by Simpson, Terry C. ; Wilson-Viola, D Kai; Ordonez Arias, Gonzalo
“You would do well to worry less,” Galiana said.
Stefan turned to regard her. The festive lights at the front of his home and the three pillars lining each side of the stairs enhanced his emerald eyes. His gaze reminded her of the breeze, biting and cold. “How can I? His power manifested yesterday.”
Stomach churning, Galiana kept her face a blank mask. “And what happened?”
“Thania suppressed it. Then I stressed to him to remember his training and to control his emotions.”
“Good.”
“Good?” Stefan’s face darkened with anger. “How so? He needs supervision. You said yourself he’s lost his focus. Yet you asked to allow him to go to Randane. To be away from those who can train him. To be away from those who can show him the path he needs to take. Away from those who can protect him.” The tight lines about Stefan’s jaw eased, and his eyes shone wetly. “I’ll not lose a second family, Galiana.”
“Sometimes, the best course of action is inaction. Sometimes, the best way to guide is not to guide.”
Somewhere in Eldanhill, a smith’s hammer clanged. Someone had stayed up late to finish their work.
“Quotes from the Disciplines?” Stefan snorted. “I’m no longer your student.”
Galiana smiled. Stefan had always been stubborn. “You will always be my student.”
“I doubt you understand.”
“Oh?”
The cold breeze picked up, rattling a wind vane. Galiana pulled her cloak tighter, huddling into its comforting folds.
“I watch my son every day.” Stefan stared off at nothing. “The way he mopes around. His apparent disinterest when I teach him the sword. His mood swings that are sometimes worse than Charra’s. I see it all. He’s not been the same since Irmina left. Or should I say since you and Jerem sent Irmina away. You need to bring her back. She gave my boy a stability he now lacks.”
“Some would say the same about me with this.” Galiana straightened with ease and raised her staff. “He will manage without her. Besides, her current mission is unavoidable and too important.”
Stefan shook his head. “You’ve always been one to deceive with appearances, but I know what I see in him. He needs her.”
“He does, I admit. But not in the way you think. If she fails her task, Ancel’s stability will no longer be in question. His life will be forfeit.”
“And if she succeeds?”
“Then he stands a chance when the time comes.”
“And if harm should befall him on this trip, none of these plans will be of consequence.” Stefan paced to the other side of the landing, his broad back to her. “You should’ve let me accompany him.”
“No,” Galiana said firmly, “Another has been tasked to protect him. Besides, do you really want Valdeen to be the one the Dosteri meet?”
“You don’t trust him with the meeting, but you trust him with my son?” Jaw clenching, Stefan graced her with an incredulous stare.
“The negotiations with the Dosteri are a delicate matter.”
“And my son isn’t?” Stefan’s voice had become soft, almost inaudible, a dangerous undertone lurking beneath his words.
Galiana bit back the scathing words on her tongue. “You know better. The meeting is not suited for the Headspeaker.” After a moment’s contemplation, she added, “Unless you are willing to risk his recent attitude and his lack of foresight during the proceedings. Not to mention the risk that the High Ashishin the Tribunal dispatches may sense Ancel’s growing power. Would you rather he was here if they decided to send a Pathfinder?”
Stefan hesitated. “No, but still—”
“He may have acted irresponsibly the last few months, but give your son some credit,” Galiana said. “He can take care of himself. Not that we would leave his safety only to himself or Valdeen, mind you. We have commissioned someone who is more than capable.”
Stefan’s sudden whirl to face her almost forced Galiana back a step. Hand clenching on her cane, she held herself steady. He took two purposeful strides toward her until he stood so close she could smell the soap he bathed with and see the mist rising from his mouth and nose. His towering frame blotted out the sight of Eldanhill.
“Who?” The corner of Stefan’s mouth edged up as he spoke softly, a little louder than a whisper, but with a blade sharp edge. “Who did you entrust with my son’s life?”
She raised an eyebrow. Stefan’s shoulders slumped as he turned away and let out a deep breath.
“I can assure you between his guard and Charra, Ancel will be fine,” Galiana said. “You have been particularly testy since he and Mirza returned from the Greenleaf. What did you find?”
“Nothing.”
Galiana frowned.
“There were plenty signs kinai once grew in their glen, but there were no trees covered in rot as they claimed.” Stefan paced across the landing. “The crop appeared to have been thoroughly cultivated. The trees stood bare as if it were the dead of winter. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“The tracks and the droppings, were they—”
“They were the same as made by wild mountain wolves or daggerpaws, nothing more. The other tracks were human. Markings on the trees identified them as the Seifer clan.”
“And the shade within the area?”
Stefan stopped pacing. He looked out toward the Greenleaf Forest. “No more than usual.” His brows drew together. “In some ways, the essences seemed too perfect.”
“Do you think the boys could have imagined what they saw?” Galiana asked.
Stefan stroked his beard. “Stranger things have happened, but no. Not both of them. When they came home that night, Charra’s paws and their boots left enough stains to support their claim. Not to mention the stench they brought with them.”
“Wraithwolf?”
“Similar in many ways, but as I said, the tracks sang a different song.”
Galiana nodded. The thought Stefan couldn’t tell what type of creatures followed the boys chilled her. Sending Ancel away became a better idea by the moment. “Well, we must be careful, nonetheless. Post extra guards. I will instruct a few Dagodin to keep an eye on the Greenleaf.”
“Risky if you don’t wish for the Tribunal to begin an inquiry,” Stefan said.
“I have not lost my wisdom with my youth, Stefan. These men will all be loyal to our cause. And even if they should send a Pathfinder, Ancel will be safe in Randane.”
Stefan grunted, and he gave a quick nod. “What of your wards?”
Galiana couldn’t help pursing her lips. “None have been disturbed.” That fact had been her only reassurance Ancel hadn’t encountered wraithwolves since she received Stefan’s report about the glen.
Stefan stroked his beard once more. “What do you suggest we tell the Clan Council?”
She gazed out to the Kelvore Mountains and the twin moons shining high above. “We tell them nothing for now. At least not until we can be certain of what the boys saw. If Amuni’s Children have somehow crossed the Vallum of Light, there must be no doubt.”
“Not that I would doubt you, but—” Stefan began.
“No you would not, would you?” This time Galiana didn’t hide her smile.
Stefan looked at her from the corner of his eyes. “Not even the Shadowbearer could cross the Vallum. Why do you believe that which hasn’t been breached in a thousand years could be breached now?”
“The Chronicles have never been wrong, Stefan,” she said simply.
Stefan smirked. “The same Chronicles you followed back then? That cost so many lives? Lest you forget, Galiana, the last hundred years have not been kind to our clan. And—”
“Yes, I know,” Galiana huffed, not attempting to hide her annoyance, “You lay the blame for their misfortune at my feet.”
“Am I wrong in doing so?”
Galiana took in Eldanhill’s blue-lit streets once more. So tranquil. There’s a peace here I refuse to lose. “No. You are not wrong. It was my fault for trusting N
erian, yes.” She let out a deep breath, her back bowed, and she leaned on her staff once more. “But our people live.”
“If languishing at the Tribunal’s hands can be said to be living. If spread across the corners of Denestia, families shattered, can be said to be living. If suffering without knowing their homes or the truth of their heritage can be said to be living, then yes you’re right.” Stefan’s words cut deep.
Galiana fought against the hollow that grew in her chest with each sentence. “We live and breathe. As long as we have that, we shall prevail.” Her sigh matched the cold breeze. “After all these years, you still dredge this up.”
“How can I not?” Stefan said, the bitterness in his tone unmistakable. “We’re not only the last of our clan, but maybe the last of the Setian.”
“And I have apologized and repented time and again.” Galiana fought not to raise her voice. “No, it will not bring back the dead, but it is a burden I bear. Believe me, it weighs on my shoulder more than you can imagine.” Her head throbbed, and her back ached. “If time were mine to command I would change what happened.”
“But it isn’t, and you cannot,” Stefan whispered, that lost expression in his eyes again.
“We can do this for the hundredth time. Or you can trust me as you once have. The time draws near. Ancel must complete his training.”
“And yet you send him away.”
“Your stubbornness borders on being idiotic,” she snapped, her temper past boiling. “Your lapse in respect has become more than bothersome. Demand respect, but first show respect. Demand discipline by showing mastery of self. The first and the last Disciplines that you seem to have forgotten. I am beginning to wonder if I should not have Valdeen represent us instead of you after all.”
Either her tone or her words struck a chord. The lines creasing Stefan’s forehead grew until his eyebrows almost touched. He bowed to her. “I, I’m sorry, Shin Galiana. I forgot myself. You’re right. I should carry myself better. Lead by example as the Disciplines say. I’m glad you quoted them. I’ve been so worried by the boy’s erratic behavior. Then with everything else happening, I’ve been of two minds where my duty lies. I know it’s here. Ancel is well past the age where he should need to rely on my guidance.”
Galiana smiled and stared out to the south. Stefan would never admit it, but he was forever her student, and she knew how to manipulate him when he needed it most.
Chilly gusts buffeted them, flinging strands of Galiana’s silver hair about her face. She drew her cloak tighter. “The Dosteri are moving. Ostania stirs. There have been reports the Svenzar have appeared in the Red Ridge Mountains. Old feuds rise anew. Threats of war sweep the land. The elements have become unstable. It is as the Chronicles say. The shade is rising.”
CHAPTER 15
Two weeks into the journey, Ryne still fought his urges to harm the woman. His bloodlust continued to hover below the surface—a caged animal mewling for release.
Mariel now trailed them along a sun-blasted ridge deep into Ostania’s Nevermore Heights where mist-shrouded peaks poked into the clouds as if the heavens stood upon their rocky shoulders. Had the killings stopped since she left Carnas? What does she want? Better yet, why should I care what she wants? She followed me from home to here; I should just let my sword ask the questions. Teeth clenched till his jaw ached, and knowing his feelings were a mix of his unstable control of late and his frustration at her ability to elude him, he kept his breathing as even as possible.
For all her tracking, Mariel still hadn’t made a threatening move. Even with this landscape, where if he looked back, he could see behind and below him for miles, she remained careful. The one time she almost wandered within range, he recognized her dark hair and the yellow shirt and trousers she often wore. A dark-colored veil or scarf covered her face. He assumed it served two purposes—hiding her and protection against the blustery wind.
The day was another muggy one, thick and heavy, the air itself pushing down upon them. Despite the mountainous altitude and the wind, there was little solace from the heat. Glancing down the long trail behind him at his mysterious follower’s tiny figure, Ryne wondered how she was handling the sun. Even his sandalwood skin color had tanned a bit. As if on cue, thunder rumbled, and a shadow crept across the land.
Ryne studied the skies, stroking a hand down the thin lines of scar tissue striping the left side of his face. They ran diagonally from forehead to chin and felt as if some beast had clawed his face several times. Maybe something did. He frowned, sifting and straining to find a fragment, anything, of memory. As always, none came.
Thunderheads boiled above them and blotted out the noonday sun. The air was laden with the scent of rain yet to fall. Ryne would welcome the storms if they arrived today. Two weeks had passed since the last one, much longer, and the next could be dangerous, bringing lightning in sheets, several feet of pelting rain, and winds that would snap trees like twigs.
Up ahead, a Harnan herder watched a flock of yellow, long-necked slainen. The six-legged creatures nipped at kinai trees along slopes dotted by medium-sized evergreen saplings. Fluff from the kinai littered the slopes in bunches. A few slainen uncoiled their snouts, reached up among the lowest branches, and picked pink fleshberries from entwining vines.
Ryne bit into the kinai fruit in his hand before he offered it to Sakari, knowing his friend would refuse. He smiled when Sakari did as expected. One day, I will see you eat, my friend. He still remembered the shock he felt when he’d asked Sakari why he never ate. The man’s response had been as cryptic as his persona.
“Because you do not see a thing does not mean it does not happen,” Sakari had said. “Do you see when the plants feed? No? Consider me as one of them. My sustenance comes from Mater itself.”
Ryne had found the statement hard to fathom until Sakari had him open his Matersense at dusk to watch the kinai trees. The leaves and bark spouted tiny feelers. They waved in the air and along the ground, drawing multiple essences as they did so. With the feeding, the fruit themselves blossomed a brighter, riper red.
Ryne popped the kinai into his mouth once more and savored the sweet taste and the brief euphoric feeling. Consuming enough kinai made him feel as if he could accomplish anything. He wondered if the trees felt the same.
“You wish for me to speak with him?” Sakari nodded toward the herder.
“By all means,” Ryne answered.
They climbed off the dirt trail and worked their way among grasses and small shrubs. Birds glided among the flora, twittering as they flew. Insects buzzed between triangular shaped abida flowers and white and purple mixta blossoms, the perfumes from the blooms lighting up the air.
Farther down the mountain, past gentle inclines, trees spanned into rainforests. From the mountain’s base, it would look like clouds topped those forests instead of mists. Harnans named them the Cloud Forests. Miles below and beyond the Clouds sprouted the Mondros with its multiple shades of green canopy. Wide meandering rivers, sparkling lakes, and the mirror-like glint from towns and cities dotted Ostania’s vast landscape.
Somewhere to the far east, close to the Rotted Forest, rose a pillar of black smoke. Ryne’s forehead wrinkled and for a moment, he wondered what could be the cause of the billowing mass before he returned his attention to his immediate surroundings.
The pale-haired Harnan man made a hooting noise, placing a hand on his sword hilt when Sakari came within thirty paces. Sakari’s strides did not falter or change once, continuing to convey a sense that not a muscle was wasted.
A rockhound, distant cousin to the lapra, trotted from behind a lone mahogany tree. The earthen beast appeared a mottled green rather than its natural grayish color due to growths of moss upon its body. Measuring six feet in length and sporting massive square shoulders, the hound grumbled at Ryne, its thick tail whipping back and forth. Stone chips rained against the tree trunk as the beast shook like a large dog waking from a doze. Golden-eyed gaze still fixed on Ryne, it lowered onto its
stomach.
Inclining his head to the hound, Ryne slowed his approach in an attempt to appear as non-threatening as possible. The herder’s gaze locked on him. With each step Ryne took, the herder’s eyes tightened.
Ryne blew out a breath and gave a slow, resigned headshake. The herder’s wariness toward him alone was not surprising. Sakari always appeared as a native wherever they traveled, even down to his clothes. Sakari now stood a few inches shorter than the Harnan herder with a similar slight build, identical tanned skin, and pale, almost white hair. From a distance, Sakari could easily be mistaken for the herder’s relative.
On the other hand, I’m an eight-foot sculpture with tapestries painted upon it. Ryne’s greatsword, added to his size, ruined any chance of a casual appearance.
The rockhound’s rumble increased to a cracked howl at Ryne’s continued approach, so he stopped long before he reached within fifty feet of the Harnan. Sakari sauntered toward the herder with no such reaction from the beast.
As was customary of late, a familiar itch between Ryne’s shoulders made him look for Mariel. The woman crouched on the trail above with her veil no longer covering her face.
“How are you, herder?” Sakari asked in Ostanian with a Harnan accent.
“Warm day, traveler,” the herder replied.
Frowning at another uncalled link to Sakari, Ryne turned his attention to the two men. The unbidden link was not the only strange occurrence that concerned Ryne. He repeated the herder’s tone in his head. Harnan accents bore a slight difference from typical Ostanian lilt. They stressed the end of their words and dragged them out. This Harnan herder did not; his accent was smoother, more musical.
“The Clouds grow well.” Sakari gestured beyond the slopes.
“Does that one follow you?” The herder nodded toward Ryne.
“Yes. He is the reason I am here.”
The man squinted at Ryne. “Strange tattoos he has. They live on him. It’s rumored Amuni himself sent his children to seek such as he some thirty years or more ago.”