by Dennis Foon
In the eerie stillness that follows, the crickets descend on Qrixxis’s ashes and consume them.
Xxisos hisses to Lumpy and then stares piercingly at Roan as Lumpy translates. “Xxisos says the crickets’ message is clear. The Hhroxhi will not raise a weapon in our service but they will stand with us in our struggle. After he has shared this experience and consulted with the elders, we will be informed of exactly how they will aid us.”
In the waning darkness before sunrise, Roan stands at the foot of the road leading up to the Brothers’ camp, watching two cloaked figures disappear into the horizon. He wanted time to stand still so that they could all stay together, but Willum and Stowe’s hearts were not in the world of the encampment, his world. They belonged to the City. Darius was an imminent threat and they could not delay their departure any longer.
But at least now Roan is sure the bond between he and his sister had survived her years in the City; he’d known it the instant he’d felt her scream, Not my brother! It had been a cry of desperation in the face of an unbearable loss. A voicing of an unassailable love, for him.
Before she slipped away, Stowe had stopped, her face wet with tears. He can still feel her tiny hand gripping his. So white, so smooth. She’s never toiled in the open air, never touched a shovel or sword; her skin is the skin of an aristocrat.
So perfect on the outside. Her scars are all contained within.
Travel well, my sister.
And you, my brother. Perhaps luck will bring us together again.
At that moment she’d squeezed his hand more tightly. Their bodies had begun to shake and, though they tried, they could not release their grip on each other. Then, with a loud snap, Roan’s badger ring had split in two.
Willum had bent to retrieve both halves from the frozen ground. And rolling each half carefully in his fingers, he’d spoken in a hushed voice tinged with awe. “This ring contains a life-force, an energy that did not disperse when the ring was broken. It suggests that our great-grandfather must have intended you both share it.” Giving Roan and Stowe each half of the ring, he’d wrapped their palms around the mystery, saying, “Guard it well.”
Stowe came closer and, standing on tiptoe, she drew Roan’s forehead to hers. Goodbye again, Brother. They’d stood like this until the longing was almost unbearable and then she walked out of his life, yet again. Hopefully not forever.
“Come on, I’ll walk you up.”
“Kira!” He’d been so deep in thought he hadn’t heard her come down the path. “I can’t seem to stop thinking that Stowe’s only twelve.”
“She’s young, but she has Willum, that gives her a bit of an edge,” Kira says, slipping her arm through Roan’s. “He will guard her with his life. Willum carries deep, impenetrable secrets. And to be honest, most of them, I don’t want to know. But they’ve made him very powerful. Sometimes I wish I’d gone to the Wazya, learned the Way from Khutumi, as Willum did; but it was swordplay I loved. I was never happy unless I was breaking a sweat.” Kira’s face is open, her manner freewheeling. But Roan knows she and Stowe share a deep, explosive rage. Kira’s older, more mature, so it’s more effectively buried—but because of that, maybe it’s more dangerous.
As they approach the encampment, they walk in silence. Had it been only a few hours ago that he’d discovered they were related? Cousin. Roan is surprised at how comforting that is. When they reach the path into the center of camp, Kira squeezes Roan’s arm tightly. “Petra and Veet ride out with me in the next hour. I’ll see that the barracks at Foresight are well organized by the time you arrive. And yes, I promise I’ll keep a close eye on our smuggler.” With a wave, she disappears into the green haze of daybreak.
Roan sighs, and taking a quick look around, decides he’s got a few minutes to make himself scarce. If they can’t find him, they can’t expect him to raise the sun again. But he only gets three steps toward the trees when the bell rings.
“Will you accompany me, Roan of Longlight?” Ende says, striding up behind him.
Roan nods, realizing the futility of escape.
“I am curious to see you raise the sun.” The amused look on Ende’s face makes it clear that she did not miss his botched attempt to flee. “It is a powerful affirmation of the Brothers’ belief in the Friend, don’t you think?”
Roan glances sidelong at Ende but she doesn’t meet his gaze. “As far as rituals go, I suppose it’s pretty effective.”
But Ende’s not even listening. Her arm extended in greeting, she calls out, “Mabatan, come, join us!”
Roan glowers at the new arrival. “Don’t tell me you’re coming to watch my performance too?”
Mabatan grins. “No. I come to greet the sun.”
Roan laughs. “Finally somebody who doesn’t believe in the Friend.”
“I didn’t say that,” she replies, then whispers so the Brethren who are making their way up the trail do not overhear, “but he is not great enough to lift the sun.”
After the ceremony and the morning meal are finished, Roan heads back to Saint’s tent. He’s hoping for a few moments’ respite to think on yesterday’s events while the visitors to the Brothers’ encampment are all preparing to leave. But Wolf is waiting for him at the entrance, obviously upset.
Gesturing for the Brothers’ leader to follow him in, he braces himself for what is to come. Entering the central tent, he crosses quickly to the serpent rug and sits, knowing that this is the most powerful position in the room. “What troubles you, Brother Wolf?”
Wolf’s rage blazes across his face. “Everything I have done, I have done in the name of the Prophet. He was touched by the Friend and bore the burn that proved it. I trusted him and I trusted the ones he chose for his lieutenants. Now I find Raven is Darius’s minion, Asp a Dirt Eater spy, and Stinger…Stinger has some unearthly ties to those maggot Blood Drinkers. All that is left to me is a boy. A boy who walks with ghosts and a Mor-Tick. A boy whose sister can set a man aflame with a scream.”
“She did not mean to hurt—”
“And what would have happened if she had?”
“It is true, Brother Wolf, that my sister can kill with her cry, but last night she screamed in fear for my life. That scream, combined somehow with the sound of the crickets—”
“Bugs!”
“They are more—”
“Yes, Roan of Longlight, tell me how bugs are greater than the Friend. Why Blood Drinker maggots who will not even agree to fight beside us should be tolerated. Why we must consort with Governors and Storytellers and coddle spies. Why I should believe in your vision to the exclusion of my senses and send my men to die beside unbelievers.”
Steaming, Brother Wolf stands breathless, awaiting Roan’s answer.
Roan holds back his panic with an iron will. “I will consider all your questions, Brother Wolf. I admit that I have sometimes been disrespectful, but my anger was justified. As yours is now. You have bent both to your Prophet’s demands and to mine with little or no explanation. Give me until the end of the next full moon. If by that time your questions remain unanswered, I will set you free of the promise Saint exacted from you. I know that is what has kept you at my side.”
“With respect, Roan of Longlight, you do not know why I do what I do. But I will agree to wait. Until the last day of the full moon. No longer.” An odd discomfort pinches Wolf’s brow as if he is unsure of the wisdom of his ultimatum. But it passes quickly and, determined, he strides out of the tent.
As Roan sits frozen in the wake of Wolf’s explosion, Lumpy steps in from behind the canvas wall. “Wow. So. How are you planning to handle that?”
Roan looks over at his friend in despair. “I don’t have the faintest idea.”
“Well,” says Lumpy, without a hint of sympathy, “you’d better get one quick. We can’t win this war without him.”
By noon all visitors are on their way and Roan is bidding Governor Selig and his entourage farewell.
“I’ll send word as soon as I have any in
formation,” the Governor promises. “I’m putting a lot of trust in you, Roan of Longlight. Brother Wolf is a good man but, well, since Saint’s died, I don’t understand exactly what has been going on. And those Apsara…it’s not very proper, women fighting, is it? Storytellers and smugglers, and that young—was it a girl? My wife says she was. Who was she? And…” The Governor’s wife takes his arm, smiling sweetly, and Selig clears his throat. “Well, time to be off. May the Prophet ride with you. And help you control that unruly mob you’ve got on your hands.”
Mounting his gray mare, he squints at Roan. For the first time, Roan can see a shrewdness there. This is a man who, despite the odds, has weighed in on Roan’s side…with some persuasion from his wife. As he watches the woman daintily perch herself on a white mare, Roan leans over to Ende. “She is paired to a governor, Kira was matched with a prophet—who else do the Apsara watch so closely?”
“I think it’s best if those secrets stay with me.”
Judging by the Governor’s statement about her warriors, Ende has a point. How would Selig feel if he found out he was partnered with someone who owed her first allegiance not to him, but to her own people? On the other hand, what about him? Would the Governor’s first loyalty be to his wife before all others?
What we expect from people, we’re not always willing to give, Roan realizes. He’d wanted Stowe to be his little sister again, but she’d become much more than that: wise enough not to ask the same of him, to know he’d never again be the big brother who’d helped her carve her name in a tree. She is certain of her goals and with Willum at her side, she has the means to accomplish them.
Roan wishes he could be as sure of his own objectives. Wolf is set to launch attacks on the caravans to the City as soon as word comes from the Governor—but only until the last day of the full moon, then Roan has to somehow regain his trust. There’s hope that maybe they’ll find some clue on how to deal with the Overshadower or the enablers or the Apogee at the library—but what if there’s nothing? When Ende had looked at him in her tent and said he would be wise to share in the Brothers’ belief, what had she meant exactly?
The fact is, everyone seems much more sure of what they have to accomplish than he is. Kamyar’d been so fired up about spreading the word of Roan’s return, he’d left immediately after the meeting. Even Lumpy has initiated a project with Stinger to transport Saint’s collection of books to the safer locale of the library.
But as Roan makes his way back into the heart of the Brothers’ camp, he notices that last night’s windstorm has swept away the clouds. The sky is clear and the sun is blazing. If the weather holds, they can be at the Academy in three or four days. There, hopefully he’ll find the answers he needs.
What Stowe had wanted to do on the way back to the City was…nothing. She’d wanted to mourn the brother she’d lost, the one she dropped the apple on, the one who’d helped her carve her name in the Big Empty. Roan had looked so old, she couldn’t bear it. So careworn. He’d lived out in the open while she’d lived inside, and every heartbreak, every burden, seemed engraved in his face, his hands. She worries her half of the ring constantly because when she’s not touching it, she feels as if she’s lost Roan for good.
“The bond is not so easily broken” is what Willum had said, as if that were the end of that. And then he’d launched in. Every last possibility and complication of their return to the City had to be examined, and alternate responses gone over in detail. She was more of an improviser herself, but Willum would have none of it, too many lives at stake. Maybe he could think of all the deaths he might cause by doing this instead of that and remain calm in the moment, but she didn’t know if she could.
Well, it didn’t hurt to be prepared. The fact that she hasn’t heard the last ten things he’s said doesn’t make her even a little nervous. He’ll ask her questions and when she can’t answer them, he’ll scowl, but he’ll go over them again.
“You haven’t been listening,” he says, reigning in his mount.
“Sure, I was: placate Darius,” she replies indignantly.
“Those were my last two words, Stowe.”
“I know, Cousin.”
“Do not get into the habit of calling me that. It could mean death for both of us.”
Stowe laughs, sharply. “Don’t worry, Cousin, I know how to hold my tongue.”
“Now…”
She would have to listen this time. Cousin.
Was that their bond? All descended from the man who betrayed Darius, all living out their great-grandfather’s legacy, still attempting to do what he could not—destroy his adversary. Was her hatred for Darius more in her blood than from her experience?
She notices that Willum is silent. He’s waiting for her to give him her attention. That is different. Less a teacher, more of a co-conspirator.
Co-conspirator. Stowe smiles. She likes the sound of that.
THE APOGEE
VOLUME XI, ARTICLE 3.2.
NUMBER 126 HAS BEEN LISTED MISSING AND IRRETRIEVABLE. ALL TASKS ALLOTTED TO HIM ARE REASSIGNED, EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY: NUMBER 139 TO HEAD ENABLER RESEARCH TEAM. NUMBER 87 TO OVERSEE FILO PRODUCT DEVELOPMENT. NUMBER 111 TO MANAGE MICROPROCESSOR CONFIGURATION. NUMBER 94 TO TRANSLATE THE…
—GUNTHER LOG
THE MORNING OF THE THIRD DAY ON THEIR WAY TO THE ACADEMY, a dark bank of storm clouds rises in the west, threatening snow. Roan had insisted on hugging the tree line—keeping the location of the Academy secret was a top priority, and his small company would be pretty conspicuous otherwise—even though he knew it might add a day or more to their journey. But they haven’t had even one encounter and now, riding into the fast-approaching weather, he’s questioning the wisdom of his decision.
Ende, Mejan the Storyteller, and a dozen Brothers and Apsara are not the easy targets Othard and Imin were—he probably should have put more trust in their powers of observation and taken the shorter route across the plain. But Roan hasn’t relaxed his vigilance once the entire trip. Since the Council, he’s felt responsible for everyone and everything, and he fears the strain of it’s starting to show. He’d gone without sleep the night before they’d left, and had never recouped it. Mejan had kept him up both nights of the journey, regaling him with stories, both useful and fanciful, and now his eyes are heavy. He draws closer to his friends and their whispered conversation, hoping their banter will keep him awake.
Lumpy and Mabatan are comparing notes on the Governor’s wife. Lumpy, it seems, is the only person who actually managed to speak with her. “I’ve never heard someone talk so much and say absolutely nothing so well before. I mean, when I was with her, it seemed like she was telling me her entire life story but after I left, I realized I knew nothing at all about her.”
Mabatan laughs. Roan smiles at the sound, like the sun glimmering on still water. “Are you sure she said nothing important?” she asks.
Lumpy’s face wrinkles up so comically that Mabatan laughs again and Roan begins to feel at ease for the first time in weeks. “Now that you mention it, she did say something strange. I don’t know how important it is, though.”
“And…?” Mabatan asks impatiently.
“It was something about dreams. First she asked me if I had dreams. I said yes, and then asked about her. And it seems she still had them, but she knew of a lot of people whose dreams had stopped. She said they shrugged it off but that they seemed ‘profoundly unhappy’ about it. Think it’s important?”
“I’m still dreaming,” Mabatan says, noncommittally. “Roan?”
“Sometimes I wish my dreams would stop.” And as if the very statement invokes it, a vision of bombs dropping over the Brothers’ camp, the entire mountain a raging pyre of poisonous green flame, flashes before Roan’s eyes.
“Roan?”
Hearing the concern in Lumpy’s voice, Roan motions his friends closer. “Over the next few weeks, all of the Brothers will have to be relocated to the Academy.”
“Why? What did you see?” groans Lumpy
.
“The moment Darius realizes the Brothers are part of a full-blown rebellion, he’ll do the same to their camp that he did to the original rebels.”
“You mean drop bombs like the ones that made the Devastation?”
Mabatan pales. “Revenge consumes the world.” Roan’s father had spoken the same words. It would seem Roan and Mabatan had more in common than just a bloodline.
“I guess I’ll have to escalate my plan to move Saint’s books,” says Lumpy. “And maybe we should target the Governor of the western territory—what was his name? Pollard. To make sure no oil gets to the City. Darius needs a lot of it to fly his bombers, right?”
“Right. And…umm…Kira said she’d see to setting up some barracks, but I don’t think she has these kind of numbers in mind, so…I’d like you to make sure everyone pitches in. It’ll take a group effort to get the Academy habitable for everyone.”
Lumpy looks around at the group they’re traveling with. “You want me to wrangle them into housekeeping?”
“Why not? The Apsara like you and you have the Brothers’ respect.”
“Oh, no. The Brothers don’t respect me, they’re just terrified of getting close to me.”
Leaning into Lumpy, Roan whispers, “When it comes to the Brothers, it’s pretty much the same thing.”
“And what will you be doing?” Mabatan asks, a mischievous glint in her eye.
“Looking for answers,” Roan says, evasively. The hook-sword slung across his back is a constant reminder of the vision he had at the Caldera. His weapon melded into his flesh. The blood. And the bull. The Friend.
Mabatan’s mood changes suddenly. “Roan of Longlight…I must speak to you now,” she says somberly, and Roan can see she’s troubled.
“I thought we were speaking,” Roan jokes, hoping to recover the lighter mood. His effort is not successful.