Hope Betrayed: The Silent Tempest, Book 2

by E. J. Godwin

  The outer door opened, and she squinted as a gust of wind swirled into the chamber. She stepped out. To her right, the lengthening snowdrifts had not quite overtaken the last signs of battle. To her left, past the bow, a crude pyre stood on a low rise, glowing a deep red-gold as if the evening sun was already honoring the fallen Raén with its own flames.

  Telai closed the hatch and trudged up the path, seeking shallows the wind hadn’t yet obliterated, her head bowed to protect her face. It will be like this for a long time, she thought. Always a reminder no matter which way I turn.

  She stood before the pyre. Soren lay tightly wrapped in funeral cloths, tattered strips she and Warren had cut from one of their blankets. The wind tore at them, fraying the edges. Snow drifted in and around the stacked wood as though nature was impatient to reclaim the soul it had once created. Her grief was like that—seeking out her weaknesses, determined to remind her how brief and fragile their lives were.

  She shivered. How cold it is out here! But I’ll endure it. It’s the least he would have done for me … except for …

  Fury overwhelmed her, and she fell to her knees. Yet still she fought it, unwilling to dishonor his sacrifice. “You ignorant girl,” she cried. “He saved your life!”

  “Telai—are you all right?”

  Startled, she turned to see Warren standing a few paces away. “What are you doing out here? You shouldn’t leave your father alone like that.”

  He shrugged. “He’s sleeping. He’ll be fine.”

  “What! Don’t you care?”

  Warren staggered back, then spun around and ran for the ship.

  She leaped after him and grabbed him by the arm. “I’m sorry, Warren. This is a bad time for all of us.” He stood tense, resisting her, and she relaxed her hold, smiling to reassure him. “In fact, I could use some company right now.”

  The boy turned a doubtful stare toward the pyre. Finally they turned back. “Stand close, it’s freezing out here,” Telai said, drawing Warren against her, and they paid their respects while the long drifts reddened in the evening sun.

  “Telai?”

  A tear glistened on his cheek—whether from sorrow or the cold she couldn’t fathom. “Yes?”

  “How long are you going to stay out here?”

  Her brief smile faded. “Why?”

  “I—um, want to be alone for a while. Do you mind?”

  The plea in his voice took some of the chill away, and she crouched down to hug him. “Don’t stay out here too long. I don’t think I can handle two sick men!”

  She headed for the ship, the fading sky casting a blanket of calm over her heart. Though it still ached, it harbored no bitterness now.

  Inside she returned to the sleeping chamber, shedding her coat as she walked. Caleb was not there. A brief misgiving unsettled her, but she suppressed it, knowing how vulnerable she was. She found him on the bridge, seated in one of those odd swiveling chairs with his back to the window, his face an expressionless mask.

  She tried to sound cheerful. “You look so much better after a shave!”

  A slight nod was his only reply.

  Telai knelt beside him, her fear for his sanity growing like a cold stone in her chest. His maimed arm lay across his lap, and she took a moment to inspect the bandages, giving herself time to iron the tremble from her voice.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Not too bad. I had a little more to eat while you were out.”

  Two days of sun had melted most of the snow from the window, and she glimpsed Warren standing near the pyre beneath the fading sky. She caressed his other hand, finding comfort in the warm flesh and strong fingers. “Everything’s ready, Caleb.”

  “I can’t bear the sight of it. If it wasn’t for me, Soren wouldn’t have … if I hadn’t charged toward the ship like an idiot … ” He bowed his head. “I’m so sorry, Telai,” he whispered.

  Telai rose to her knees and drew his head against her shoulder. The slow, silent minutes passed as she caressed his dark, tousled hair, sharing his pain.

  At last he straightened. “That’s one brave boy out there. Braver than his father, apparently.”

  “Caleb! Stop being so hard on yourself. He’s going to need your strength.”

  “I know. But I’ve got the Hodyn to worry about, too. It’s my own magic they’ve been after, not some ancient talisman.” He shook his head. “Why didn’t I see it?”

  She turned to the window again, but the winter night was falling fast, and Warren was already lost to sight. “I doubt anyone could have,” she said. “But if Orand is to be believed, Warren is the key, not your weapons. Our one advantage is the Hodyn don’t know that, at least not yet. But other than his healing at Graxmoar, I still don’t understand how he fits in.”

  He held her other hand in his lap, studying it absently. “Telai, I’m not comfortable with Warren keeping the Lor’yentré—not after the rather sneaky way he took it. I don’t want to set him off again, either, but this is too important. We can’t wait, not even for a day.”

  Telai understood what he was asking; she just hated the idea. “I’ll talk to him when he gets back. But we should head south to the nearest village as soon as you’re strong enough.”

  “South?”

  “Yes, to Gebi. A small fishing town on the north shore of Tnesen.”

  “I should be well enough to leave by morning, Telai. We’ll be on our way, and put this whole thing behind us.”

  She tried to smile, but failed. Soren was dead. There would be no forgetting.

  He shifted restlessly. “Afterward we’ll stick with our plan and head for Spierel—whatever the Raéni think of me.”

  “Tenlar’s a good man, Caleb. You can trust him.”

  His brows lifted at the name, but Telai was hurting too much to be flattered by any display of jealousy. Instead she brought his hand to her lips and kissed it.

  “I suppose I have to trust someone,” he said. “I can’t keep running for the rest of my life.” Anger grew like a dark storm in his eyes. “And I’m sick of blundering about, not knowing what to do because of this damned prophecy!”

  Telai held his face between her hands. The heat of his wrath cooled, and he leaned forward to embrace her; then he winced and fell back into his chair in frustration.

  She took his left hand and pressed it against her hip. Forgetfulness—to erase all the terrible things that had happened to them, to live beneath an unclouded sky as that prisoner in Léiff had written so long ago. Caleb needed to escape his own prison, and she knew her words were no longer enough.

  His hand touched the small of her back, drawing her close. Lips pressed against hers. His kisses drifted onto her cheek, down her neck. She breathed deep, lost in the sweet thrill of his warmth, his strength.

  “Charmer,” she whispered.

  Caleb laughed softly. They rose together. He led her to the sleeping chamber, where he locked the door and dimmed the lights.

  He fumbled at his buttons, his frustration building again, then blushed when Telai moved his hand aside to do it herself. Afterward she coaxed him over to the bed, but he turned aside as she undressed before him, his face a battle between guilt and desire.

  She sat next to him and drew his head against her breasts, hoping to break the barrier for him. For a while he lay there motionless, as if the mere touch of her flesh was enough. Then he lifted his head.

  Tears were rolling down his cheeks.

  She kissed him, a fierce meeting of lips to conquer all his doubts. She lay back, her arms wrapped tight around him, leaving no escape.

  His maimed arm rendered his efforts clumsy, and he gasped in pain. Telai pushed him away a little. “Caleb,” she whispered, “Don’t hurt yourself!”

  He shook his head, voiceless. His desperate need—for the ultimate of intimacies, where devotion and desire became one—was in every curve and line of his body, in the depth of his eyes, the way he parted his lips. It tore away the last barrier around her heart, leaving it
as naked and vulnerable as the flesh that so longed for his. She could not deny him now to save her life.

  Telai gently moved his arms aside and let him lie against her, accepting him completely. There was no holding him back now, a wild, primitive abandon that thrilled her as much as it frightened her. Hot skin slid across hers. His pulse hammered into her chest as if in rhythm with her own. Fire rushed through her body, faster and faster—until at last she stiffened, gripping the blanket in her fists, her breath locked in joyful agony.

  He groaned his final release and collapsed at her side, breathing heavily. She lay trembling for a while; finally she kissed him on the cheek and closed her eyes, drowning in contentment as a draft of cool air wafted over her wet skin. Caleb drifted into a light sleep, his bandaged arm laid across her chest.

  The sound of the hatch opening down the hall brought her back to alertness. Her joy clouded with sudden misgiving. Caleb slept on. Carefully she removed herself from his side and sat tense on the edge of the bed.

  The door to the bedroom slid open, and she jumped. Light streamed in. Warren stood dark against the opening, his hands clutched at his chest.

  “Caleb!” she whispered.

  He stirred, then noticed the presence at the door. “Warren?”

  “Yes,” was the boy’s flat response.

  “How in Hendra?” he breathed. “I don’t know how you unlocked that door, son, but this is private!”

  Warren stepped closer, his hands still clutched together. A faint, bluish-green glow seeped out through his fingers and across his shirt. Telai could not speak, nor even move to cover herself.

  Caleb sat up and draped the blanket around her shoulders. “Whatever this is, Warren, it had better be important.”

  The boy didn’t answer. Caleb’s arm twitched; Telai gasped and sprang away.

  “You won’t need that bandage anymore, Dad.”

  Caleb’s eyes slowly drifted to his arm. Telai retrieved the blanket, and after wrapping herself reached over to the wall and fumbled with the controls to turn up the lights.

  Even before she looked at the boy’s hands she knew what they held: the Lor’yentré. Yet it still rendered her breathless.

  For it was whole—a single cylinder without a single line or crack to indicate it had ever been broken.

  Its black, satin-like surface was flawless; the portals on each end had grown brighter, overflowing until they spread from end to end, iridescent tendrils of green and blue light. Warren’s face betrayed no emotion. But a strange, new awareness in his clear blue eyes robbed the breath from Telai’s lungs.

  Caleb shook his head in confusion. “How—?”

  “So simple!” Warren answered. “All I did was join the ends together.” He laughed, a high-pitched, bizarre sound. “No wonder it was so important to keep it hidden!”

  Telai lifted Caleb’s bandaged arm toward her. His hand was pink and healthy. Grimacing in anticipation, he curled his fingers into a fist, then released them.

  “You already knew you could do this,” Caleb said, and waited for an answer. “Didn’t you?”

  Warren swallowed, tears gathering. As they puzzled over this, a tumble and a thump sounded from outside, from the direction of the hatch. Telai froze for a moment, her stare locked with Caleb’s; then she walked to the door.

  She turned stiffly, brought a hand to her mouth, and screamed.

  Caleb leaped up and ran across the room, stumbling as the blanket fell away, and braced himself against the door jambs.

  A lone figure knelt cowering at the entrance of the ship. Cold wind whirled through the open hatch, and played at the tattered cloths wrapped loosely about its body.

  Suddenly it released a dreadful moan. Telai’s heart hammered so violently she felt sure it would fail her. The head lifted. The face was revealed. It was Soren.

  He stared unseeing, stricken by some unspeakable horror. “Why?” he bellowed harshly. “Young fool! What have you done?” He wrapped his arms tight around himself and bent to the floor.

  Telai and Caleb jumped. Warren had arrived at the door. Though his face was damp from crying, it was void of all expression as he walked down the hall, the Lor’yentré gripped in one hand.

  He crouched fearlessly before the hunched body and spoke one word: “Sleep.”

  The Master Raén slumped to the floor. Warren knelt by him for a moment, then lifted his face. “Help me get him to the bedroom,” he said softly. Telai stood rooted to the spot, shaking uncontrollably. “Please!” he begged.

  Caleb took the first step. Telai followed, gripping his hand as if she would never let it go, her steps forced and rigid. She helped Caleb carry the stricken man back to their bed, feeling strangely disconnected. Caleb began removing the funeral cloths, and after a moment’s hesitation, Telai joined him. Afterward they covered Soren with blankets.

  They quickly dressed, and for a long while remained by the bed, gathered like silent worshipers as the old man’s chest rose and fell in slow, easy breaths. Warren sat against the opposite wall with his head bowed and his arms clasped about his knees, gripping the Lor’yentré as if to squeeze its power into submission. No one dared speak to him.

  Her father was alive. Telai could not bring herself to accept it. It was too much for her heart and mind to take in. Nor could she bear to stay in that room any longer. She left, walking in a numb haze toward the bridge, and slumped down into the center chair.

  A myriad of controls glowed in her face. How she longed for the simple cobblestone streets and cheerful gardens of Ekendoré! Earth, she breathed silently, the word strange and unnatural to her lips. It was the loneliest word she had ever spoken.

  She heard footsteps behind her, a man’s footsteps, hesitant but strong. Telai rose, wrapped her arms around her only refuge, and laid her head on his shoulder.

  Then she clamped her eyes shut. Out beyond the window, a rising moon cast its faint light over an empty pyre.

  13

  Ancient Summons

  Age does not bequeath wisdom, nor does youth

  preclude it. Both come with a set of ears.

  - from Besir Orand’iteé

  GÉIHTSER WOKE with a shout.

  Dim light through the entrance curtain restored his wits, but the nightmare was slow to release its victim. Afterimages lurked in the shadows, shifting and wavering at the periphery of his vision. Yet as soon as he focused on them they were gone, taunting him as if in league with the shadows in that high mountain cave.

  The thin silhouette of a teenage boy darkened the curtain. “Sir—are you all right?”

  Géihtser wiped the sweat from his face. “You’re a night guard for the Prophets now, Udron. You’ll get used to this after a while.” The young man bowed his head and departed.

  The Prophet swung his feet to the floor and lit the small lamp near his cot. Twelve days had passed since he left the Falling Man and his companions to their fates. Each night between had grown longer, his sleep disturbed by relentless dreams—or perhaps visions. He could never tell which. Yet until now, they had never sat him straight up in bed.

  A series of soft tones down the corridor marked the sixth hour past midnight. Géihtser scratched his tousled scalp, stretched, then washed and dressed.

  The cooks were no less groggy, but he coaxed a few day-old rolls from their larder and headed for the Master Prophet’s study. No one was there. He lit a pair of oil lamps, one on each end of the old stone table, and sat in a chair to wait.

  He chewed slowly, careful to retrieve any spilled crumbs. An hour passed, then two. The old man was a late sleeper. Finally Géihtser heard the slow scrape of footsteps, and the intermittent clack of a wooden staff. The curtains parted.

  Géihtser stood. “Forgive the intrusion, Master Prophet. But I must speak—”

  “Peace,” the old man wheezed as he shuffled by. “I know why you’re here.”

  Géihtser helped him to his seat before resuming his own. “I don’t understand. Even we can’t see into someone els
e’s mind.”

  The old man draped a faded blanket across his lap. “You forget the more ordinary talents of observation and experience, my young friend. The dark circles under your eyes, the leftover rolls on the table—and you’ve never met with me so early in the morning. Besides, I’ve spoken with Udron. I’ve had the same dream.”

  “Every night?”

  “Yes.”

  “A host of tree-like spirits wavering and whispering?”

  “As of last night, more like shouting than whispering. Something has changed.”

  Géihtser waited, but the Master Prophet merely cast his bleary gaze upon him. “Sir, if I may suggest—it doesn’t feel like a vision of things to come, or of the past.”

  “Excellent. At the risk of bloating your ego, it’s a rare Prophet who can distinguish foresight from simple clairvoyance.”

  “Thank you, sir. But it’s my conscience that’s bothering me more than the dream. I can’t help feeling sorry for that man and his son.”

  “Regret is inherent in our profession, Géihtser.”

  “Of course. But why does this vision seem so urgent now? Do you understand what it means?”

  “Only the source, not the message. It’s happened only twice before, in all the time since Grondolos founded this place.”

  A chill ran down Géihtser’s back. “Tnestiri.”

  “Yes. They’ve summoned us the only way they know how, through our dreams. We’d be fools to ignore it.”

  “Does this mean I’ll be—”

  The Master Prophet raised a hand. “Don’t be so ready to volunteer. We’re as much a mystery to them as they are to us, and we must keep it that way. One word too many could bring a doom upon us far worse than even Orand foretold.”

  “Yrsten,” Géihtser muttered, shaking his head. “All these centuries, and we still don’t fully understand it.”

  “Remember your vision in the cave? Even the past is seen through a fog. Why should the future be any clearer?”

  “But it’s so frustrating to remain in ignorance. I can only imagine what that boy’s father is going through.”

  “Frustrating?”

  “Yes. Don’t you feel the same? I’d want to know the truth before I … well, before I completed my life’s work.”