Shattering the Ley

by Joshua Palmatier

  Their gazes met again and the Hound smiled and began trotting toward Dalton.

  Dalton shot away to the left, running flat out for the market. He needed the crowds there to slow the Hound down, needed to give himself a lead.

  He needed time to think.

  “Where have you been?” Kara demanded as she caught sight of Marcus through the crowded market. He wove through a gaggle of Gorrani children being herded by a matron, only her kohl-darkened eyes visible above the silk wrap that wound beneath her shawl and covered her mouth. “We were supposed to meet half an hour ago!”

  Marcus ignored her bridled tone, inexplicably smiling. “I was getting this.”

  He pulled the arm tucked behind his back into sight to reveal a blue-ribboned box that she recognized instantly with a gasp.

  “You didn’t.”

  He chuckled. “I did. Take it. Open it.”

  Kara took the box—larger than any they’d ever purchased at the shop—and held it with trembling hands. The scent of the chocolate was strong enough she thought she could taste its silky texture in her mouth already. She licked her lips tentatively, her chest tight and her gut tingling, then reached for the ribbon, but hesitated, her brow furrowing.

  This wasn’t a gift Wielder partners gave to one another. This was too extravagant.

  She looked up into Marcus’ eyes. They were smiling with encouragement. But there was a tightness about the corners, as if he were nervous or uncertain.

  “Go on,” he said, raising his chin and looking toward the box. His voice thickened, shook slightly. “Open it.”

  She dropped her gaze, quelled the sudden nervousness that twisted her stomach. With a tug, she loosened the silk ribbon and opened the box.

  It contained exactly what she expected: six of the chocolatier’s most expensive chocolates.

  “I can’t accept this,” she heard herself say. “It’s not . . . it’s too . . .”

  Marcus took her wrists in his hands, pulled her closer to him. Her skin burned where he touched her, a pleasant prickling racing up her arms to her shoulders, settling in her chest. Her breath shortened, then caught as he said, “Kara. We’re more than partners. You know it. I know it. Everyone at the node knows it as well. That’s why they’re always snickering behind their hands and whispering behind our backs. I just . . .”

  He ran out of words, his mouth open as he searched for what he wanted to say. He still had her wrists in his hands. Kara still couldn’t breathe. Her heart thudded in her ears, fast and quick. The bustling market swirled around them both as if they weren’t there, hawkers peddling their wares, patrons haggling with the cartmen or the farmers with blankets thrown down on the cobbles. Mixed in were the Gorrani with their rounded tents and the more exotic stalls from the Archipelago. Scents assaulted her as time stretched—pungent spices, tantalizing smoked meats, the thickness of ale. She found herself yearning upward, lifting onto the balls of her feet.

  Marcus gave up his search and simply pulled her tight to him, her arms—still holding the box of chocolates—crushed between them. He kissed her. Not the protective kiss he’d given after she’d been interrogated by the Primes after the appearance of the distortion at the ley station, and not the tentative, exploratory, and sometimes fumbling kisses they’d shared in the time since. This kiss reached deep, pulling something up from within her, from a reserve she didn’t know she had, a reserve she hadn’t realized she kept hidden and protected. She fought the exposure at first, afraid of what had been awakened, but then she released her hold, sank herself into the kiss, and found that she was pulling something from deep inside Marcus as well, drawing it up from his center. He’d opened himself to her completely, hid nothing from her. It was like the power of the ley flowing from her into the ground, into the folds of the Tapestry around them all. Except this energy passed only between her and Marcus, sizzling through her skin, warm and fluid and exhilarating. It woke every part of her, and through it she could sense Marcus as well, his entire being.

  Then the kiss ended, both of them pulling back with a gasp—of needed air, of shock, of shared experience. Kara trembled, the market still whirling around them, but somehow withdrawn. Marcus sucked in steadying breaths, then released her wrists, touched her face, her hair, cupped the back of her head on both sides with his hands. “Kara, I love you.”

  “I—” Her throat closed and she swallowed, then finished hoarsely, “I love you, too.”

  They stood silently, neither one daring to move, neither one certain how the moment should end.

  Then Kara looked down and, in a dazed voice, said, “The chocolate’s melting.”

  Marcus snorted, then broke into deep-throated laughter. He pulled back from her, took the top of the wooden box and closed it before taking her hand and leading her in a meandering path through the scattered vendors. Neither of them spoke, Kara still reeling from the intensity of the kiss and caught up in the sudden ramifications of what had just happened. Everything was shifting, like the lines of power had shifted in Halliel’s Park when she’d rearranged the patterns of the stones. Her view of her place in the node, of the other Wielders, of her path forward—all of it was changing.

  “Timmons,” she said abruptly.

  “What about him?” Marcus asked.

  “He’s the head Wielder at the node. What will he think of this?”

  Marcus smiled. “He saw it coming. In fact, he’s already spoken to me about it. Or rather, warned me of the consequences.”

  “Like what?”

  They paused before a jewelry maker whose pendants and other objects glinted in the sunlight. But when Kara looked closer, she realized it wasn’t the reflection of the sun she saw, but ley light. The jewelry maker had somehow captured a sliver of ley inside each of the glass designs, so that they glowed with an inner light. When she picked one up—the glass crafted into the shape of a tiny bird—she felt the threads of power wrapped into the structure. Yet she sensed no power from the woman keeping a careful eye on her. Someone else must be creating them.

  “Like the fact that you won’t be staying at Eld for much longer.”

  Kara nearly dropped the pendant. She spun toward Marcus, asked sharply, “What do you mean?”

  Marcus shrugged, fidgeting where he stood, but not looking directly at her. “He said the Primes have taken notice of you. They were probably already watching, after what happened with your parents and your early acceptance into training. But after you attempted to seal the distortion at the Eld station. . . .” He sighed, his shifting gaze finally falling on her. “They’re going to move you to another node within the year. Timmons thinks they’re going to accelerate your teaching and make you a Master early, and a Prime shortly after that.”

  Kara swallowed. “I thought I’d have four years here at Eld.”

  Marcus’ smile twisted. “Apparently not.”

  Kara didn’t know what to say. The prospect of learning what the Masters and Primes knew was exciting, but she had barely settled into Eld. It was practically all she knew, having grown up here. The only other district she’d lived in had been Grass, while studying with the Wielders, and even there she had remained within the confines of the college and the nearest streets most of the time. She had little experience with any of the other districts.

  Apprehension tightened her fingers on the box she still held and she blurted, “What about us? I’ll have to stay at whatever node they send me to.”

  Marcus’ grin faltered. “Not all Wielders stay at the node. You wouldn’t have to stay in the barracks.” He hesitated. “In fact, I was thinking. . . .” He took the pendant she still clutched and set it back down among the others, the jewelry seller frowning in disappointment. “Timmons will never let us room together at the node. There’s a strict division in the barracks—women on the right, men on the left. So I thought maybe we could . . . find a place of our own, somewhere in E
ld.” Before she could protest, although she wasn’t certain she would, he rushed on. “You can commute to whatever node they place you in. The ley barges can take you anywhere in Erenthrall, and they’ve gotten cheaper since the Flyers’ Tower became active. With both of our pay going into one pot, we can afford a small place. Nothing much, but something.” He took a deep breath, expelled it with a hopeful, “What do you think?”

  Kara opened her mouth, but her throat closed and nothing came out. She felt light-headed and dizzy, overwhelmed and reeling with all of the sudden changes. The rocks and patterns were shifting too fast. The kiss, the news she wouldn’t be staying at Eld long, the thought of finding a place with Marcus—it exhilarated her and terrified her with the unknown and the uncertainties.

  “I—” She halted, tried again. “I don’t know, Marcus.” His shoulders slumped, so she reached up to grip his arm. “I want to, but I need to adjust to . . . to everything. Especially the idea that I won’t be staying in Eld.”

  Marcus struggled with his disappointment for a moment, the pain clear in the contours of his face, but then he sighed. “I suppose it is unexpected. I just . . . don’t want to lose you.”

  “You won’t.” She kissed him in reassurance. It lacked the intensity of before, but still felt different. That part of their relationship had changed permanently.

  “Kara? Marcus?”

  Kara started at Ischua’s voice, a flush creeping up her neck as she took a step back from Marcus and turned. “Ischua!” she gasped, a little too loudly. “What are you doing here?”

  Ischua’s gaze traveled from Kara to Marcus and back again, measuring and weighing, taking in everything. Kara’s skin prickled under the scrutiny. “It’s a market, Kara. I’m here shopping.” He held up a package wrapped in paper and tied with twine.

  “Oh. Yes.”

  An uncomfortable silence followed until Ischua said with a cocked eyebrow, “Did I interrupt something?”

  “We were just discussing. . . .” Marcus floundered, glanced toward Kara in panic.

  She sighed in resignation. “You’ll find out soon anyway. Marcus told me I may not be staying at the Eld node for much longer. We were thinking of living outside the node, getting a place of our own.”

  Ischua stiffened as she spoke. “You’re being transferred out of Eld?”

  “Timmons said the Primes were talking about moving her, after the incident at the barge station,” Marcus said. “He doesn’t know where yet, or when. But within the next year.”

  “Earlier than usual,” Ischua said. Then he muttered under his breath, “I was trying to keep them from noticing your potential this soon.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ischua hesitated. Then: “You exhibited power early, Kara. That’s usually a sign of great potential. I tried to keep your power hidden from the Primes until the testing at the school when you were fourteen, but then your parents died. At that point, the best option was to let the Wielders take you. But I still didn’t tell them exactly what you had done with the stones in Halliel’s Park. I was hoping you would blend in with the others, that you would be overlooked, at least for a while.” He shook his head, lips pressed tight together. “The training from the Primes can be . . . harsh. They care only for themselves and for the ley system. They will use whatever—and whoever—they can to retain control of it. Their abuse of the power and those who wield it is what drove me to retire and become a Tender. I didn’t want them to notice you until you were strong enough and confident enough to face them, to stand up to them if necessary.”

  Something swelled inside Kara’s chest, threatened to close her throat. “You think . . . I could be a Prime?” She couldn’t voice the question she really wanted to ask, but it appeared Ischua knew anyway.

  He smiled, reached out and gripped her shoulder. “Didn’t I say so after you received your purples? And yes, Kara, I have always and will always be proud of you.” He squeezed his hand, then turned his attention to Marcus, his expression becoming grave. “As for you . . . will you protect her and cherish her? Honor her and keep her safe?” His tone was only half-mocking.

  Marcus straightened. “I will.”

  “Hmm . . . we shall see.” The words carried a veiled threat, but Ischua broke into a smile. “But for now, I give you both my blessing.”

  Someone spat a curse, not far distant, followed by someone else bellowing in protest and a woman’s shriek.

  Ischua glanced up beyond Kara’s shoulder at the commotion, and an instant later his face fell, the benign smile collapsing into fear and recognition. “Korma preserve us.”

  Marcus and Kara spun. Kara frowned as she caught sight of a single man tearing through the market, shoving men and women out of his way, stumbling over blankets and displays of wares as he came. He was of average height, black hair, mixed with a smattering of gray. His face was lined with desperation.

  And then his gaze fell on Ischua and it transformed into determination, into purpose. He altered his course, tripped over a stack of brightly colored fabric, but caught himself with one hand and launched himself forward, ignoring the merchant’s protests. He plowed between Kara and Marcus, knocking them to the side, and slammed into Ischua, grabbing onto the Tender’s shirt. Ischua had braced for the impact, but he still staggered back a step, holding onto the man’s upper arms to steady them both.

  “You have to run,” the man growled. “The Dogs have found me. They’re after me now, with one of their Hounds. If they found me, then they’ll find the others. They’ll find you. You have to warn them. Warn them all to get out of Erenthrall!”

  At the edge of the market, fresh screaming rose and the man pushed himself away from Ischua. He gathered himself, the panic and fear Kara had first seen on his face dissolving completely as a brace of Dogs thrust themselves forward through the crowds and into the large, packed square. They were a pace behind a much leaner man that Kara found difficult to focus on. All of them were searching the market, the lean man’s nostrils flaring.

  The black-haired man, now composed, scowled. “They hunt by scent, Ischua. Remember that.”

  And then he brushed past them all, moving swiftly, but no longer crashing through those blocking his way. Kara lost sight of him within moments, turned back to Ischua. “Who was that?”

  Ischua shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. They do.” He nodded toward the Dogs.

  The patrons in the market had grown agitated. Someone shouted, “What do you think you’re doing?” Others repeated the sentiment. A few called out curses or oaths. Someone spat in contempt on the ground near where Kara stood.

  The lead Dog stepped forward, almost to the side of the lean man they followed. He raised his voice so that it boomed over the protests and grumbling. “There is a Kormanley accomplice hiding in this market! The life of anyone who hinders our search, resists, or harbors or aids this man in any way will be forfeit!”

  His warning given, he nodded to the lean man and gestured to the rest of his Dogs. All of them drew swords, the lean man in front stepping forward, nose tilted slightly into the air.

  The rumbling in the crowd increased and Kara felt the same oceanic surge of discontent she’d felt at the execution roiling around her. Except this undercurrent was deeper and deadlier than that, because of what had happened in the weeks since the beheading. Everyone knew of the riot in Calder, of the vicious retaliation of the Dogs in that district and others since. In the last week, the presence of the Dogs on the streets had doubled. A weight had settled over the city, oppressive and menacing, felt in the streets during the Wielders’ patrols. Riots had broken out in other districts, the streets left behind afterward riddled with the dead. Yet nothing of significance had happened in Eld.

  But now the discontent in Eld had a focus.

  Ischua stepped to Marcus’ side, grabbed his arm to catch his attention. “Both of you, get out of here. Head back to the
node and stay there until this blows over.” When Marcus bristled, he added, “Do it! To protect her if nothing else.”

  Marcus glanced toward Kara and subsided.

  “What about you?” Kara demanded.

  “I’ll head back to Halliel’s Park and close the gates. Now go!”

  Marcus tugged her away from Ischua as the Dogs began forcing their way forward through the market’s crowd. Kara resisted, uncertain why, something dark and insidious clutching at her chest. Ischua gave her a last nod of encouragement. Then he turned away, his expression hardening, his eyes glinting with anger.

  “Kara, come on!” Marcus growled, pulling her along. But she refused to turn.

  Beyond Ischua, the Dogs were meeting resistance. Some of the people were desperately trying to get out of their way, but others were standing their ground, shouting protests that the market was a public area, that everyone had the right to be there, that the Dogs couldn’t simply force them to leave. The Dogs were tossing those who resisted to the side, trampling those on the ground, kicking aside stacks of fruit, piles of pottery, toppling small handcarts and spilling the contents across the markets’ flagstone. The lean man—the Hound, Kara assumed—simply stalked forward, heading directly toward Ischua, who didn’t move.

  “Wait,” Kara muttered, then raised her voice to be heard over the increasing tumult near the Dogs. “Marcus, wait!”

  Marcus halted. “What is it?”

  Kara didn’t answer. Behind, someone threw a metal pot at the Dogs, the tin clanging against the lead Dog’s head, making him stagger backward. He caught himself, shook his head once, then scowled. More projectiles were launched—fruit, broken shards of clay pottery, a head of lettuce—and he bellowed, “Dogs! No mercy!” Then he thrust a woman out of his way, stomping down on her ankle as she tried to crawl from his path.

  Kara winced, too distant to hear the bones break or grind together. But she wasn’t too far to hear the woman’s agonizing scream.