No one argued with her, and in the ensuing silence, Brate studied his companions. Their faces were drawn with worry, but something else, too. Malok appeared excited, Garron confident, and Myra stern.
“Good luck.” Garron’s words shook Brate from his procrastination. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and pulled in the Deep. The waves answered, stirring at his touch and building power until the roar filled his soul. He fixed the image of the abandoned house in his head, taking in every detail he had been told, and then forced his will.
Take me there.
Darkness shrouded his mind. Opening his eyes, he saw nothing but blank space. The Jin’tai had disappeared, the forest and sky and road all gone. He turned, trying to see around him. The vast nothingness was silent, yet he looked down at his body and his feet were firm on an invisible plain. It was as if there was glass underneath him, but he couldn’t see it. Stretching below was emptiness with no end in sight.
He tried again, focusing on the house once more. Brow furrowed, he forced his will to take him there. Then, rushing forward, a thousand pinpricks of light raced for him, coming as if from a distance. They appeared to grow in size, shaped like a window. Each light widened to reveal houses, thousands of them, some overgrown, some shrouded in vines, all appearing abandoned.
How many abandoned houses were there in the Bright Lands? Must he be specific to what location he wanted?
He once again forced his will to accommodate only those types of homes found in the Bright Lands. As soon as he thought it, hundreds disappeared until only a few remained. Brate stepped forward, searching. The Deep whirled around him, bearing him into its vortex. On instinct, he changed tactics.
Take me to the one Malok was referring to.
All but one window dissipated. It came closer, growing in size until it was larger than a window and more like a doorway. The house was run down, for certain. A sagging porch was all but collapsed, weeds and vines nearly overtaking the rotting wood. Brate stepped through doorway to the dirt and grass and released the Deep. The blackness disappeared, and he stood alone. The portal where he had just been was gone.
Elation filled his being, until he laughed out loud, turning to take it all in. As he did, a shimmering shield of blue and white overtook the northern plain.
The web.
“By the Creator above, I just transported hundreds of miles.” Brate laughed again, mirth bubbling forth from his soul. The feeling of power was euphoric, and it took him a moment to realize the sensation in his chest wasn’t the Deep, but the pulsating of the Rift. It was responding to his emotions.
He should return to the others before something bad happened.
Still, what would it hurt to be happy that he had done it? Who had ever heard of such a thing? Had any of the other Benders figured out how to transport themselves this far, and this fast?
The web shimmered as if water was rippling across the surface. It extended as far west and east as his eyes could see, shooting up to blend with the heavens. He couldn’t make out what was the web and what was the sky. A light breeze blew across his face, and it seemed as if the web responded as well, flickering and dancing.
What monstrous amount of power must it have taken to create such a thing? And how did they keep it in place, if not by the Deep?
On a whim, Brate grasped more of the Deep and cast out, searching and feeling with his mind to encounter the web. It was made of the same substance as the Deep. It felt the same, almost completely opposite to the Rift. It was clean, yet turbulent, with an air of unpredictability. The Rift stirred as if uncomfortable. It roiled within, as though it and the Deep could never coexist in harmony. It would be like trying to force water and oil to mix. Or fire and ice.
The web pulsed bright, and Brate felt it respond to his feelers. The projection of his mind slipped through the web’s surface, sliding along until it broke through. The other side was empty. He retreated until he was once again firmly on the southern side and let go of the Deep. No new ideas came to him, so he turned once again to the abandoned house.
It was drooping, dark, and rotting, as if no one had lived there in ages. How had anyone ever lived here? And why, this close to the web? He resisted the urge to climb up the dilapidated steps to explore the inside. Perhaps he was intrigued by the mystery surrounding it, or the fact that his friends had once rested here.
But no. Something drew him, much like a sheep to pasture. He had taken several steps forward, his boot lifting to the steps before he jerked to a stop. The Rift burned bright in his core.
Something was inside. He knew it, as surely as he knew that grass was green and the sky was blue. The Rift threatened to explode from inside of him, and he fought to resist releasing it. To compensate, he embraced the Deep yet again, and the Rift receded as if burned. Taking a stumbling step back, he waited until the Deep covered over the fear setting his heart racing.
What had just happened? Surely, he had more control over his own body than that. But with the Deep raging inside, he couldn’t find the sense to care. Little mattered when he was bourn in the waves of such power and fury. He moved forward and climbed the steps, careful not to place his feet where it was rotted. On sudden inspiration, he willed the house to transform. It groaned, stretched, and morphed. The wood solidified, splinters coming together to form a firm foundation. The roof lifted from where it had fallen in, once again forming a firm canopy. Brate was standing before a solid house as if nothing had ever gone awry.
He should have been more pleased. Instead, he stepped forward and ignored the emotions racing just below the surface. Nothing else mattered but the sensation of the Deep.
Pushing the door open he stepped inside. The house was small, with a sitting room in the front. A doorway led into a small dining area, the kitchen to the left and out of sight. The sitting area must have also served as the sleeping quarters. Although it was modest, it was still a good deal nicer than his hut back home.
The Rift was a distant call. He could barely feel it in his chest, where it raged with muted fury. The Deep was overpowering. If he could feel the Rift even through the roaring waters of the Deep, how strong it must be calling as he stood in the house?
That awareness caused him to move forward, releasing the Deep in small amounts. As he had predicted, the Rift called louder. Brate’s mind whispered a warning just before a shadow materialized from the back corner of the room.
At first, it took on the shape of a small child cloaked in dark mist. Brate blinked, heart leaping in his throat. The Rift surged, and he quickly dampened it with the Deep once more.
“Stranger,” the child said, and as he spoke, his eyes widened to golden orbs, the mist slinking from his body to disappear. He was no older than six winters, but within his eyes lurked a wisdom that far outweighed his small frame. Wearing only loose trousers, the boy’s upper body remained bare. Skin like hazelnut, hair curling in ringlets, he appeared to be not as dark as a Greigan, yet not as light as a Midlandian or Eastlandian. Perhaps his ancestry was a combination of the Lands?
“What are you?” Brate asked, voice expressionless. It was as if the Deep was prompting him what to ask.
The boy cocked his head. “I could ask the same.”
“Is your soul tied to this home?” Brate took another look around at the smooth walls and newly-washed windows.
“Not much like Redstone and Grole’s House, if that is what you are asking.” The child sank to his haunches, golden eyes fixed on Brate. They shone as if reflected by the sun although the home was cast in shadows.
Redstone? Grole’s House? What was the boy speaking of? But that didn’t matter. “I ask no such thing. What I mean is: are you of humanity? Or some other substance?”
“What do you see?” The boy grinned at Brate as if he were telling a joke.
“My eyes see a child. My soul sees a creature from the Rift.” The words flowed from his tongue as if they weren’t his own. How did he know to say such things? But the answer was obvious. The Deep sha
rpened his intellect. Even now, Brate’s mind passed over a thousand other questions he could ask to get to the heart of this strange encounter.
“A creature? Do your eyes so deceive you, stranger?” The boy’s amusement was evident in his manner and tone. His smile was still on his face, body relaxed.
“My eyes cannot be trusted. Besides, my soul feels the tug of the Rift within me.”
“Ah. You have a new awareness, then.” The child stood, placing his arms behind his back, an age-old expression on his face, one of knowing things. Many things. “You have encountered more than just the Deep, Brate Hightower.”
So, the child knew who he was. The old Brate, somewhere still in the recesses of his soul, jerked with shock. But filled with the Deep, the emotion was somewhere in the back of his mind, barely noticed.
“You could say that.”
“How did you come to this knowledge?” The boy bobbed on his feet, in much the same way Polbine Voltaire did when he was interested in something. The comparison flitted through Brate’s mind, and he discarded it as something not worth pursuing.
“Who are you?” Brate asked instead, crossing his arms. “How do you know who I am?”
“That is an easy answer. Word of you spreads far and wide, Bender. The Lands will soon be astir with both fear and intrigue. Your fame will only make it more difficult for you to travel. Where do you head now?”
“You didn’t not answer my first question. Are you a demon? A messenger of the Liar? A creature spawned from the darkness of the chasm? How long have you been here?” Brate paused, scratching his chin. Somewhere, something tickled his mind. He shouldn’t be dallying here but get back to his companions and bring them to the web. Still, this encounter was perplexing yet intriguing. And somehow, he knew it was important. He could tell by the vortex pulling at him, the Rift screaming for escape, for release. And by the way the Deep guided him in his words.
“Demon? Messenger? Spawn?” The boy spat the words as if they were offensive to him. “Do not waste your time on such trivialities, Bender.” His eyes glowed bright as twin suns. “You speak to the Prince of Chaos himself.”
Prince of Chaos. The name was unfamiliar, yet the way the child said it, he was enormously pleased. Brate frowned, shaking his head. The Deep receded, shrank, dissolved. The child accessed the red-tinged power of the Rift and snatched the Deep from Brate with barely any struggle.
The old Brate came surging forward, along with the myriad of emotions that had lay dormant. Heart pounding, Brate took a step backward. What had happened? Why had he allowed himself to get into this mess?
The Prince shook his head balefully. “You are woefully unprepared to meet me. Still, no matter. I will speak plainly, boy.” With that, the black mist enveloped the child with a whirl and twisted about his body until he grew in size and shape. His form took on that of a creature of such dazzling beauty that Brate shook on weak knees, jaw dropping.
His face was shining ebony, perfectly chiseled. Sparkling jewels bedecked him; or, at least it appeared to be so. Brate didn’t actually see the jewels themselves, but the Prince’s skin shone with such fiercely faceted light that he appeared to be made not of flesh but of sculpted rock, diamonds of unimaginable worth.
He was too magnificent to look at directly. Brate dropped his eyes, staring at the ground and trying to maintain hold of himself. His mind shouted at him to run, but something kept him rooted to the ground. It was just as impossible to run as it was to look at the Prince.
Brate didn’t realize he was on his knees until the Prince lifted his chin with a finger to gaze up at him. Brate’s eyes darted away.
“Do you see now why I walk in concealment among men? You cannot stand my glory, and you are a Steward.”
No words escaped Brate’s lips. He was mute, shaking. Why had he ever come? With sudden inspiration, he willed to be back with his friends. But it was useless.
The Prince laughed. “Trying to escape, little human? Lesser men have wished for such a fate!” He took a step back, and Brate ducked his head toward the ground.
Think. He needed to get out of there. This beast might call himself the Prince of Chaos, but by the Creator’s bosom, he knew who this was.
The thought of the Liar himself standing before him almost made Brate lose control of his bladder.
“What –” Brate stopped, licking his lips. “What do you want with me?” He was only slightly pleased that he kept his voice from shaking.
“Isn’t it obvious?” The Prince strolled to the opposite side of the room, hands clasped behind his back. Brate kept his gaze averted, watching from the corner of his eye. A shaft of worry invaded him that he would ruin his eyes if he gazed directly at the demon. For that was what the Liar was, right? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he was a sniveling coward, bowing before the creature who had ruined the sphere.
“You don’t stand a chance of closing the Rift, Brate Hightower. You and your Steward friends are on a fool’s mission. Malok Mountain Keeper will lose his mind, eventually, just like all the other Seers. You will wield your power for selfish ends and bring about a war that will last for years. Graissa del’Blyth will become so consumed with other distractions that she will forget about the Rift completely, if she doesn’t manipulate the sphere’s rulers to her side before then. And Priva Car’abel...” The Liar paused. He turned back to Brate, and the brightness of his body diminished somewhat.
“You veil yourself,” Brate muttered.
“Your finite eyes cannot stand my splendor for long.” His visage melted away to the boy once again. “Priva Car’abel will fail.” The child’s voice was plaintive, as if he wanted to believe something he knew to be false. Was Priva the key, then, to stopping the Liar? Had Brate just found his weakness?
“You know where he is?” Brate asked, although he knew the answer himself. How much did the Liar know, anyway? And what was the point in fighting? Why even try? But something in Brate flared to life, and it wasn’t the Rift.
Courage.
Brate stood, much to the boy’s amusement. He raised an eyebrow, a smile playing on his lips. “Priva fumbles around in the dark like a boy who lost a marble. He is of no consequence.” The boy turned and waved a hand, but his eyes betrayed him. He no longer looked down on Brate with confidence but seemed to be avoiding the subject.
Taking a step back toward the door, Brate reached for the Deep. It was there but held away from him in much the same way Polbine Voltaire had kept it from him. The similarities between the Liar and the Triumphant King were mounting.
“I have an offer.” The boy turned back to Brate, a smug look on his face. “An offer you cannot refuse, if you know what is good for you.”
“If you want to force me to your side, as the King tried, you are mistaken.” Brate grit his teeth. “I bested your Soulbound, I can best you, too.”
The boy burst into giggles, shaking his head. “You? If it hadn’t been for Constance Rei’cain, you would be but a long-forgotten memory in your friend’s minds. Don’t think for one second I couldn’t kill you where you stand.”
“Your threats don’t bother me.” Brate’s courage grew. He was the Bender, after all. Destined to end the Liar and seal him behind the Rift once and for all.
“Then perhaps I will send my minions after your lady love.” The boy stopped laughing and smirked. “Perhaps I will destroy all of the witches and their conniving plots. Their Coven will not stay hidden for very much longer.”
He knew where they were. Brate’s courage melted to fear in the span of a second. If anything happened to Anyia...
The Liar must have seen the change in Brate’s expression, for he nodded with satisfaction. “Hear my offer. Polbine Voltaire is useful, but not as useful as the Bender would be. Join me, Hightower. I will destroy the Warlock King and place you on the Triumphant Throne. And then together we can bring about the unity of all the Lands.”
“Under the dominion of the Rift, you forgot to add,” Brate said, taking another
step toward the door.
“I control the Rift’s power,” the boy said with a shrug. “Why should that matter to you? Don’t you want peace?”
“Yes. But you don’t.”
“It is of no matter. I will not destroy the Lands, Brate. I will reign through you, give you the words to speak, give you the wisdom to lead. Bring about a Time of prosperity that the Creator could never have accomplished.”
The Creator. Brate took another step away, and the boy grinned.
“Trying to escape?”
“The Creator will see his purpose through to the end.” Brate ignored the boy’s question, instead trying to force as much courage into his words as he could. “You do not stand a chance.”
“You really believe that? Then why hasn’t it happened yet? The Creator is weak. Foolish. Inept. The Rift will never close, Brate. So why not join the winning side and release it for good? Has it really been all that bad, hmm? I offer you power! The throne, for yourself and your children’s children!”
For a moment, something clutched at Brate’s heart with fists of iron. Could it really be true? Could he have everything he wanted? Could he have Anyia by his side, have children with her, bring about the Time the Liar spoke of?
As if unbidden, a memory flashed into his mind. He stood in the Garden Stop after fighting a phalynk and skrales, watching as Isa worked to fix the damaged doorframe. “Whether or not you understand it, you can trust that your path is a good one, although sometimes the circumstances surrounding it make no sense, and can seem... unusual.”
His mind flashed to another memory. Isa stood over him as Brate jerked awake from the dream he had been caught in. Somehow, the drab carpenter had sucked the darkness binding Brate into himself, freeing him. Brate had then done the same thing, first from the domai in the Voltaire Palace and then for Malok.
“I do not want any part of this.” Brate spoke before he could even form the words in his mind. “There are some things even the Liar cannot stop. The Creator’s plan is one of them.”
The Last Steward Page 17