I stiffened, nearly catching my toe on a tree root. “You can hear us?”
She smirked. “Most of the time. Well, I can hear you. I assume your bracelet talks back. Otherwise, I’m inclined to think you’re missing a few arrows in your quiver, if you know what I mean.”
“I—yes. There’s a spirit inside the bracelet. Two spirits.”
“Human?”
At this, Raav snorted. One of us is, at least.
Hey! Lilik objected.
“They’re people, yes. They lived a long time ago and were somehow bound to the metal after their deaths.”
Falla tossed the pine cone again, this time catching it behind her back as she stepped beneath its arc. “Well, then, that’s all you had to say when I asked if you can hear the dead.”
I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe I was in the Essence domain after all. Or maybe… both Mind and Essence? “I assumed it was different because they’re—because they’re in my bracelet, I guess.”
“That and you were worried about giving away your secret.”
Realizing I’d laid a protective hand over the bracelet, I let it drop to my side. “When I was a prisoner in the catacombs, they were the only companions I had.”
“So, care to tell me why you have a bracelet with dead people in it?”
I glanced over my shoulder, worried about being overheard.
“Don’t worry,” Falla said. “I already checked. The stream will cover any sound.”
“You’ll probably think I’m an idiot when I tell you the story,” I said. “I was awfully trusting when I left Numintown.”
Her mouth twisted in amusement. “We all learn caution somehow.”
“You know about Havialo and me,” I said. “How I let him take me away from home.”
“That wasn’t your fault. He’s an expert manipulator. And regardless of his motives, he probably saved your life. The registrar would have identified you as a spiritist and taken you away for execution.”
“Well, when we got near Jaliss, Havialo met up with a few others. They were arguing about how to use me—I think they were plotting against the Emperor. Havialo’s friends thought it was too risky, and they were about to kill me when a shepherd came to my rescue.”
Falla lifted up a low bough for us to duck beneath. “Few shepherds would fare well in a contest against an earth mage.”
“This shepherd was more than he appeared. He worked some sort of spell that made the attackers vanish.”
“Why don’t we rest?” Falla said. “I’d like to hear more about this.” Falla gestured at a narrow passage beneath a group of trees. Beyond, the stream bank was carpeted with fallen pine needles. A thick root made a sort of bench. Nodding, I followed her and took a seat.
“When you say ‘vanish,’ do you mean vanish from sight? Like a phantom?” she asked.
I shook my head and tossed a handful of needles into the flowing water. “Parveld said he sent them into the Sandsea. I don’t have any way to prove whether that’s true or not.”
“And did he explain how he sent them into the Sandsea?”
“He said his abilities were similar to spiritism.”
Falla snorted. “Not any spiritism that I’m aware of.”
“Lilik—she’s the woman in the bracelet—says that magic evolves over time. And Parveld claims that he’s two hundred years old. That might explain the difference in abilities.”
With an exasperated laugh, Falla pressed fingertips into her temples. “All right. We’ll let that go for now. So, he somehow transported these people from Jaliss to the Sandsea. Then what?”
“He said he’d been waiting for me all his life because I’m the only chance to save the Empire.” My cheeks heated at the ridiculousness of the statement, and I expected Falla to laugh again. But if she found the idea funny, she spared me the embarrassment.
“Well, I suppose those claims would catch my attention,” she said mildly.
I pried a little stone from the mud and leaned forward to wash it clean. The rock was flecked with sparkling mica that reminded me of searching the sluice boxes for the glimmer of Maelstrom-gold or silver.
“Anyway, I thanked him before riding into Jaliss. On my way, the big shake hit. I was scared and lost, so I went to an inn Parveld had recommended, and the next morning he’d left the bracelet for me.”
“And after that, you discovered there were spirits bound to it?”
“More or less.”
“What do these spirits want?”
I ran my finger over the entwined strands of silver and gold. “Same as Parveld. To help me save the world, I guess.”
Falla sighed. “You didn’t tell your father these things, did you?”
I shrugged. “I didn’t really have time alone with him on the journey to the keep. When I did, I wasn’t sure how to bring it up.”
Falla plucked a blade of grass and started splitting it lengthwise with her thumb. When she had three strands, she began braiding them.
“My sister used to do that,” I said, smiling.
“An old habit,” Falla said. “I have a hard time just sitting and not doing something with my hands. Idleness is my enemy, I guess. Too much time with Stormshard. It always feels like there’s so much to be done for the movement.”
“How long have you been a part of it?”
She blew air through pursed lips. “Not sure. Thirty years, at least. I was eighteen when I left home.”
“You must have met your husband after you joined.” As soon as I spoke, I regretted bringing it up. But the mention didn’t seem to sadden her more than she already was.
After finishing the plait, she wound it around her finger and knotted it. “Happened recently, in fact. We hid our relationship for months before I had the courage to tell your father. I worried he’d think we weren’t dedicated Sharders if we’d become distracted by things like love. He always seemed so focused, you know. But I understand now. He was just thinking of his family and how he could keep them safe.”
“I wish he would have brought us with him,” I said, turning the rock over in my hand. “We never knew what had happened to him. My mother and sister still don’t.”
“He worried for your safety, I’m sure. Sharders are free, but it’s a dangerous life.”
Except now, Mother and Avill were probably still captives of Havialo’s henchmen. That or dead. So we hadn’t been safe staying in Numintown, either.
“Do you think he’ll find my mother and Avill?” I asked
Falla nodded. “If anyone can, it’s your father. Maybe by the time we leave the mountains, there will be news waiting.”
I tossed the rock into the stream, sending a small splash onto my ankles. “I hope so.”
Falla planted a hand and pushed herself up off the root. “Let’s get going. I want to reach camp in time to try a few things out. Maybe we can crack this mystery of your talent by forgetting the rules and focusing on the evidence.”
“I’d like that,” I said.
“And Savra,” she said. “I said your father’s a good man. It’s clear in his actions. It’s also clear in his offspring.”
***
“Okay,” Falla said, face set in a somber expression. “Try doing whatever it is that allows you to see auras.”
Nodding, I swallowed and tried to ignore the thudding of footsteps behind me. But the low voices of the other Sharders pressed into my ears as they trudged past. I glanced over my shoulder in time to see a pair of women make little superstitious gestures with their fingers.
“Don’t worry about them,” Falla said. “It’s the cemetery that makes them uncomfortable, not our interest in it.”
I wasn’t sure about that, but I didn’t argue. It had been a couple of days since our discussion at the stream, and though we’d made little progress in unraveling my talent, I respected her methodical process for trying to understand it. We’d tried meditation, aura manipulation, all types of sen
sing. Particularly since her experience with spiritism was so different from mine, I found her creativity inspiring.
Tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, I returned my attention to the small graveyard before me. Tucked in a hollow before a stand of birches, it appeared to have been used by the nearby village for centuries. At the rear of the area, small piles of stones marking the graves had been crusted over by lichens and mosses. Tufts of grass grew from some of the piles. If the deceased had descendants in the village, they’d long forgotten which graves to honor. There were no cut flowers or bangles decorating the oldest graves. Just dappled sunlight and the ruffling caress of the wind fell over the ancient mounds.
Closer, stones and wooden planks had been planted vertically to serve as markers. The names of the dead might have been written upon the headstones at some point, but they’d faded now. Here, though, an occasional bouquet or carved wood trinket had been placed upon a plot. The sight gave me a sense of peace. It warmed me to know that these people had been loved and that the generations here still remembered. The Empire hadn’t stolen their sense of family or their memories.
Closest to the low fence of dry-stacked stones, five fresh graves had been dug and filled. The earth above them was raw, smelling of soil after a rain, and though it had been tamped almost flat, there’d been no time for grass to grow atop the graves. The markers at the heads of the trenches were fresh-split pine planks, and names had been burned into the flat faces. But despite the recent deaths, no flowers had been laid in remembrance. No inscriptions had been burned along with the name.
No loving inscriptions anyway.
On a plank marking a grave for a man named Cerrold, a single word stood below the name.
Snitch.
I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Had Cerrold been killed, perhaps along with his family, for tattling to the Empire? In Numintown, such a thing would never have happened. Snitches were disliked. Hated, even. But none would ever be killed for the crime of trying to better their family’s lives. And what had inspired the villagers to so boldly label the grave? Briefly, I wondered if the Provs finally felt safe rejecting their fear of punishment. The village ahead of us would be our first contact with others since we marched into the mountains. Our first chance to learn how Kostan had chosen to rule.
“Can you feel them?” Falla asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
“I—not yet,” I said as I put my focus into my aura-sight.
Closing my eyes, I pressed away my awareness of the scents of sun-warmed grass, the rustle of the breeze in the trees. Only the auras mattered.
But even with all my effort focused on it, I felt nothing from the graves. Beside me, Falla’s aura pulsed with interest. Her Mind domain gave no awareness of the dead, but she was likely observing my thoughts for the sudden surprise I’d feel if I contacted their spirits.
Unfortunately, if I could cross over the veil, my ability wasn’t manifesting. I couldn’t sense these people, nor explain why they’d died. That was the other motive behind this attempt. As we’d drawn nearer to the village, passing scattered shepherd’s huts, the conclave had hoped to gain information about what to expect when we arrived.
“Nothing,” I said after a while.
Falla exhaled. “Well, we tried.”
As I opened my eyes, blinking against the glare, I felt it. A furious rasping at the edges of my awareness.
“Wait,” I said, throwing myself after the sensation.
But I caught nothing.
“Yes?” Falla said.
I shrugged. “Gone.”
***
The Stormshard column marched somberly through the outskirts of the little mountain village, keeping a slow pace out of respect for the mounds of fresh earth in the cemetery. Hardly anyone spoke. I got the sense that no Sharder wanted to know how the five villagers had been slain, especially the body that lay in a trench far too short to hold an adult’s remains. No doubt it would be up to Sirez to get the story. I didn’t envy her.
Given the number of outlying dwellings, I’d expected a larger settlement. My mind had even wandered into fantasies of sleeping in a proper inn, an honest mattress beneath me and a goose down cover over the top. But the cluster of buildings gathered around the central square and well house was no bigger than Numintown. Smaller than my hometown, even. Except for the largest structure, a wooden frame built atop a low stone foundation, there were only stacked-stone buildings thatched with stalks of wheat. Low fences bounded gardens filled with scraggly plants.
When our army had gathered into a milling horde surrounding the well house, the village seemed even quieter. Eerie, even. We hadn’t passed close enough to the shepherds’ huts to know whether anyone had been inside, but I’d assumed the herders were out tending their grazing flocks. Perhaps not. Already unsettled by the graves and the strange rasping I’d felt, I fought the urge to shiver. The other Sharders shifted, glancing about. When a door to the town hall opened, a few people gasped.
A man with a receding hairline and careworn face stepped onto the threshold. His eyes darted nervously over our gathered crowd. Only after searching the entirety of the square did the tension leave his shoulders. “Why are you here?” he said without preamble.
“Clear skies greet you, friend,” Sirez said as she wove through the Sharders toward the man. “We’re passing through. Thought we might stop for news, and perhaps speak to any able-bodied men and women who might have interest in hearing some… proposals.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “What sort of proposals?”
In a window behind him, motion flickered before a curtain dropped over the glass. Focusing my aura-sight, I peered through the wall. There were at least twenty people in the hall, probably having holed up inside when a lookout spotted our approach. Their auras showed a mixture of sadness and fear. I glanced quickly at Sirez, wondering if she knew any of this.
“You’re fairly isolated out here,” Sirez commented. “No… official presence?”
“If you’re asking whether we’ve got protectors listening in, the answer is no. They left already.”
A rustling rose from the gathered Sharders at the man’s words. Sirez shifted her weight onto her other hip. “Already?”
Again the man’s eyes roved over the crowd. “You’re Stormshard, aren’t you?”
Sirez shrugged a shoulder. “Depends on who’s asking.” Despite her casual stance, she slid a hand toward her belt and the long dagger sheathed there.
Falla nudged me. “Be ready,” she muttered under her breath.
The man held Sirez’s gaze as if judging her. Finally, he heaved a sigh and stepped out of the doorway. Behind him, I spotted the glint of eyes watching the discussion.
“Whether you are or aren’t, you lot look able to protect yourselves. And none of you have the dead-eyed stare of a protector. So you might as well hear the news.”
I hadn’t realized how tense the Sharders had become until they relaxed in response to the man’s words.
“Where might we speak, friend?” Sirez asked. “And may we have use of your well to water the horses?”
“Take what you need,” the man said. “You’re welcome to beds, too. We’ve homes for two hundred here, and as you might have noticed, not half that number to fill them.”
Chapter Nineteen
Havialo
A narrow gorge, Icethorn Mountains
FROM JUST TWENTY paces away, the entrance to the hidden cavern system was invisible. Havialo smirked as he approached. The other geognosts had mocked his inability to find harmony with nature, but wasn’t this proof of how wrong they’d been? It wasn’t that he’d been incapable of mimicking the natural forms, it was merely a lack of interest. He simply hadn’t had the motivation until he’d had something important to protect.
Approaching the entrance, he shook his head in amusement. What had inspired him to consider sharing his secrets with the other geognosts? Fear, he supposed. He’d been
afraid to take all this power for himself. But he’d made a vow as he walked away from the ruins he’d created. Never again would he show such weakness.
Never again would he cower.
Within the first half-hour’s walk from the monastery, he’d released another fault. And another. The corruption didn’t matter anymore. Whatever the masters had feared, it hadn’t touched Havialo. Whatever threat this taint posed, he commanded the power to defeat it. And now, he’d only get stronger.
Straightening his shoulders, he approached the cliff and slipped behind a detached pillar to enter a darkened cleft, the sanctuary’s antechamber. He laid a hand on the wall and channeled energy from the breeze outside, widening the fissure at its apex and allowing more light to penetrate—it no longer mattered whether the entrance could be seen from outside; he and his spiritists would leave for Steelhold tomorrow.
Though the rock outside was coarse-grained granite, rough and unpleasant, the walls within were smoothed to the texture of polished marble, each chamber lovingly hollowed by his will over the past years. Every time he’d brought a new spiritist, freshly rescued from certain execution by the Empire, he’d channeled additional energy into extending the rooms. He wanted his young mages to feel safe. Comfortable.
Most especially, he wanted them to feel loyal.
Running fingers over the wall, he advanced. As he stepped through the arched doorway into the main cavern, a woman in her twenties looked up and gasped.
“Master Havialo!” she said, face lighting to match the collection of candles floating in a bowl in the center of the chamber. “It’s been so long!”
“How are you, Reashel?” he asked. She had been one of his first recruits, back when he’d still associated with Stormshard. More, she’d been the first to unlock the technique of refilling his gnosty. As far as he understood, only spiritists with aptitude in the so-called Body domain could aide him in this way. The others he’d rescued were of little use to him. Which is how he’d ended up with a surplus of spiritists, a circumstance that had led to his ill-fated partnership with the Ministry. For utility, he’d kept a few recruits who were skilled in the other domains, but rather than discard the remaining spiritists as useless, he’d sold them to the palace conspirators as tools. Unfortunately, the Ministry hadn’t understood how to use them properly. Had they done a better job with the resources Havialo had supplied, they wouldn’t have bungled Tovmeil’s assassination so badly.
Rise of the Storm Page 17