The Skylighter (The Keepers' Chronicles Book 2)

by Becky Wallace

  The young Keeper took a quick, surprised breath and knelt down beside her. He pressed a hand against Rafi’s chest. “I can’t heal all of this. Not if I have to fight.”

  “Fix him. He’ll fight beside you. He’s good.”

  “Against magic?”

  She opened her mouth to counter, but Leão shook his head. “I’ll clean and close the wounds, but I can’t do any more without risking our survival.”

  It was already a risk, she could tell by the stiffness of Leão’s movements, but he pressed one hand to Rafi’s chest while Johanna prayed to Mother Lua for a miracle.

  Rafi shuddered as the magic poured into him; he gulped air and his eyelashes quivered.

  “Please, please, please,” she said aloud, clasping her broken hand over her shattered heart.

  His eyes opened slowly. “Johanna? What’s going on—”

  She smothered his words with a kiss, then said, “We have to go.”

  Another explosion blasted overhead, and she threw her body over his.

  “I’m pleased to see you, too,” he whispered against her neck, his voice scratchy.

  A glistening bubble surrounded them, and Johanna looked up, seeing Leão’s expression shift from concern to concentration.

  “We run now,” Leão commanded.

  With Rafi’s arm draped around her, Johanna followed Leão up the stairs and onto the small square of stones beyond the door.

  A bell pealed wildly. Soldiers struggled out of the garrison, stepping into boots and pulling shirts over their heads. Simultaneously, a head peeked out the hole in the prison’s side. Limbs bound in ragged fabric followed. One barefoot man, then a dozen, streamed through the opening. Some wore random pieces of armor and carried handmade weapons—a table leg, the back of a chair for a shield, chunks of rock from the tumbledown wall. Shouts rang. Fights broke out. The flood of prisoners overran the men at the burning gate.

  Weapons were raised against the unarmed, knocking some back, forcing others to the ground. A crack. A stab. A wheeze, groan, and splatter.

  A gust of air blew the gates open, crushing those who stood nearest to them. Five men stood silhouetted in the opening. The man in the center was significantly taller than the rest; the other four held crossbows.

  “It’s been so long since I’ve had another Keeper to fight face-to-face. This is shaping up to be a very pleasant day.” The voice was male, a tenor with a slight vibrato. He raised his hands chest-high and pushed outward. Everyone in his direct path tumbled over. “Or you could bring the girl to me and I could kill you speedily, but that wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.”

  Johanna knew who “the girl” was, and from the arms tightening around her, she guessed Rafi knew too.

  Leão pressed them both back into the stairwell. “I’ll create a hole in the city wall behind us. It will open onto the jungle. You run. You don’t look back. I’ll send Jacaré after you.” He handed Rafi a short sword. “Protect her. Get her to the wall.”

  “I will.” Rafi took the blade without hesitation.

  “Leão—”

  He hushed Johanna with a touch, his fingers firm. “Be safe. I’ll come when I can.”

  She hadn’t liked the Keepers much, even once she understood their mission, but Leão had always been sweet to her. “Be safe.”

  Raising one hand toward the wall and one hand toward the approaching group, Leão counted down.

  The earth lurched under their feet, a violent wrenching that knocked five of the barbicans out of the wall. Rafi and Johanna clung to each other, lumbering over obstacles, till they were through the hole.

  Johanna stopped to see if Leão was following. He stood, tall and fearsome, protecting their escape with a shimmering barrier of light. Bolts of lightning struck on the far side. Crossbow bolts flew, thumping into chests and limbs. Some men died instantly and others slowly.

  Leão stood firm, never flinching against the cataclysm that threatened to overwhelm him. Johanna turned away, ignoring the weight of guilt. More people were going to die, and it would be on no one’s head but her own.

  Chapter 25

  * * *

  Jacaré

  Jacaré moved through Camaçari as only a Keeper could. His speed and agility drew the attention of the people standing on the street, and they moved out of his way.

  The garrison courtyard was a nightmare relived. Soldiers cut down untrained men. The dying screamed, clutching at gaping wounds as if they could keep their blood from escaping between their fingers. Fire licked the bodies of the unmoving.

  For a moment recollection was superimposed over reality. Jacaré could see the hazy image of a girl kneeling at the feet of a sword-wielding Mage. Her blond hair ruffled in the wind, the delicate wing of a shoulder blade exposed by her torn and bloodied dress, the soft curve of her spine as she waited for the death stroke.

  The earth rolled under Jacaré’s feet, and the sharp bite of a stone against his palm shocked him to the present scene. A Mage was there, taller and darker than the one who haunted his nightmares, but he was surrounded by collar-wearing minions for protection. No girl was hunched at his feet, but it was little relief. Johanna would soon be at his mercy unless someone could guide her to safety.

  Jacaré took a deep breath, forcing away the horror of the memory, and he rushed forward with his weapon drawn. He could approach from behind, take down some of the Mage’s men, and provide enough distraction for Leão to get Johanna away.

  But would Leão know how to fix the barrier?

  Across the courtyard, blocking a narrow gap in the picket wall, Jacaré spotted Leão casting a broad iridescent shield and fending off the lightning assault. He didn’t need such a large shield to protect himself. If he had made it smaller, he could have reserved power for a stronger offensive attack.

  The shield shuddered under a fireball, wavering for a moment before stabilizing. It changed color to a deep green and flashed three times, then returned to normal, then switched to the flashing green again.

  The pattern of lights sent a code that only another member of the Elite Guard would recognize, telling a distant crew to pursue. It was simple and brilliant, but obeying it meant that Jacaré would be leaving his companion behind to face this Mage alone—a Mage with unknown ability and power.

  It was the right thing to do to ensure Johanna’s survival, but it was a wicked slice. Tex had predicted that this mission would result in casualties, but neither of them had anticipated losing the entire crew.

  Except me. Always the lone survivor.

  The pattern of lights flickered faster, urgency in the flash. Pride filled Jacaré’s chest at the boy’s bravery, but it was tempered with grief. He hesitated for one long moment, questioning himself, his decisions, the value of many lives over the life of one so valiant and true.

  He pressed his closed fist to his heart and raised it in Leão’s direction in a farewell salute, then dove through the hole in the wall.

  With a crackle that shook the trees in the forest, the shield disintegrated and blasts of molten fire blazed against the prison’s remaining walls.

  Chapter 26

  * * *

  Leão

  Jacaré took the opening Leão provided, and sprinted past with the speed only an Elite Guard could muster. They shared a glance, a moment of unspoken agreement. Jacaré would follow after Johanna, and Leão would do whatever it took to stop their pursuers.

  Leão’s throat was dry from breathing so hard for so long. He was winded, worn down, but he pushed on to give his friends a chance to escape. There was no room for trepidation in this turmoil, only action and reaction. Attack, defend, or die.

  After a count of one hundred, giving Jacaré ample time to get into the jungle, Leão tore down the city’s side wall. The barbicans fell like a giant’s pile of kindling, making that exit impassable.

  “You’re going to make this difficult, are you?” It was that same high-pitched voice, magically magnified so that Leão could hear it over the melee.
“You’re welcome to try.”

  Instead of responding, Leão sent a blast of air to slam shut the garrison complex’s gate and cut off the other Keeper’s last avenue of retreat.

  Six lightning bolts hit his shield at once, and the earth cracked beneath his feet. If he wanted to live, he couldn’t make many mistakes. Before his shield could unravel, he leaped to the side, sprinting for cover behind the still-standing walls of the prison.

  Before he got far, a rope of liquid fire smashed into the place where he’d been standing. He dove, feeling his skin tighten from the scalding heat, and rolled until he fetched up against the prison’s stone foundation.

  He was shaky, inside and out. His arms quaked, and exhaustion cramped the space between his shoulder blades, but his mind was racing through and disregarding possible scenarios.

  I could try this. . . . No, this . . .

  “I know you’re out there,” came a singsong shout. “It won’t take me long to find you!”

  Leão worked his way behind the prison, using the remaining walls as a barrier, drawing closer to his attacker’s position. A wind tunnel appeared a dozen feet ahead, tearing at his clothes and sucking him toward the whipping gusts. He grasped for Air, desperate to establish a shield that would protect him, but the element wouldn’t stabilize.

  This!  His mind latched on to one of Pira’s tricks and pulled on the metal flecks in the fallen pile of stone. A portion of the prison wall sailed toward him, creating a head-high barrier, a perfect crescent of protection. The pieces fit together seamlessly, cocooning around him in a barrier shorter than he was tall.

  He ducked down and hoped the guards and escapees would follow his lead and find someplace safe to hide. A few dashed inside his alcove, but too many others were struck by battle lust, trapped in the moment of kill or be killed.

  And they would die, struck down by lightning or burned by flame. Nothing held out for long against the elements.

  Leão did his best to protect them, narrowing his blasts of fire to long, vaporizing ropes, but the pinpointed attacks were sapping his strength, and his opponent wasn’t making the same effort to avoid casualties. Swaths of flame burned the field and anything that stood in their way.

  Pressing his back to the wall, he took a deep breath, trying to steady his breathing and slow the pounding of his heart. He had enough energy for one final assault, but it needed to be brilliant. It needed to be unexpected.

  “This has been entertaining. Really it has, but I’ve got princesses to catch, people to kill, pastries to eat.” The Keeper gave a little giggle.

  Then there was a new sound, the tinkle of glass shattering against the stone. The man nearest Leão screamed, clutching the icicle that had stabbed through his stomach. Thousands of shards fell from the sky; some were as slim and pointed as stilettos and others were bludgeons, knocking men from their feet. One sliced a frozen line down the side of Leão’s face. The chill of the ice and the heat of his own blood redirected his thoughts to something else, something totally inappropriate for the moment.

  Pira. She was also hot and cold, lethal and beautiful. She could cut you with her words or cudgel you with her fists. And she was the perfect inspiration Leão needed.

  Even though he was close to blackout, his energy tapped, a small smile played at his lips.

  He remembered one particular day when he was a greenling—a trainee for the Elite Guard—and couldn’t seem to stay on his feet. Mud had slipped him up when he tried to use a bow, engage a peer, and even mount his horse. Pira had used her Earth affinity to make the ground slide under his feet. She’d done it as a simple prank meant to test his mettle, but today it would be a weapon.

  Leão dug his fingers into the dirt and held his other hand aloft. With the last dregs of his power, he tore a hole in the earth beneath the Keeper’s feet and slammed a fireball over the top like a burning lid.

  Then he, too, fell . . . unconscious.

  Chapter 27

  * * *

  Leão

  A bell rang, a steady gong filling Leão’s skull with an endless reverberation. He raised a hand and pressed it to his ear, but the sound didn’t fade. The ringing was inside his head, and it wouldn’t stop.

  He blinked a few times, hoping to regain his vision, and slowly colors replaced the blackness. Fleshy, dancing shapes, edged with lines too dark to be shadows, appeared first. The blurring image became two distinct shapes before dissolving into one . . .

  Arm.

  It was draped lifelessly over a stone wall, and its owner was missing. Or more accurately, its owner was missing an arm.

  Struggling to his feet, legs as wobbly as a newborn fawn’s, Leão pushed himself to stand against the stacked stones. Once he was upright, once he saw what was beyond, his knees buckled and only his grip on the top kept him from toppling again.

  Oh Light. Did I do this?

  He couldn’t remember. He didn’t want to remember. And then, like the opening of a door onto a room of memory, he did.

  The scorch marks on the ground were wide as a carriage but round, with narrowed tails pointing in his direction—arrows identifying the culprit of the destruction. In the center of the field, not far from where the gates stood, a crater smoked. Bits and pieces of people littered the ground like overlarge confetti, with streamers of blood stretching from each portion.

  The man nearest Leão, blessedly intact, began to stir. A whimper rose from his lips, then cut off as if it had never existed. He rolled to his side, covering his ears. Perhaps also hearing the gong in his head.

  At least the movement was a good sign. At least one person had survived.

  Despite his horror at the wreckage he’d caused, Leão couldn’t stay. He’d exposed his gifts; there was no disguising what had occurred. Rumors of Keepers, living magic-users, would soon have people searching for anyone that met his description.

  One step, then another, careful to avoid the bodies of the dead—and a handful of living—he stumbled past his burning crater. The hole was deep, but he could see crumpled bodies at the bottom. Rats were already sniffing along the edge, looking for a meal from the corpses.

  It was a sick sort of relief, knowing that the Keeper wouldn’t be able to follow Jacaré, Johanna, and Rafi. They could proceed to the wall unhindered and reestablish the barrier.

  It also meant that this particular threat to Johanna had been eliminated, but there were other hazards out there. The Keeper who’d captured Pira had gone west. A soldier would follow up on a perceived danger and eliminate it. It was his duty.

  At least that’s what he convinced himself.

  The gates to the prison were open wide enough for Leão to squeeze through. Weary and exhausted, he didn’t wonder who had pried them open.

  Chapter 28

  * * *

  Dom

  The palisade was complete; the cellars of the estate were stocked. The townspeople had been drilling on proper procedures to get inside the estate’s walls in a reasonable amount of time—too slow, in Dom’s opinion.

  There was only one thing left to do, and it wasn’t something in his father’s plans. It was something Dom had discovered while studying the maps of the roads that led into and out of Santiago. He wasn’t sure if it was going to work, and with a spy around (and because he didn’t want to look like a fool if his idea failed), he didn’t mention his plan to anyone.

  Instead he gave all the villagers a day off and told Cook to pack him a lunch. He invited Michael along, thinking the ride would tire the boy out and give Brynn a break, but his plan backfired.

  “Ask Brynn to come with us,” Michael demanded, his cherubic face set in a pout. “I don’t want to go without her.”

  Dom sat at the downsized table in the nursery that had been aired out for Michael’s use. Some of the toys were too young, even for him, but the table and its battalion of hand-carved soldiers had become one of the child’s favorite sources of entertainment.

  Brynn sat in the rocking chair, stitching a pa
tch on another pair of Michael’s pants.

  “I’m sure she has other things to do,” Dom said, trying to draw her gaze, but she refused to acknowledge him. “Like fixing your clothes, which, by the way, you need to stop destroying.”

  He didn’t have a clear view of Brynn’s face, but from the way she jammed the needle through the material, he guessed she was upset. Likely at him. For something he couldn’t name.

  “She’s not fixing them. She’s adding pockets like yours.” The boy reached into the pocket on Dom’s right knee and pulled out a wrapped doce de leite. “And she wants to come. Don’t you, Brynn?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t want to invite myself along, Michael.” She stayed intent on her work, snapping off the thread with her teeth and holding the pants out in front of her. “I’m sure Lord Dom’s right. I’ve got plenty of things to clean, and sew, and straighten up.”

  Dom held out his hands, palms up, but Michael didn’t get the point.

  “I know she wants to go.” Michael left the table and stood next to the rocking chair. “You want to go, don’t you, Brynn?”

  “Well . . .”

  Tired of fighting, Dom groaned. “Do you want to come, Brynn? It’ll be a long ride, but if it sounds like a pleasant afternoon, you’re welcome to join us.”

  Michael beamed; Brynn sighed.

  “If you insist, my lord.”

  I didn’t insist. Michael did, but if it will get us out of the house before dark, then fine.

  The ride was long, and Michael enjoyed the first hour, talking and telling tales like a tiny Storyspinner. Once the second hour began to stretch, his stories turned into complaints and then into whining.

  When they finally reached their destination, Dom led the horses down a steep incline to drink from the bottom of a ravine. The drop from the twisting trail was at least fourteen feet, and the path to the bottom was barely wide enough to allow one horse to pass. There were two bridges that crossed the ravine: one closer to the marsh that marked the boundary between Santiago and Belem, and another where the flat meadowlands turned into a scrub forest.