Apostate's Pilgrimage: An Epic Fantasy Saga (Empire of Resonance Book 3)

by L. W. Jacobs

  Feynrick grinned. “Aye, and that I might have, in a younger year. But Marrey and me made a promise, and I intend to keep it.”

  Marrey was his term for Marrem, the healworker back in Ayugen. She hated the name, as Ella recalled, but the two had shared a special connection after Semeca’s attack. “Do you ever worry,” she asked as they crested the rise, “that something will happen to either of you while you’re away, and you won’t see her again?”

  His grin lost some of its mirth. “Aye, that I do. Worried about it since we left Ayugen, really, but I done enough bad things in my past, I reckon I need to do this to straighten them out.”

  “And Marrem? How does she feel?”

  Feynrick snorted. “She’s tough as an old goat. She’d probably be happy to be rid of me. But long as there’s a chance of seeing her again, I’ll let those daughters be.”

  Ella couldn’t help smiling. Maybe he would be able to woo a farmer’s daughter out here. If he did it’d be with sheer bravado and pluck, because Prophets knew his waistline and his age weren’t on his side. Nor was his red hair, this far north.

  The village consisted of a squat inn, a farm stand tended by a sleepy teenage boy, and a few scattered houses, flanked by steep-roofed shrines at east and west ends. No bakery.

  There were still lanterns burning at the inn, so they made do with some watery dreamtea and a table with a view of the setting sun. Despite the size of the hamlet the inn was full, and patrons sat on the covered porch, sipping tea or talking quietly. As she had done in every port, Ella made her way to the other tables, gleaning what information and rumors she could without seeming too interested.

  The people were pilgrims, as so many on the road and river were, and most of what she heard was familiar: uncertainty about the rebellion, worry about being able to enter the old city, platitudes about the ascending god. Some sects of Eschatology held that Aran was the historical site of the Ascending God, which as far as she could tell meant the place the Prophet had risen into the sky. It was a regular pilgrimage site for believers, part of a much larger circle that included Bydford, Hast-by-Waters, and Shatterbrook along the shores of the ocean. Most believers made it a point to visit them all before dying, believing it would help in salvation.

  One table at the inn was different: though the people seemed genuinely to be believers—she had sussed out a few ninespear travelers posing as pilgrims, and quickly ended those conversations—they had heard tell of the old city waking up, of a holy force pervading Aran.

  “S’why the whitecoats are there,” an elderly woman at the table confided in low tones. She was traveling with her husband and their youngest child, sweetleaf farmers from the far side of the Ein. “Want to see if they can make money off it somehow.”

  “Best not be charging admission,” the husband rumbled, a round man with a ruddy face. “It’s against the Codes.”

  The Codes were a long list the Eschatolists kept, and kept adding to, of what was right and wrong, and what sorts of punishments in the afterlife you could expect for committing different sins. None of it actually came from the Prophet, so far as she could tell, but Ella hadn’t spent much time studying Eschatology.

  “I hope not,” Ella said, making the sign of the Descending God to ward off evil. Thank the Prophet she’d met enough believers in Worldsmouth that she could fake it. “I do so hope they don’t close off the town.”

  “Not so far as I’ve heard,” the matron said, “and I keep an ear to the ground like you do, ma’am.” She winked, and Ella realized with horror the woman took her as a similar age. “Prophet’s peace on ye.”

  Ella returned the blessing and finished her circuit, learning nothing new but bubbling with excitement from the news. Avery had thought it likely Aran was the right stone, since it appeared an archrevenant had taken an interest in it, but this was confirmation.

  And if Avery still had the power from revenants he’d thralled, that meant no one had opened the stone yet, or taken the spear. They still had a chance.

  She shared as much with the rest of the group once they were back on the ship.

  “That’s great,” Tai said. “Selwin says we’ll be in Califf tomorrow night, and Aran is another two days on foot past there. With any luck we’ll get there before someone with a better chance of opening the stone shows up.”

  “Which will be the same time as Eyadin,” Ella said. “Do we really want to be there when the legion gets his orders?”

  “I think what you mean is, are we really going to let the message get through?” Marea asked, looking around. “Thousands of people live in Aran, and thousands more visit every year on pilgrimage. We can’t just let them all die.”

  She glanced at Avery as she spoke. What did the shaman think about it?

  Feynrick rubbed his beard. “I don’t reckon we do. I’ve seen my share of the Councilate making an example of a town or city, and there’s no way we could get in or out of it without causing a scene.”

  “Unless we use that scene,” Avery said. “If the legion already there is under an archrevenant’s control, they’ll have barricaded the stone. They wouldn’t risk any shaman getting close enough to open it.”

  “Best way to get rid of your enemies is make ‘em fight each other,” Feynrick said, tamping sage into his pipe. “Maybe we let the shamans kill the whitecoats and vice versa. Worry about getting past whoever’s left when they’re done.”

  “Those orders say to kill Aran,” Tai said, “not just the shamans. I can’t let that many people die to make our cause easier.”

  “What if they die to make our cause possible?” Avery asked. “We all agree we’re up against long odds. Shamans more powerful than Ollen, a legion of whitecoats, the attention of the archrevenants and the risk someone will figure out who you are. Every one of those parties wants you dead, for different reasons.”

  “Then better to kill me, than let thousands of people die for me to live,” Tai said, and Ella’s heart dropped. “That’s more than we have left in Ayugen.”

  “You’re not dying,” Ella said forcefully. “Or Aran. Better to kill the messenger. Make sure the whitecoats don’t get the orders, and we sneak in like we were planning to.”

  Tai grimaced at this, and she knew it was about the idea of killing an innocent man. But if it was Eyadin or Tai? She’d kill Eyadin a hundred times over.

  “I can’t let Aran or Eyadin die,” Tai said, looking like he did when he gazed off the side of the ship.

  “I think those are the choices, milkweed,” Fenyrick said gently. “Anyone mind if I—” he gestured to his pipe.

  “Do not light that thing in here,” Marea said, “or I’ll fatewalk you off the side of this barge.”

  Feynrick held up his hands. “Peace, woman. You’re as bad as Marrey.”

  Tai was still grimacing. She loved him for his idealism, but it wasn’t always possible. “Well, no need to make a decision tonight,” she said. “If anything happens to Eyadin before we get to Califf you can bet Selwin’ll turn us at the docks. We have another day on the water. Time to think it over.”

  “I still say we let him through,” Avery said. “The Councilate’s business is no concern of ours.”

  Marea frowned at him but didn’t say anything. The girl was probably realizing she had the same opinion as Tai, a first as far as Ella knew. Or maybe she was just wishing they’d let Tai die, though she’d started warming to him a bit in the last week. Finally.

  Feynrick stood. “Whatever the milkweed says, I’ll go for. Now if you’ll excuse me, Ms. Whitecoat over here says I need to smoke outside.” He pushed up and left the room.

  “Love,” Ella said quietly, pulling at Tai’s sleeve. “Take me for a walk?”

  He got up, following her out into the cool night, sun’s last glow purple against the blue light of the star. Tai’s forearm was tight under her hand, his pace quick though there was nowhere to go.

  After two laps around the barge she squeezed his arm. “Come with me to the end of th
e dock at least? You need to get off this ship.”

  To her surprise he agreed, and they took the short gangplank down then walked to the end of the dock, Oxheart slushing quietly against the piers beneath. Ella sat, pulling him down to sit with her facing out over the river, feet dangling off the edge. Tai sighed deeply, and she pulled his head onto her shoulder, looping an arm around his back.

  They sat like that a long time, star making its slow journey toward the western horizon. Toward Califf.

  “I don’t know if I can do it,” Tai said at last.

  “Do what?” Ella asked, stroking his back.

  “Kill Eyadin,” Tai said. “Or let him deliver his message. Either one.”

  Ella shook her head. “Sometimes there are no good options.”

  “I know. There were no good options when Semeca dropped the boulder on the Tower, no good options when Karhail wanted to kill the Councilate, so many times of no good options on the streets. I thought I was used to it. Thought I was up to it. But this feels different.”

  Ella shook her head, gazing down at him. “Why?”

  He stretched his neck. “Something Ydilwen said to me. I know, he’s just a voice. But I asked Avery about it, and it’s true. Every time we kill someone before their time, we make more revenants. And the revenants are unhappy, Ella. Ydilwen described it as suffering, as hell, and it’s probably the one thing you can trust a revenant on.”

  “What does that have to do with Eyadin?”

  Tai shook his head. “I used to think revenants were spirit guides. Ancestors come back to help us, even though most people didn’t seem to get much help from theirs. And then I just thought death was the end, that when we die we’re gone, and it doesn’t matter what happened in life. But knowing that everyone we kill has to spend however many years starving for uai and longing to finish whatever we cut off? That’s awful.”

  It was awful. “Are you sure that’s true?”

  “I don’t think Avery has any reason to lie to me,” he said. “About that, at least. And from the conversations I had with Naveinya, yeah, probably.”

  She hated how troubled he sounded. This was Tai, the one person who never got discouraged, never lost heart. “Are you thinking it’s not worth it? That we just shouldn’t go?”

  He sighed. “No. That’s the hard part, I still know this is right. And if I do get the spear—” He shook his head. “No. If someone else takes the spear we’re all in danger, and I don’t know if I could fight them off like I did Semeca. We need to take it, or at least to try.”

  She nodded. “But?”

  “But I don’t know how any more. How do you fight without killing?”

  “Maybe revenants are just a part of life. Maybe you can’t save everyone.”

  Tai nodded, eyes on the water. “My voice came back.”

  “Your second level? That’s great. Maybe the harmonies will work better on this one.”

  “No, it came back. Ydilwen. He’s my second level too.”

  Ella frowned. “But that’s—impossible. It never happened, in all the people we worked with at the school. Avery said it was impossible.”

  Tai shrugged. “Well, he came back. Or whatever revenant it is, they chose the same persona.”

  The pieces all clicked together—Tai’s worry, the curiosity about revenants, the hesitation about their mission. “And it’s got you convinced?”

  “No. Yes. I mean no, I know it’s just a revenant, that whatever it’s saying it’s saying because it wants me to do something, to abandon my friends, all of that. But yes. As far as what he’s telling me is true, I am convinced we’re doing this wrong.”

  Ella searched for words for a moment. She’d seen lots of people believe in their voices, even when they knew better. But Tai? “You realize that the answer to all these questions is to stop fighting. To run away. To give up on everything we’ve fought for, and rely on your voice.”

  “I’m not giving up. I just—the cost is too high. The way we’re doing it, it’s too high.”

  She shook her head. “What other way is there?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “That’s what I need to figure out.”

  44

  It is interesting to note that the most moralistic of the Prophetic traditions, the Eschatolists, are the only ones to remember the Prophet as female (leaving aside the At’li tri-gendered deities). Should we conclude those faiths without clear morality need a father figure to control their populations, following Gesthel’s theory? Or simply that a mother is more likely to teach her child right from wrong?

  —Eylan Ailes, Treatise on World Religions

  The city of Califf straddled both sides of a great bend in the Oxheart river, shrines to the Ascending and Descending Gods rising like giant horns at east and west ends. Marea stood at the bow of the Wandering Argot, ignoring the smell of the tug boat as she watched the docks approach.

  Dread rolled in her heart: dread for what would happen once they got off the ship. Of the danger they were in if Tai got caught. Of what would happen if Tai wasn’t caught, and they made it to Aran. Of the message Eyadin was carrying, slung across his back as he too watched the docks approach.

  But most of all, dread of the quarrel brewing between her and Avery. There was no sugarcoating it: her boyfriend wanted the entire city of Aran to die, so they could get in easier. And as much as she loved him, Marea couldn’t stomach the thought.

  They’d fought about it last night, when everyone else was asleep and they usually exchanged little but kisses and affection. Avery insisted it was for their protection. Marea argued they should just give it up like she’d wanted to all along. He said they would never be safe if they did. She said he couldn’t know that. And on and on.

  She had never had an argument hurt like this one. Never felt a space as painful as the tiny gap that lay between their bodies when they shuffled back into the cabin, exhausted, out of words to speak to each other. Wanting only the warmth and solidity of his body and at the same time too angry to look at him.

  And this morning had been no different. He’d risen before her, quietly packing his things. Stood talking with Feynrick now, who was blowing great clouds of sage and grinning like the whole thing was the most fun he’d had in years. The man was insane. Or else he’d been through so much even this situation couldn’t faze him. She had seen him as just a goofy Yatiman, a darkhair, for so long on this journey, but he was more than that. Funny how sadness opened your eyes.

  Tai and Ella came out of the cabin looking grim, Tai wearing his furs despite the relative warmth. They motioned to her and she reluctantly joined the group, not looking at Avery, wanting desperately to know if he was looking at her. Wanting him to just shatting apologize already and admit he was being a cockstain.

  Because if he thought she was apologizing first, he had another thing coming. Even though another part of her whispered that maybe she just should, that even with her fatewalking he could find someone better any time, someone prettier and smarter and richer. And the thought of him leaving her was a cold abyss she couldn’t look into. The same one she’d faced when her parents died.

  “We all know what we’re up against here,” Tai said in a low voice, drawing her back to the real world. “There will be whitecoats everywhere, and the main road and river passage to Aran both lead through Califf, so likely ninespears here too. Avery, you can still block our thoughts in a crowd?”

  Marea stole a glance at him as he nodded, so handsome, so shatting casual as if he wasn’t getting ripped apart by the distance between them. Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe she needed to just apologize right now and make sure this wasn’t the end of them.

  But apologize when she was right? Never.

  “Good,” Tai was saying. “Then we stick together, keep our heads down, get out of the city as fast as we can. Time enough to talk on the road.”

  “And Eyadin?” Avery asked. The messenger was just four paces away—it was still hard to get used to Avery’s soundproofing. “You’ve
made a decision?”

  Tai rolled his shoulders. “Leave Eyadin to me.”

  They disembarked then, Captain Selwin muttering something Marea had no doubt was rude to one of his sons as they left, stepping onto the wooden dock. Good riddance to the man and his ragtag ship and his breakfast, lunch and dinner of millet porridge. If she never had to ride on a river barge again it would be too soon.

  The docks teemed with soldiers and porters and sandy-haired Yershmen. It felt strange to be back among lighthairs—strange to not stand out for what she looked like. They passed a pack of white-coated soldiers, standing guard like lawkeepers would in the wealthier parts of Worldsmouth. It was odd to be around them too, to see the white gilded ships and crisp uniforms that had always brought her such comfort in Ayugen, a sense of belonging despite the danger. Now the danger was from those uniforms, even if none of it was her fault. But try though she might to convince herself she should just grab the nearest one and tell them everything, she couldn’t. Because Avery wouldn’t come with her. And even now, even with last night hanging over their heads, she couldn’t not care. Couldn’t summon an anger or a self-protection strong enough to overcome her desire for him. Her need to be with him. He was all she had.

  Besides, rebels or not, she couldn’t just turn Tai’s party in. Not Ella, or Feynrick. And Tai was the only one likely to stop Eyadin’s message from reaching Aran.

  So instead she followed as they wound through the press of bodies, the stink of man sweat, the cry of porter and merchant and circling wagull. Ella lead the way because the woman looked every inch a Worldsmouth lady, and her age would make most authorities assume she was harmless.

  If they only knew.

  “You there,” a voice barked as they were leaving the docks, wood planks transitioning to hard-packed cobbles. “What’s your business in Aran? Where are you headed?”