames blended together, yet remained separate. Whirling and shining,
the magic spiraled upward, rising to the heavens. The two magicks touched the purple lightning-laced clouds until they dissipated shredded, and wafted away in wisps of gray. The thunder rumbled and was silent. The lightning flared and then vanished. A pale, glistening shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds and shone down on the stage, on Gythe and Sophia, on Brother Barnaby, on the body of the saint.
The eyes of the dead man opened, and Xavier gazed into the sun. The shimmering rainbow colors of the Aurora unfurled, rolling out like bright silken banners flung across the sky. He seemed to smile.
“A miracle … Look! Did you see? Our saint! His eyes opened!”
The awed whispers swept like wind over the crowd, creating a ripple in the vast sea. The people turned wondering faces to the sunlight and watched with tears the lights of the Aurora dancing across the sky.
All the while, the Blood Mage stood in the background, his face impassive. He did not look at the sun, nor did he look at his brother. He tapped the blood-gummed fingers of his hand against his thigh in time to the beat of drumming that grew louder, replacing the thunder.
The two young women were pale, drained, exhausted. The blue glow and the green faded, diminishing. Lightning from another wizard storm flickered on the horizon. The magic was starting to fade.
Brother Barnaby gently closed Xavier’s eyes.
People in the crowd looked at each other uncertainly, wondering what would happen now.
The Blood Mage wiped the blood from his hand on his robes. “Give the signal to launch the fleet.”
His aide with the ram’s horn blew it again, three times. Green flares soared from the temple and burst in the clearing sky. But the captains of the ships had not waited for the signal; they already had taken advantage of the clear skies to order their ships into the air.
One by one, the ships of the invasion fleet released their mooring lines and rose into the sky. Sails billowed as they caught the wind. The sight was breathtaking and awful.
“Where are the dragons?” Cecile asked softly. “Where is Stephano? Do you think something has happened?”
“I hope not!” Miri said worriedly, anxiously scanning the skies. “Stephano should be here now!”
The Seventh Sigil Page 52