She felt powerless.
Ice spread over the walls and half an hour later the first person succumbed to the cold. An hour after that, almost all the people had frozen to death, except a man and a woman who convulsed on the ground. It would not be long before they were gone too.
Kara looked up at the ceiling. “Why am I being forced to watch this? Who are these people and why is this happening to them?”
Silence was her only answer.
Eyes filled with tears, Kara looked down. Her chest tightened. The room was dark and cold and all that remained of the people were frozen bones, as if many years had passed in moments. Two yellow eyes lit the darkness as the metal man watched over them.
His head swiveled slightly and he seemed to stare right at her. An icy spike of fear shot into Kara’s heart. “Can you see me?”
As if in answer to her question, he reached out to grab her arm. Kara reeled backwards until she stumbled over a ribcage and fell and hit her head on the frozen floor.
The last thing she saw before darkness took her was the metal man reaching for her throat.
Chapter 12
AEMON
Sweat poured down Aemon’s face as he stared out the window at the lava below him, his fingers absently playing with a loose thread on the bandage around his arm. His whole life had become sitting at the window, wiping sweat from his face and jolting in fright every time the infirmary door opened. Any interruption could be that annoying monk, Minard, or a bank asset gathering intelligence for Rubin. But worse than the senior banker finding out he was alive and sending assassins after him was the thought of the door opening and a clutch of Inquisitors rushing in to take Kara away. The thought of that had kept him awake into the long hours of the night.
When Aemon was not at the window, he sat beside the stone slab where Kara slept, praying to the Shield of Heaven she would wake.
How many days had she been unconscious and barely clinging to life? Five? Six? Seven? Who knew anymore?
The thread snapped and Aemon dropped it out the window. At least that wretched swine Minard, who stood guarding the door to the infirmary, had left him alone this last half-day. The agony of waiting—hoping—Kara would wake was more torment than Aemon could endure already, without having the monk add to it.
By the divines, he had never met a more detestable man than Minard in his life!
Aemon ground what little was left of his fingernails into the stone windowsill. He was over the monk. He was over the heat. He was sick of worrying about Rubin finding out he was alive and fearing that the Inquisitors would seize Kara and take her away. But most of all, he was sick of all the waiting and hoping.
He glanced at Kara’s sleeping form. Every time he saw her like that, it sent a stabbing pain into his heart. I am sorry I failed to protect you. Please, Kara, wake up. You need to live and rid yourself of the artifact. I’ll do everything I can to let you get back to living a normal life.
The poison had burned through Kara, reducing her to... He turned away from her before the sight of it made him start crying again.
If she ever woke, she would find all color bleached from her hair, her strength withered, face gaunt, eyes... He had only seen them for several haunting moments. White and sightless.
Aemon chuckled bitterly. The great threat of the Prophecy of Ibilirith, nothing more than a poor, sick young woman clinging onto the last vestiges of her life.
I should never have brought you here, Aemon lamented for the hundredth time. I should have taken you to the seers at Echo Hollow instead. I always thought their fortunes as useful as a banker who could not count, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe one of the seers could have helped you.
He rested his chin on the windowsill, the stifling air wafting from below drying the sweat from his face. No. There would be no help for her from the seers. Aemon had read plenty about them, and their predictions were so unreliable, only a fool would trust them.
Who else could have helped her? Where else could he have brought her?
The Covenant of the Shield, the Covetous Sisterhood, the healers at Celestial Rest? None of them would likely have been able to help her either.
He had to face it. There was no other choice but to bring her here. The Order knew much about the technologies of the old world, and remembered things about the past the other orders had forgotten.
Yet, look how it ended. Kara is dying and I am stuck here sweating like a swine broiling in soup, my guilt and fear of losing her tearing me apart.
Suddenly, the metal door to the room flew open and Minard strode in. “What are you up to?” the monk said with an accusatory sharpness to his deep, gravelly voice.
“Nothing,” Aemon snapped. “Go away.”
After his eyes scanned the room, Minard gave Aemon a knowing grin. “I hope me-lord isn’t doing anything he shouldn’t.”
Aemon flew to his feet. “Like what? Sitting at this stupid window?”
The monk leered at him as he approached Kara’s bed. “You have to admit, she’s quite a stunner. Even with the bandages, sunken cheeks and colorless eyes, she’s still girly enough to tickle me.”
“Get away from her.” Aemon rushed over. “Leave her alone.”
Minard did not back away, nor did he blink at Aemon’s vehemence. “Uh uh. It’s time for you to get out of this room, little lord.”
“What?”
“You need to leave.”
Aemon put his hands on his hips. “Is this another one of your ridiculous japes at my expense?”
“Japes?” Minard rolled his eyes. “You nobles. Now listen: I was ordered to remove you from this room, posthaste.”
“Why?”
Grinning, the monk said, “It’s not my place to ask questions of those Ibilirith deems fit to give me orders.”
Aemon’s heart sank. “But I have been here since she was brought to this room.”
“I know. I’ve been the one bringing you food and water and making sure you bathe.” He ran his eyes over the dirty dishes and clothes, then smirked. “Indeed, you’ve made yourself at home here. I give better room service than any inn you’re like to find, don’t I?”
“To the dark with you and your order.” Aemon dug his nails into the side of Kara’s bed. “You have kept me a prisoner in here. I was too afraid to leave because I was not sure I would be allowed back.”
Eyes on Aemon, Minard bent down to whisper something into Kara’s ear. “Listen to the little lord speak. He sounds like he has a stalagmite shoved up his—”
“Why, you pretentious—”
The monk straightened and drove the end of his metal staff into the ground. “Think yourself lucky that I’ve allowed you to remain here with this pretty young woman. The patriarch wanted you handed to the nearest friendly Inquisitor, but I convinced him to let you remain here to help me watch over her.”
Aemon bared his teeth, fists shaking. How dare this low-born swine talk to me like this. If only I could snatch that staff away from him and break it over his stupid-looking head!
Never in his life had Aemon hated anyone as much as he hated this grinning, self-righteous monk.
The door flew open and another monk entered. “Brother Minard, you were ordered to remove this man. The patriarch is almost here.”
Minard stood to attention, losing his grin. “Lady Ibilirith, forgive me.” He grabbed Aemon’s arm. “Time to go, little lord.”
With that, Aemon was dragged toward the door. He tried to latch onto Kara’s bed, but Minard yanked him away. The monk was strong, far stronger than Aemon, and it was not long before they were out the door and heading away from the infirmary.
“What are they going to do to her?” Aemon asked as he was dragged along a stone corridor.
“Don’t worry so much.” The side of Minard’s mouth twisted into what might have passed for a grin if it had not oozed such mockery and insolence. “I’m oath-bound to protect her. I swear to you, me-lord, she’ll come to no harm.”
The monk’s wo
rds were far from reassuring.
Aemon wanted to kick something as Minard led him far from Kara and into a small room. He shoved Aemon into it. “I suggest you sleep. You look like you need it.” Spinning around, Minard left, shutting the door behind him.
After a moment, Aemon raced over and tried to open it. Locked. He turned to study the room. Nothing but a hard bed, a chair, a slop bucket and pitcher of what he hoped was water.
A prison cell.
Aemon leaned against the wall. The thought of Minard returning to Kara and leering over her while she slept... He started thudding the back of his head against the wall repeatedly. It hurt, but it might stop him thinking about what Minard or the other monks might do to Kara when he was not there to protect her.
Everything about that stupid monk is irritating. divines, help me. If he or any other in his order lays a hand on her, I will kill them with my bare hands!
Aemon clenched his fists as he imagined them closing around Minard’s throat. The monk was around Aemon’s age, but stood much taller and had dark-bronze skin and the most obnoxious seductive brown eyes. If by some miracle Kara woke in Minard’s presence with Aemon trapped in this cell, she would no doubt be enamored with Minard’s thick-muscled arms and handsome face. Assuming she could still see. There was that.
And what do I have? Piddly arms, short stature and an oversized brain. Little good they do me. He banged his head even harder against the wall. Oh, and the way Minard always postures around, like he is Rexus of Acid Lake, the strongest and bravest warrior of all.
To the dark with Minard and his entire order!
Aemon’s head had begun throbbing, so he slid to the floor. A great sob racked his body. Minard was everything Aemon wished he could be. Tall, confidant, strong, graceful and a seasoned fighter. Someone who could hold his own in battle. Just the sort of man Kara needed to keep her safe.
Minard fought and prayed and claimed to fear no one, while Aemon had counted coins for a living and lived in fear of Senior Banker Rubin’s wrath. How could Aemon compare with the monk? If Kara woke, what would she ever see in him again?
If she woke. If.
Aemon stared at the stone floor. If.
“HAVE YOU SEEN HER?”
Aemon blinked sleep from his eyes as he slowly sat up in bed. “What—who?”
“Have you seen her? You were out and about earlier.”
It was Minard standing at the door.
Shaking his head to clear the fog of sleep, Aemon glared up at the monk. “How could I have seen her? You would not let me anywhere near—”
The desperation on the monk’s face made Aemon’s heart clamber into his throat. “What is it?” He leapt out of bed. “Is Kara missing?”
“She’s not in her room.”
“But she was still unconscious, last I knew. How could she get up and leave?”
“I don’t know.” Minard glanced left, then right. “I went to check on her and found her gone.”
Aemon shoved past Minard and started toward Kara’s room, the monk a step behind. “You were meant to be guarding her. Maybe she has woken up and is wandering around having no idea where she is.”
“She never left the infirmary, at least not through the door... She may have climbed out the window.”
The window. A terrible fear made Aemon’s guts turn to lead. What if she fell into the lava?
Aemon began to run frantically but quickly lost his way. He slowed to let Minard catch up and take the lead. “Who else knows she is missing?” he asked. “Is it possible someone took her?”
Lydan, help her. What if the Inquisitors have Kara?
“No one has been given the order to touch her,” Minard said, pulling Aemon into a hallway and rushing along it. “I sent another monk to inform the patriarch about what has happened. Soon the whole temple will be searching for her.”
They arrived at Kara’s room and found it empty. Aemon hurried over to the window and looked out. His stomach clenched as he imagined Kara climbing out and falling.
Just below the sill was a narrow ledge running along the side of the building. It was wide enough for someone to walk along, though only a fool would be inclined to do so, for to fall would see them plummet into the lava far below.
Aemon gripped the window frame with sweaty palms. If Kara fell...
He spun to face Minard. “Have you checked the neighboring rooms? She might have crept along the ledge and entered one of the other windows.”
“Of course. They were the first places we checked.”
A breathless middle-aged man dressed in fine bed clothes burst into the room, two monks taking guard behind him. “Where is she?” he screamed, with such fury Aemon retreated several steps. The man’s breathlessness was not so much of exertion but of barely contained—or not-so contained—rage that seemed to radiate from him, like the heat through the window.
Minard went down to one knee and bowed his head. “She’s missing, your Holiness. I take full responsibility.”
The man glared down at Minard, fury burning feverishly bright in his eyes. “You Divergent heathen! Your conceited brethren wanted her spared the flames, so I acquiesced for the stability of our order.” He wrung his hands. “The least you could do is see that she did not leave this room.”
Minard cowered like a scolded child. So there was someone the monk was afraid of.
The man held his hand over Minard’s head, his fingers curled into claws, hand trembling, lips drawn back, veins almost popping out of his skin. Would he kill Minard for letting Kara escape?
Who was he? Patriarch Lucien, the head of the Order? He certainly fit the description Aemon had read in the banking intelligence reports. The man had a perfectly groomed ginger beard and thin pale lips, with eyes that pinned one with their intense glare. From memory, Aemon recalled reading the patriarch would explode with anger for the slightest of reasons. He was a stickler for the old ways and possessed a near-perfect memory, which allowed him to recite long sermons without the aid of religious texts.
The angry man took a long moment to get a hold of himself. “We will mete out your punishment some other time, Divergent,” he said, his voice lowered but still brimming with anger. “Though mark my words, if she is not found, I will purge every last one of you, including your vile master.” He spun around and pointed at the monks who had escorted him. “Mobilize everyone, including the scullions, and search every room and hidden passage. The woman must be found.”
They bowed, then raced from the room. Turning his attention to Aemon, the angry man said, “Remain here with the Divergent. If she returns, I want to be informed immediately.” Then he strode out the door.
Aemon swallowed. He would not want to be on the other end of that man’s ire like Minard had been. Minard got back to his feet and gave Aemon a dark look. “I hope your friend is found, and soon. The patriarch is looking for any excuse to bring about the end of my kind.”
So it had been the patriarch.
“What are you talking about?” Aemon frowned. “Your kind? I thought—”
“I was a monk of the Order? I am, but I’m also a believer in the teachings of Inquisitor Mariot.”
“Who? I have never heard of him.”
“Nor should you have. It’s a closely guarded secret that a fracture has formed in our order. I only tell you this now so you understand what is at stake. If the woman is not found, patriarch Lucien will have his excuse to condemn all of us Reformers as heretics.”
“I’m not sure I understand what this is all about. I thought you of Ibilirith all believed the same thing.”
“Mostly we do, but some of the things written in the old files, the Prophecy among them, are vague and open to interpretation. Some of us, like Inquisitor Mariot, have come to interpret them differently.” Minard inclined his head toward Kara’s bed. “Not all of us believe she is the threat Lucien and his kind think she is. There are other files on the Sacred Computer written about the Scion who paint her in a different light.”
>
That is reassuring to hear.
“Our numbers are slowly dwindling; it takes us longer to repair Ibilirith’s technologies.” Minard dabbed at his eyes. “One could say our order is dying. But, some of us won’t give in. Some of us think the old ways have come and gone and a new way must be found.”
Right now, Aemon did not care if the Order lived or died. He stepped toward Minard, remembering what the healer had said. “If I had not made a solemn oath to protect human life, I’d let her slip away into the dark.”
Kahan had called Kara a threat too, naming her as the Scion in the Prophecy of Ibilirith.
“Tell me everything you know about Kara and of the Prophecy. What does the patriarch intend to do to her?”
Minard grimaced. “It is not my place to speak of it. You will find out soon enough. For now, let us wait for word of her discovery.” He went to stand near the door, shoulders arched as if carrying a great weight.
Aemon lowered himself onto the bed, unsure if he preferred Minard as he was now or when he was busy being an absurd, irritating ox.
HALF AN HOUR LATER, they got word Kara had been found.
They followed a breathless acolyte to a large chapel and found her kneeling before a wall covered in colored glass bulbs and metallic cogs. Aemon glanced around as he entered the room and instantly recognized it from a description in a book. The Machine Chapel. The place where the priests of the Order sang their laments to the passing of their ancient Machine Mother, Ibilirith.
“Kara,” Aemon exclaimed as he approached her from behind.
Several monks and acolytes had gathered around her. Most kept their distance, but some edged closer to her, weapons in hand.
Aemon pushed past them and fell to his knees beside her. “Kara, are you all right? What are you doing here?”
Her eyes were closed and a thin sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead. The artifact hung outside her gown, the light so intense it made it appear as if it were on fire. Aemon put a hand on her arm and found her skin cold and clammy.
The Lost Sun Series Box Set 1: Books 1 and 2 (Lost Sun Box Set) Page 18