Brother Scieran didn't answer. Rune did, knowing he probably wouldn't. "It must be in case anyone finds the secret door. A line of defense far enough away that bringing someone with explosives down here would be inconvenient – if they even thought to do it in the first place. So it buys them more time." She looked around them. "This whole place is designed to give us a way out. A way we can't be followed."
Brother Scieran still didn't speak, but he nodded. There was even, she thought – or perhaps imagined – a measure of approval in his eyes.
Once through, Brother Scieran closed and locked the gate behind them.
They walked again. More turns.
And finally came to a large room. It reminded Rune of the cave below the Mountain of Faith where the Cursed Ones had brought their refugees. Not just because it was large and open, but because it was clearly a last place to flee in a dangerous world.
The large room was empty, save a few auto-cars that seemed strange and out of place here. One of them shifted a bit, and out came a man she knew well.
Father Inmil, one of Rune's favorites on the Council – long white beard made gray by dust and with a streak of crusted blood staining one part of it – tottered out of the car.
"So at least you made it," he said. He sounded old as Rune had never heard him before. He peered beyond them. "Anyone else with you?"
Brother Scieran's face grew dark and ugly and –
Awayawayawayawayawayaway –
SNAP.
"So at least you made it," said Father Inmil again. "Anyone –"
"What about down here?" Rune interrupted. "Anyone with you?"
Father Inmil shook his head. "No one. That's why I've been waiting. To gather more."
"We have to get to find out if the warriors of my Order know about this. We have to defend ourselves," said Brother Scieran.
"That was the first thing I thought of," said Father Inmil. "There was an Ear posted just outside our Council. I tried to get him to call his brother with the Order."
"And?"
Father Inmil looked befuddled. "He… he wouldn't do it."
"A traitor?" Brother Scieran didn't look confused. He looked shocked. "Was it Egar?"
Father Inmil nodded. "And he was acting… strange. Like he couldn't even hear me. Like he wasn't even there."
Brother Scieran thought about this. "They must have found some way to control the Ears. At least some of them. That's why we've been attacked."
"But if the Ears are being controlled…," said Sword. She didn't finish. Seemed like she couldn't. And Rune understood why.
She felt the blood fall away from her face. "That means they know about this place… and probably about the cave, too."
Brother Scieran nodded. "They know it all. About our hideaways, our plans." He nodded at the cave they stood in. "We should be safe here – only the High Priests and Priestesses know about it, and we rarely speak of it, even among ourselves – but the others… those under the mountain."
"What do we do?"
Brother Scieran looked away. Then he walked to one of the cars. He leaned on it, fists bunched together.
Then he leaned back, his face tilted skyward.
He moaned.
The sound was not one of physical pain. It was mental. Spiritual. The pain of a man forsaken by all he has hoped, by all he has loved.
Rune could not help him.
Sometimes the past is set. The future immutable.
She could only hope their future was still flexible enough to let them live.
But she doubted.
29
The water came hard, fast. Faster than Smoke would have thought possible. Like the waterfall he had always enjoyed seeing in the back of the cave had just been waiting for this moment to swell. A once-lovely sight turned into a deathtrap.
It was going to drown them all.
And he couldn't do a thing about it. He was being pushed forward by Wind, by a thrust of air so powerful it was impossible to resist.
Then he was under the water. It had always been dangerous to go in because of the whirlpool at its center. Now whirlpool had been replaced by maelstrom as the waterfall crashed down and created turbulence greater than anything Smoke had ever experienced.
Water flowed into his mouth. He gagged.
Something hit him. Someone. A flailing body. He grabbed it. Not sure if he was trying to help the person, or be helped by them. Not caring.
They held each other. Drowning together.
Then, suddenly… he could breathe again.
What in all the Heavens?
At first he wondered what Gift would let him breathe water. Then he realized he wasn't breathing water. Just air.
But how?
He looked around. Saw first who he was holding. It was Wind. He let go of her reflexively, worried – suddenly and insanely – that she would punch him for daring to hold her. But her mask was off – probably lost – so he could see that she was grinning.
And – suddenly and insanely – he thought what a nice smile she had.
With that, he realized what was happening, too, and gaped. He looked around, his mind rebelling against the very thought.
But it was true. He was still underwater. And, squinting, he could see that the other refugees who had made it this far were as well. Each hung in a bubble of air – a bubble that Wind had called forth in the instant before each went under.
She had saved them all. And not just for the moment, either. Smoke could hear explosions, but apparently the bullets of the war machines couldn't get through the rising water. And they'd have to leave when the cave flooded.
Flooded.
There was a problem in that word. And no sooner did he realize that fact than he realized what the problem was.
The cave would flood. But water would still pour in through that gap. From whatever source it was coming from, it would still come in, and it would want to go out. But there was only one way to go. Which meant….
As though triggered by his thought, he saw the others' air bubbles begin to shift their positions.
Drifting. Moving toward the tunnel that had allowed them entrance to this place. Now being carried out in the same direction.
And when they got to the end, they would be poured right over the side of the mountain. Right into the clouds.
They would break the One Law, the First Law.
They would all die.
He sensed Wind nearby, making a motion. The bubbles came closer, and as they touched one another they joined until the survivors gloated in a single bubble.
Good. Wouldn't want to fall to my doom alone.
He looked around. Knowing he was panicking. Unable to stop.
He caught Cloud's eyes. He had been holding the young man when he was pushed into the water, but lost him in the initial surge of the underwater storm.
The young man hung nearby. He looked bruised. Beaten. Tired. Blood streamed from his ears, and he somehow looked diminished. As though he had lost something important in the battle.
Still, he was awake. And whatever had happened, he managed a slight grin. Held a finger in Wind's direction. Another hand upraised, palm out. The gesture was strange, but somehow communicated an exact thought: Trust. Trust her.
And Smoke did.
It wasn't a thought process. He didn't have to ponder the matter. He trusted Cloud's judgment. And knowing that Wind was doing this – the moment of genuine realization of that fact – put him at ease.
Cloud was good. Wind was good. Good people didn't let their friends down.
It was almost beautiful for a moment. The explosions above had ended. They were hanging in a deep place, lit strangely by dim embers that must have been the remains of whatever glo-globes had survived the attacks and the pummeling of the great waters. The stalactites and stalagmites shimmered still, like diamond-crusted pillars in a strange twilight.
He looked at Wind. She was gazing around as well. A smile still on her lips.
On impul
se, he reached out and took her hand. He had joked about taking Sword on one of "his walks" – but truth was he had never taken anyone on one of those. And he had mostly started that rumor so that Arrow would get off his hands and talk to the girl.
This was who he really wanted to walk with. Not just around some stupid lake. Everywhere.
Again, he was more than a little afraid that she would kill him. A delicious thrill that somehow only added to the moment.
She didn't kill him. Didn't stab him or make his air collapse around him.
Her smile grew.
He knew everything would be okay. Here, in this underwater gloaming, sunset had turned surprisingly to sunrise.
Some of the glo-globes winked out. He still saw the light.
Then the drifting became more pronounced. They began floating faster. Faster.
Faster.
Fasterfasterfasterfaster –
And then the world burst upon them in terrible brightness and at the same moment they fell.
The air bubble imploded around Smoke. He was suddenly underwater again. And as bad as the tempest had been in the lake above, the turbulence of the waterfall as it escaped the Mountain of Faith was far worse.
He tried to hold to Wind. This time he couldn't. He had to let her go.
He tumbled down. Down.
Fell forever.
Thought he saw cloud.
Knew he would fall below.
Knew he would die, one way or another.
He saw Wind in his mind. Saw her smile.
Was happy.
And then….
He stopped falling. Felt a tremendous jerk as something yanked him sideways instead of down.
He saw something directly below him. White and soft and strangely appealing – even though it was death.
He was so close. So close to the cloud.
Then he spun. Facing up. Rose, with arms flailing at his sides.
Saw Wind. She hung in midair, standing straight and tall with arms outstretched as though gesturing that all of creation was hers to command.
Beside her, around her: everyone who was left. Cloud. The five children and eight adults.
They floated there.
Smoke wondered at first if she wasn't strong enough to take them all up. If this was taxing her strength to its full measure.
If that was so, they would die here. She would tire eventually, then they would fall. Tumble below the cloud and their bodies would be found atop the castle spires.
Then he saw the shadows. He saw the war machines, gliding up the side of the mountain. They had been forced out of the cave by the waters, and were leaving – no doubt thinking their job finished, the destruction complete.
Wind was holding them here until they were safe.
Smoke was in awe. She had more power, more Gift, than any he had ever experienced.
What could I offer her? A convict? An unschooled criminal with a Gift that is nothing next to hers?
A stupid thought. A nonsense half-wish that was totally inappropriate, totally ridiculous, and yet the only thing he could think of right now.
A moment later they began to ascend. Drawing together as they did. A tight knot of survivors held close by the most powerful among them.
What could I give her?
Nothing.
He felt lower and lower the higher they rose.
Then they were even with the point where cliff became solid ground. Wind took them to the side, then far enough in that there was no danger of falling off.
The war machines were nowhere to be seen.
Safe.
Smoke looked at Wind. Her eyes were bloodshot, the color gone from her face. Her arms were still outstretched, but they trembled with the effort of all she had done. She was on the point of collapse.
And the instant they touched down, she did collapse. She pitched forward into her brother's arms, though he looked ready to fall over himself.
Nothing. That's what I offer.
Smoke began to look around. To see who, if anyone, needed help he could give. Wounds to bind, cuts to hold shut.
Wind forced herself upright. Turned to him.
He wanted to hold her. Gods, he wanted to.
But he didn't. Instead, he Signed: You okay?
She jerked in shock. Gestured back. You Sign?
I learned a little.
When?
Since I met you.
Why?
Because I met you.
Why didn't you ever say anything before?
I did not know if you would want me to.
She walked closer.
He still wanted to hold her.
He still didn't.
Instead, she held him.
She kissed him.
And, finally, let herself collapse. In his arms.
That was what he gave her: his strength. He held her up when she finally needed to fall.
And that, he found, was enough.
30
Sword itched to do something. Ached for action.
But there was nothing to be done. Not yet. Brother Scieran insisted on patience.
They had taken one of the auto-cars through a hidden exit from the tunnel system the Faithful had created so long ago. The exit was crafted – through the power of some long-forgotten Gift, she suspected, so perfect was the workmanship – to look like the side of a great stone that thrust out of the ground. But as with the tree, there was a door that opened smoothly and easily if you knew the proper place to press.
They drove. A day and a night. Brother Scieran drove the whole way, pausing only to let them relieve themselves in the woods that lined the small paths and unbeaten roads they traveled.
Father Inmil was in the front. Arrow, Rune, and Sword crowded into the back seat. Any auto-car was a sign of some wealth. But there were gradations, and this definitely was a smaller, cheaper vehicle. It was uncomfortable, but no one complained.
The only words spoken were by Father Inmil, who occasionally whispered a direction to Brother Scieran. A "turn here" or a "straight ahead," said so low they could almost be passed off as imagination. She sensed the instructions were more for Father Inmil's benefit than for that of Brother Scieran, since he seemed to know exactly where he was going.
Where are we going?
She didn't ask. No one did. Sword guessed part of the silence was shock over what had happened. Over the destruction of the Grand Cathedral and all that meant – the deaths of so many.
But she thought much of the silence was a mix of both hope and fear. Brother Scieran was the leader. He was the one who had always come to their aid when they needed healing, be it physical or spiritual. They hoped he would talk to them. Speak words that would soothe, that would reassure. They feared he would not. That his days as healer – perhaps even leader – were over.
His silence was an open wound.
She nodded off once. Long enough to Dream. The Man. The Woman. Reaching for her with smiles that turned to round-mouthed cries that were silent and terrible, and blood running on a gold-veined floor.
She woke. And feared.
Who are they?
What if they were the Emperor and Empress, murdered?
What if Malal is my brother?
What if I could be another Heir?
They reached their destination.
It was a small building. Once white, but now graying with age and with disuse. It was clearly an old cathedral, though smaller than any she had ever seen. Atop it was a sign of Faith, but it was strange – burnt and blackened, as though it had been struck by lightning, or perhaps fashioned originally from charred wood.
Behind it was something that looked like it had once been a berry patch, now overgrown with weeds that reached higher than the sparse tufts of wheat that also grew nearby.
"This is the Small Cathedral," said Father Inmil when they got out.
"That's its name?" said Rune.
Father Inmil nodded.
"Not very imaginative."
Sword had to consciously will herself not to gasp. She had always assumed that Brother Scieran was behind everything. The mastermind holding all the strings. To find out someone else had been in charge… it just went against the view of the world she had built up.
I should learn that whatever I know is going to turn out to be wrong sooner or later.
She thought there might be wisdom in that.
Father Inmil continued, "After me there were several other priests, all of whom passed down a love of the Gods and a deep concern over the state of the Empire." He chuckled. "Your friends Wind and Cloud were eventually found here. Our friend," he said, with a nod toward Brother Scieran, "heard about them from a priest who sheltered them and gave them sanctuary here when their village was destroyed. He recruited them. Turned out to be quite a boon when they both were Gifted – or Cursed, as you people like to call yourselves."
Sword frowned. "Wait, you've been doing this for generations? I thought it was just the Chancellor we were worried about."
He shook his head. "No, it's him we're most worried about at the present time. But the Empire has been slowly sliding to this point for the last sixty years. More." He grimaced. "And now you know how very old I am."
"What started the problems?" asked Arrow. He looked at Brother Scieran when he asked the question, and Sword got the feeling he was hoping for their friend to answer.
Brother Scieran remained silent.
Father Inmil had been waiting as well. Now he sighed. "We don't know. If we did, perhaps we'd be a bit closer to answers."
"Doesn't matter. The past is gone."
The words came fast and low. Then Brother Scieran walked away. He returned a moment later with some branches and began piling them against the auto-car. Sword understood why: he didn't want an Imperial Army air-car passing overhead and seeing an out-of-place auto-car sitting beside a supposedly empty cathedral.
The Sword Chronicles: Child of the Empire Page 34