At her confession of being not only married, but a mother as well, Sheridan sought Kade's gaze. A controlled, impassive mask greeted her. She knew that carefully guarded expression. In the months after the war had ended, he wore that expression even when he thought no one watched him. Under the surface of that outer calm, Sheridan knew the pain that lay buried beneath. While she knew it hurt him, Faela and Jair could each feel the dull ache under the numbness.
Unable to take all the raw emotions, Faela wove her barriers and wrapped them in tight shutting out Kade and Jair. She was alone in her mind. Her breath came easier. It would be easier now.
"Why did you leave?" Eve asked. In a calming gesture, she rubbed the inside of her arm with her thumb.
"Because I married a manipulative, spineless, cruel boy. I would have considered this," she said circling her face with an open hand, "a good day back home."
Sheridan winced at the detached way Faela referred to being abused. As if what she discussed had happened to someone else.
"That man will never lay even his eyes on my son." The quiet vehemence in Faela's voice promised retribution more sincerely than any oath could have. "And it is for my son that I'm heading for the Boundary. I can't say that I'm sorry that these men are dead, but I didn't seek their deaths. You want to know what I did. Honestly, I don't know if I dissolved the binding spell. I'm not even sure how I could. All I know is that I called for help and Kade came.
“You don't know me, Eve. I know you don't trust me. Don't; I certainly wouldn’t. I probably don't deserve your trust, but this has been more than I can handle right now. If you want to interrogate me in the morning, fine. But right now, I just want to sleep. So, can we call a cease fire for tonight?"
Her coppery gold hair sparkled as it caught the moonlight, strands of it falling into her face. The bruises were deep blue and purple now along her cheek and jaw. She had dark lines on her neck and collarbones. In the shining light, Faela wavered like a ghastly apparition, an apparition who had been ripped from this world by violence. Taking in each of these details, Eve nodded her consent.
Closing her eyes, Faela's shoulders sagged, the weight of everything flowing back over her. With a hand supporting her, Jair ushered her back toward the flames dancing on the horizon.
Her hands flexing, Sheridan jogged after them. “Let's at least clean you up first,” she suggested. Her fingertips hovered over Faela's swollen cheek. “May I?”
With an appreciative nod, Faela said, “There's water back at the fire.”
*****
Chapter Twenty-Two
As they rode through the Tereskan temple's open gates and into its empty courtyard, Caleb inadvertently tightened his grip on Chance’s flanks. The horse shook his head and whinnied. The buildings outside the twisted wrought iron gate huddled close together over the street like the heavy boughs of a forest stretching out behind them.
Like many capital cities, Kilrood had expanded over time. Perched on the northeastern shore of the Kurinean Sea at the mouth of the Nash River, Kilrood had grown from a small fishing village. Traders from the Merchant Houses all passed through Kilrood as they moved their wares from the central jungles and plains of Taronpia and across the great inland sea to the coasts of Mergoria and north to Lanvirdis. Goods, however, were not the only traffic that passed through Kilrood.
As Kilrood's nearest urban neighbor, Lanvirdian refugees had flooded the city during the war. Its nearness to Lanvirdis, however, was not the sole, or even the primary, reason for attracting those souls displaced by the war. Those who made the journey down Diarmid Bay and into Mergoria came to Kilrood searching for the sanctuary and hope offered by the Tereskan temple.
The absence of the happiness and anticipation Caleb usually felt entering these gates made the familiar action feel empty and foreign. When Faela was little, he had stopped by the temple in Kilrood any time he was able. Even when inconvenient, he still made time to visit. She was so young when she was taken for training, maybe too young.
As he reined in his mount and his thoughts, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. The horses’ hooves clattered echoing hollowly off the high walls as they stopped. No one exited the stables at their approach. Already in a guarded mood, Caleb's eyebrows drew down over his eyes as he scanned the deserted courtyard. He caught Talise's equally unsettled gaze. Quieting his breathing, the only sounds he heard either came from the streets behind him or from their horses. No sounds came from the temple grounds.
His knees absorbed the impact as his boots hit the ground silently. He reached a hand behind him. The halls within the temple were too narrow to risk using his revolver. His fingers touched the hilt of one of his long knives. With a fluid flick of his wrist, the knife was out and balanced in defensive readiness. His eyes roaming the courtyard, he stepped forward cautiously. Talise stalked by his side a thin, wickedly hooked blade in her hand. Neither spoke, but they advanced toward the door together.
Caleb stood his back flush to the wall. Directing Talise with hand gestures, she grasped the iron latch on the side door leading into the temple. She opened the door. Its hinges creaked. In a distant part of Caleb's mind, he realized that the squeak still hadn't been fixed after all these years. The familiar recognition felt discordant and caused him to readjust his grip on the hilt. Blade in hand, Caleb ducked through the door gazing to the right and to the left. The kitchen was empty.
The fires in the hearths had burned down to sparkling embers and tendrils of smoke lazily reached up the shafts of the chimneys. A pile of carrots lay half chopped and cook pots hung over the hearths filled with coagulated broth, but nothing else. Feathers blew across the floor from the chickens that were in the process of being butchered.
Straining to hear any sign of movement in the temple, Caleb assessed every corner of the room before moving on. Stepping into the narrow hallway, Talise stood with her back to his as they left the kitchens. Fluttering in the displaced air, the banners lining the hall danced away from the walls. Up ahead, the walkway emptied into the great hall.
As the restricting walls fell away and they stepped into the two-story room, Caleb saw why the kitchens were abandoned. Heaped one on top of the other like a stack of firewood were bodies. Blood liberally streaked the floor. It pooled and ran along the mortar of the stones, outlining the slabs in dark reddish brown.
Talise sucked in a breath. She resisted the urge to close her eyes. Caleb gestured for her to go left and he went right. They walked the length of the room, checking to see if any of the butchers remained. When they reached the end, Talise nodded that her side was clear.
With only two bottlenecked entrances into the room, Caleb sheathed his knife and met Talise in the middle.
"The Tereskans, why would anyone?" Talise asked, her eyes damp as she took in the carnage. "How could anyone? They're healers, Caleb."
Caleb's eyes were ice, his voice even. "The more crucial question is: Where is our nephew?"
Talise’s eyes flew wide and she reached out. Clutching Caleb's hand, she suggested, "Ianos' rooms."
Withdrawing both his knives this time, Caleb held their blades parallel to his forearms as they left the slaughter behind. Passing large windows that overlooked the Kurinean Sea, they found evidence of the struggle. Blood spattered the floor, the walls and streaks led back the way they had come. Caleb had little hope that they would find any stragglers, but his senses were still heightened and his heart beat steady.
They crossed the formal foyer of the temple, its ceiling soaring four stories above them. Their passage barely sent a ripple of an echo into the vast expanse. They passed through a small vaulted doorway into Ianos' private study, a room that faced the sea with bookcases lining the walls. Some books still slumped on the shelves, but many had been hurled across the floor. Under the windows, vials and bottles and potted herbs had been smashed on a worktable that ran the length of the wall. Next to the large desk lay an overturned woven, reed bassinet.
Blankets spilled out of th
e crib onto the cold stone. Checking all the corners of the office, Caleb made his way to investigate the desk. It had been ransacked. The drawers had been removed and upended, their contents mixed with the rest of the room’s broken belongings. His knives hissed as he sheathed them and he crouched next to the crib. Rummaging through the blankets, he picked up something. He held it up; his hand shook. It was a stuffed lamb that he had given Faela when she left to train in this place. Drops of blood flecked its spun wool coat.
The swelling had subsided due to Sheridan’s ministrations, but the bruises still made Faela's cheeks and neck look like a splotchy watercolor. Two days had passed since the attack and they made good time. Dathien had told them they were within a day's journey from the Boundary. Soon, they would cross into Vamorines. Since the night in the hollow, Eve had maintained her distance and had left Faela alone. Despite her lack of openly antagonistic behavior, it failed to thaw the tension between her and Faela.
Worrying about Eve, however, did not occupy Faela’s thoughts. She intentionally kept her gaze from settling on Kade who chatted with Sheridan a few yards in front of her. She rechecked her barriers for the ninth time in the last thirty minutes and increased her gait to remove the temptation.
Tugging her coat around her more tightly, she heaved a sigh as she shook out her fingers. Tobias had been right about her hand aching for a while. Without any trees to stop it, the autumn wind cut across the moors with bone-chilling frequency. She forced her gaze onto the horizon and the seemingly never-ending dip and rise of the moors darkened by the morphing shapes of the passing clouds.
Mireya broke off from Dathien and scurried over to join Faela. "You have that look," Mireya informed her as she pushed back her wild hair.
"People tend to get looks," Faela responded as she hopped across some rocks.
"No," Mireya disagreed as she scrambled up the small rise instead of venturing, at best, a sprained ankle by following Faela's path. "You have that Faela's-torturing-herself-for-something-she-can't-change look. You get tight lines around the corners of your eyes.”
“How much longer till we reach the Boundary do you think?” Faela watched the shadow theater of the clouds, each player endlessly switching roles against the bright afternoon sun.
“At this pace, we'll be there tomorrow late morning,” Mireya answered trying to keep up with Faela. “Speaking of which, slow down.”
Complying, Faela slowed just enough to keep them in front of Kade and Sheridan. Her back and stomach muscles protested against the pace she set. She knew that she had torn some muscles during her brush with the bounty hunters, but there was little she could do when they had to hike most of the day and complaining would change nothing. Trying to take her mind off the twinges of ripping pain, she watched the shadow theater in front of them now feature a bunny being chased by a harp.
“Do you see the bunny up ahead?” Faela asked filling the silence.
“Where?” Mireya searched the horizon. “Could we catch him? I love how you cook hare.”
“You mean actually cooked?”
“Exactly, no chewy raw bits with you.”
“Unfortunately,” Faela said with a resigned sigh, “even Dathien couldn't catch that rabbit.”
“Why not?” Mireya replied her voice indignant. “He's a really good trapper.”
“I would never dream of suggesting he weren't. But tragically, the bunny has collided with the harp and now they've become a ship. He'll never catch it now.”
Mireya stopped, but when Faela didn't even pause, she scampered to keep pace. “I know a lot's happened, Faela, but are you starting to see things that aren't there?”
Faela laughed and snatched Mireya by the chemise drawing her close. With her arm, she directed Mireya to the shape of the shadow cast by the cloud skimming across the short grayish grass of the moor.
“See,” Faela said still smiling, “a ship. Well, I guess it's more of a crib now.”
Mireya brushed a finger against Faela's temple, just missing the thin scab on her cheek. “That’s why you get these lines.”
Letting Mireya go, she quickened her gate.
Blowing air into her cheeks, Mireya gathered her heavy skirt and chased after Faela. “Will you stop it?” Mireya complained an edge to her usually sweet voice. “This is exhausting.”
“You can always go back with the others," Faela suggested. "I just want to find somewhere with cover from this wind before we stop for the night. I don't like how open this place is."
Browsing the horizon, she spotted the outline of a small grove of trees a few leagues in front of them.
"Stop changing the subject," Mireya accused.
"But I just found it," Faela replied pointing to the jagged lines breaking the vista.
She winked at Mireya and kept walking. Hopping down off a shallow rock ledge, Faela winced at the jabbing ripple of pain.
"Faela, why won't you tell me what's wrong?" Mireya asked after an extended silence. "You don't trust me. Is that it?"
"Is that what you think?" Faela asked her voice a little sad.
"Oh no, you don't. Don't you answer me with a question. Answer me."
"I don't distrust you, Mireya."
"So?"
"It lets me pretend."
"Pretend that none of it happened?" Mireya asked after a few moments of silence.
"No," Faela admitted. "Even when I'm not thinking about it, I can always feel it."
Mireya got quiet and they walked. Neither felt compelled to speak. The stand of trees Faela had spied in the distance grew larger against the sky. Looking to the side, the waning light outlined Faela in its glow as the ground reached for the sun. With the pace Faela had set, they would hit the grove before dusk.
"Faela?" Her throat sticky from the dry wind, Mireya coughed to clear it. "I'm sorry, Faela."
"What for?"
"Lots," Mireya answered. "I'm sorry that I get distracted all the time. But I do notice, you know? How much you hurt. Though I know you don't want me to, I see it and it makes me sad."
"Don't let it get you down, Mireya," Faela said her mouth tense with a smile. "I can handle it."
"But that's just it. You shouldn't have to handle it. Those things shouldn't have happened to you."
"Yes, they should have," Faela disagreed. "I made choices and those choices have consequences, Mireya."
"Then those men attacking you that was your fault?" Mireya put her hands on her hips and stared at Faela.
"In a way and in a way no," Faela answered philosophically.
"And people say I'm confusing," Mireya muttered to no one in particular.
"The fact that they were hunting me is a direct consequence of my choices," Faela explained, "but their individual actions, they chose. And those choices also had consequences."
"No," Mireya objected. "That's not right."
"You think so?"
"You're talking like the choices others made were the only choices someone could make given the choices you made." Mireya paused. "I think."
"That's quite a mouthful."
“But it's what you're thinking. Yes, you made specific choices, bad ones too. But the choices others make, they make them. You don't. Just because you made the wrong choices, doesn't mean you deserved everything bad that happens to you. Don't you see?"
"Not all the consequences are bad, Mireya," Faela said her voice soft. Her fingers went to the leather cord around her neck.
Mireya turned and saw the little smile on Faela’s swollen, still healing lips that failed to dispel the lines around her eyes. Something in that smile made Mireya hold her tongue.
That night after dinner, Faela walked a good distance from the camp to bury the leftover bones and scraps. Piling the dirt over the hole, tendrils of her hair fell into her face tickling her cheek. On her finger, she felt a different tickle. The glossy black of the spider's back reflected the still bright moon. She didn't move. She didn't brush the spider away. She just crouched watching it pick up its feet an
d place them down again in a slow and deliberate crawl.
She also didn't hear the approach of the figure behind her, but the shadow it cut through the light made the spider's back fall to matte darkness. The spider moved before the figure and it made its way onto to the mound of dirt after its trek across the valley and ridges of her knuckles.
She stood casting an elongated silhouette against the grass. "Do you have something you want to say?"
Kade's arms laced across his chest, only his eyes moved to shadow her. "You're avoiding me."
"And?" Faela asked the hint of a challenge in her tone.
"You've done nothing wrong."
She kept her eyes on the rustling grass on the next ridge. Each blade of grass cast deep, wavering shadows in the moonlight.
Faela couldn't stop the bitter laughter from bubbling up. "You can honestly say that with a straight face? Well done, ser. You’re a much more consummate liar, than I could ever hope to be, which is saying something."
"Don't twist my meaning." He kept his distance watching how rigid she appeared, untouched by the wind that swayed her hair. She was in physical pain. "You know exactly what I meant. Letting yourself trust isn't a crime." Kade prodded her and waited for a reaction, any reaction.
She didn't speak. She didn't turn, so Kade did. Circling from behind, he faced her.
"Letting yourself love isn't a crime," he said cocking his head to the side as he caught her gaze. Strands of his hair blew across the bridge of his nose.
Her cheeks damp, she spoke in nearly a whisper. "Tell that to my father. Tell that to the men dead in the forest."
"Loving wasn't your crime," he argued, his amber eyes fierce behind those errant strands. "Abusing your gift was."
"But it's why I did it," she said lacking the energy to argue. "It's tantamount to the same. I lied to myself in the name of love. Those lies led to my father's death."
"Then do you stop loving Caleb? Talise? Ianos?" Kade asked searching for a response in her unreadable mirrored eyes. "Sammi?"
Shatter (The Children of Man) Page 40