Fate of the Drowned (The Broken Lands Book 3)

by Carrie Summers

  “What’s this about?” I asked.

  Beashi tutted. “Poor girl. You don’t even have control of your own thoughts, do you? Well, not to worry.”

  She nodded at the man with the black-iron object, and he crossed the distance between the door and me with a single stride. Before I could blink, he was pressing the object against my shoulder.

  I tried to shake him off, but he grabbed my other arm in a hand as large as a skillet. He outweighed me by at least three times. It was hopeless.

  I craned my neck to look at the object. Yes, definitely black iron. It had been sculpted in the shape of a fish. A single polished ruby had been added for its eye.

  Slowly, Beashi counted to five then nodded at the man who stepped away. “There,” she said. “Better?”

  I shook my head in bewilderment. The villagers must have heard that black iron could protect against magic. Did they think that by touching me with their fish they could undo the enchantment they imagined Azar had worked on me?

  I glanced at the statuette. If I continued to argue with the woman, would they try something more drastic than simply pressing the black iron against my flesh? Earlier, she’d said that they couldn’t deal with Azar until they were sure we were clear of her influence. I didn’t dare pretend there had been a spell upon me. Better to just keep trying to work some sense into the woman.

  “Beashi,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “Things have changed in the Empire. Those nightmares that attacked you… they’re the true enemy.”

  The man with the fish statuette leaned over my sister’s bed and rested the black-iron charm against her cheek. I fought back the urge to knock his hand away from her. But black iron wouldn’t harm her. No use making more trouble.

  Beashi’s sigh was loud and long. “It seems the spell has sunk too deep. It will take a few more treatments.” She drew herself up as if to project her expertise with these sorts of situations. With a jab of her chin, she directed the men back out the door.

  I gritted my teeth. She’d probably pulled the statuette from the ashes of the mansion. With some creative manipulation of the villagers’ spotty knowledge of magic combined with their hatred of the Empire, she’d made herself into an informal judge and enforcer when it came to our fate. I fought back the impulse to put her in her place by explaining that, if anything, black iron would increase Azar’s power. That would only make things worse for the ferro mage. Right now, Beashi thought she had the means to control a mage with ease. If I destroyed her delusion, she might decide to eliminate Azar before she could harm the village.

  “I’ll send a girl with more food later,” Beashi said, casting another glance at Avill. A strange touch of sorrow landed on her face and flitted away just as quickly. She cleared her throat. “Before full dark, we’ll try again to free you. In the meantime…” She apologized with her eyes. “I’m afraid I’ll need to post a guard on your door. Just until we can scrub the Atal magic out of you.”

  ***

  Back on the little stool, I sighed and looked around the small cottage. A heavy canvas jacket hung from a peg on the wall. In the corner opposite the bed, beside a hearth that had been swept clean of ashes, a man’s tunic was folded over a leather-bound trunk. Aside from a soup pot and hook to swing it into the fire, there was nothing else inside the room. I wondered where the usual inhabitant was before realizing he’d probably been killed in the fight against the Spawn.

  I shook my head. We knew so little about how the wider Empire had fared. People here had fended off a Spawn attack. The survivors had fortified afterward. Did other towns share a similar story, or had this village been lucky?

  Avill moaned gently, her eyelids fluttering. The stool toppled when I sprang to my feet.

  “Savra?” she asked when she opened her eyes.

  “Yes. I’m here.”

  “Water… Please.”

  I filled a tin cup from the pitcher beside the head of the bed and handed it over. She sat up shakily and blinked away grogginess. After a wide yawn, she looked around the room.

  “The town? They took us in?”

  I sat beside her. “There’s a problem. They locked Azar in a cellar. They plan to kill her.”

  “What? Why?”

  “For the crime of being Atal. We need to free her before we start back for the mountains. Do you think you can… I know it was difficult for you to carry us. Can you manage it again?”

  Avill’s brow furrowed as she drained the cup. She blinked a few times while ordering her thoughts. “Savra… We can’t go back to the mountains.”

  “But we have to. Kostan needs me to stand with him.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t you see? Kostan’s fight means nothing if no one confronts the rift at its source. We’re the only ones who have a chance.”

  Her words from before the rock slide returned to me. Something in her memories had made her feel the journey into the Maelstrom was our task. There’d been so much going on that I hadn’t paid much attention.

  I tugged on my braid, not sure what to say. “I don’t have any idea how to seal the breach between worlds. Or how to safely travel into the Maelstrom, for that matter.”

  Avill turned her face to mine, the collected memories of a civilization swimming in her eyes. “If not us, who? The Free Tribes gave me their stories in more than words. I’ve seen how terrible it gets as the flood rises higher. I’ve lived through those last moments before the void opens to swallow the world. If we don’t try, everything is lost.”

  I planted my elbows on my knees and leaned forward. The cot’s rickety frame creaked. “How do we even begin?”

  “We should set off from Numintown,” Avill said with conviction. “That’s best. We’re familiar with the town and the sea.” She set the cup on the floor, fell back on the bed and flopped her arm over her forehead. “If we have to rely on the pendant, it’s going to be a really long trip. If only you weren’t so storm-cursed heavy.”

  The corner of my mouth pulled back. “I might have a fondness for cream-soaked tarts, but I hardly consider myself a large woman.”

  Avill rolled her eyes. “Keep telling yourself that.”

  I sighed, the moment fleeing as I considered the implications of Avill’s assertion. Kostan had to have seen the mountainside come down on the garrison. He probably thought I was dead. Well, he didn’t know Azar had returned me to my body, so technically he probably thought Lilik was dead. Either way, he had to assume we’d never be together again. Journeying south meant I’d lose the chance to tell him the truth.

  I rejected the idea of sending a messenger as soon as it came to me. The Spawn army that had attacked the garrison had been horrifying, but it was only a small fraction of the horde I’d seen on the day we lost the Jaliss Heartstone. I couldn’t send an innocent courier into the mountains knowing they might run afoul of another band of monsters.

  “You really think it has to be us?” I asked.

  “Seriously, Savra, who else is going to do it?”

  I sighed. She was right. I just hated to admit it.

  “I’ve tried to convince the townspeople to let Azar go,” I said. “But they aren’t listening.”

  “Did you say please?”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “I was only half-kidding,” she said. “Sometimes you get lost in thought and forget your manners.”

  “I’ve been perfectly polite. But I might have to forget courtesy. Remember my aura-sight?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Well, it turns out it’s more than the ability to accidentally perceive what others are feeling. I have a particular knack for forcing people to do what I want.”

  Avill grabbed a pillow and stuffed it under her head before stretching her legs across my thighs. “You mean you’ve become a bully?”

  I smirked. “Not exactly. Much to my surprise, I’m something called a spiritist. The talent is similar to what the Empire’s mages have, but I don’t n
eed Maelstrom-metals for my power.”

  “Wait, Maelstrom-metals give the mages their abilities? All these years we’ve been mining the sluices to make the Empire stronger?”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. There was so much to tell her. I’d forgotten how little I’d known when Havialo stole me away. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Well, then I’m proud to say I didn’t contribute much. I’m glad it was you that had the knack for finding nuggets.”

  I squeezed her leg just above the kneecap, causing her to snort and kick. “Anyway, if I have to, I can force my will on someone. Aura to aura. They have no choice but to do as I say. If I choose my targets carefully, I should be able to take control of enough townspeople to free Azar.”

  Avill’s face grew solemn, and once again I saw the shadows of an ancient people beneath her childlike features. “You can’t.”

  “I know it’s an unpleasant thing to do to someone. Maybe even detestable. But don’t you think—”

  “You must help them give up their hatred for the Atal.”

  “That’s a noble goal. But they lived for years under the Atal oppression. You know how bad it was.”

  “We changed, didn’t we?”

  “Avill, they killed the Atal lord that lived in this village. They aren’t going to abandon their hatreds because I ask them to.”

  She sighed. “Well, you have to figure it out anyway. If we escape with Azar, they’ll just blame her and say she forced you into it. And we simply can’t leave the situation worse than we found it.”

  “Does it really matter, considering the stakes?

  Avill swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. She’d grown, and her eyes were level with mine as she fixed me with an intense, wide-eyed stare. “It’s critical, Savra. I spoke with the Emperor. He has a special talisman.”

  “The Heartshard. I heard your conversation.”

  “Then you know that to defend the ancient seal components long enough for us to close the rift, he needs the loyalty and love of his subjects. Right now, he might pull the support he needs from the refugees who are traveling with him. But hatred—from anywhere—will weaken the bonds. You can’t leave these people with greater loathing for the Atal and their Emperor. If you do, you change his task from difficult to impossible.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Kostan

  An alpine valley

  FOR THE NEXT day, I ate every meal, noting only the sensation of fullness in my belly and the energy it gave me to attend to my duties. I met with the soldiers who hurried back and forth along the road, carrying updates on the fortifications and the search for the Heartstone. I slept, arms straight at my side, face turned to the canvas roof of my shelter. I walked at an even pace that assured I could march through the day without tiring.

  When I passed the fresh graves of those who’d died along the way, I stopped to pay respects. The knowledge of their deaths didn’t touch my heart. I was too strong for that.

  It was evening when I reached the high alpine vale where we—for better or for worse—would make our stand against the Riftspawn. The encampment cluttered the upper end of the valley where treeless slopes rose to meet stony ramparts cleaved by shadowed snowfields. Canvas tents stood amongst tundra hummocks and low-growing shrubs. A few central fires burned. Wretched refugees clustered around them two and three bodies deep, pressing shoulder to shoulder to share the warmth.

  Between the flock of tents and the valley entrance, a complex of tumbledown ruins broke from the tundra. Gray granite blocks strewed the spongy ground, many half-submerged in the soil. In a few places, broken columns speared the air. Scattered low walls still stood, marking the outlines of larger buildings long since fallen inward.

  At the entrance to the valley, the Prime’s soldiers had begun work on a set of defensive walls. Men and women trudged back and forth between the narrow entrance cleft and the tumbled ruins. A few pulled sturdy carts, but most carried stone blocks on their backs, the heavy burdens tied on with makeshift slings. When the wagons arrived—if the wagons arrived—they could be broken into pieces, their wooden planks used to build the walls higher and with less back-breaking work. But for now, the builders worked with the only material on hand.

  I dropped my backpack on a flat stone. After wandering through the rubble of the ancient citadel for a few minutes, I finally located Vaness.

  “Form a crew to cut timber from downhill,” I said when she turned upon hearing her name. “We need to keep these people warm.”

  “Already seen to, your eminence.”

  “What’s the status of the incoming food supply? Anything from the surrounding villages?”

  “Nothing yet. Sirez sent a woman over the high pass to the next valley. If we’re fortunate, they’ll have mutton to spare.”

  “How and when would it arrive?”

  She shook her head. “They’ll have to drive the sheep down to the spot our valleys join. Two days or more. The same to drive them back uphill.”

  Four days for a chance of more food. Last I’d heard from Fishel, we had just ten days of supply remaining.

  “The black-iron weapons? Any news from the forge in the village?”

  Vaness pressed her lips together.

  “This isn’t the first time I’ve asked you to speak plainly. I do not appreciate repeating myself.”

  She straightened and met my eyes. “The villagers attacked the Sharders once they heard Stormshard had allied with the Empire. You asked that we take prisoners if necessary but insisted that we avoid harming the citizens. The Sharders had to retreat to uphold your second requirement.”

  I hardened my jaw and looked over the valley. I shouldn’t have demanded the representatives treat the villagers gently if I really wished to win this.

  “I’ll consider the punishment for the villagers’ actions tomorrow,” I said. “Perhaps sleep will convince me to spare their lives.”

  Vaness’s face gentled. “Kostan,” she said. It was the first time she’d used my name since I’d Ascended the throne. I winced almost as if slapped. How dare she remind me of the Scion I needed to be, then try to take away that armor?

  She swallowed, jaw hardening when she noted my reaction. “Sirez and Fishel are marching a day behind you, but we will have the full council in place around midday tomorrow. Shall we convene to go over our plans and—if you still believe them necessary—punishments, then?”

  “See to it that they’re notified as soon as they arrive.”

  Vaness nodded. “In the meantime, you should rest.”

  I clenched my fists. The thin leather gloves I’d donned as the air grew chill creaked under the pressure. “I’ll decide when to laze about. I need no advice in this regard.”

  Her gaze dropped. “As you desire, your eminence.”

  I could tell she wanted to say more, but she wisely held her tongue. With a nod, I strode off. The scouts hadn’t found any sign of a Heartstone amongst the rubble, but I would not take their word on faith. At least another hour remained before dark. I chose a destination, a likely hill of rubble, and marched for it.

  Stone grated as I shifted blocks aside. Distantly, I knew the task was futile. Working alone, I would never clear a mound of jumbled stone twice my height. But it was my duty to try. By the time the sun dipped beneath the high ridge, I’d moved a few dozen blocks. I’d found nothing, but sweat pasted my shirt to my back. I avoided looking to either side as I returned to my backpack. I didn’t want to consider the immense scale of the ruins, the sprawl of tumbled stone that could—but probably didn’t—hide a Heartstone beneath its jagged body. Better to think of the effort and the stones I’d moved. They were proof that I’d worked for my Empire. I’d sweated for it. I’d bleed for it if necessary.

  As the light left the valley, deep cold sank into the bottom. After I grabbed my backpack, I stalked for the nearest heap of supplies and sorted through until I’d selected a sufficient meal. I marched across the
uneven ground to a hump of weather-smoothed stone and bare earth that overlooked the wall that was being built. After kicking aside a few stones, I pitched my canvas shelter. I half-expected the Prime Protector to attempt to lecture me about camping so far from the designated area of greatest safety.

  Fortunately, no one bothered me.

  ***

  Cold seeped into my body from the ground beneath my thin wool pad. No matter how many times I rolled over, readjusting my blanket and the cloak I’d piled atop it, I couldn’t get warm. Rocks, though rounded with age, jabbed my ribs and shoulder blades. Every time I moved, crystals of frost rained down, shaken free from the tent above. I couldn’t help thinking of the refugee families, how they had each other’s warmth. Even in Jaliss, I’d seen the homeless families piled together.

  And despite the hardness Vaness had reminded me I possessed, I couldn’t help remembering the warmth of a narrow double bed in the Graybranch Inn. Savra sleeping, her arm flung carelessly over my chest.

  I rolled again, bunching my rucksack in hopes it would provide a better pillow. It was no use. Most of the night had passed already, and through the open end of my tent, I spied the barest hints of light now paling the eastern horizon.

  The longer I went without sleep, the harder it was to keep my emotions shielded. My control was slipping. Why couldn’t I hold tighter to the shell? I needed my Scion training more than ever. Ruthlessness was easy. Caring was agony.

  Abruptly, my walls crumbled, struck down by exhaustion. It was just too hard to pretend.

  I didn’t know how I’d go on. And even if I managed it, I wasn’t the leader these people deserved. How could I inspire hope when my chest was a cavern of grief and uncertainty?

  No, not uncertainty. Fear. The Riftspawn were coming and no matter our delusions, we could not stop them.