The pinpricks came forward, thousands of them. Perhaps millions. They surrounded him on all sides. Calling for the web must be bringing the entirety of it to him. The dots coalesced into each other, forming a myriad of dancing light in front of his eyes. He turned to see if he could find his friends, but the web swept over everything as if were a part of the emptiness itself.
What now? What should he think? What should he ask for? The panic built like a mighty wind, threatening to blow him over. He pushed against it, shoving it down and focusing on the mission.
Safety. But where? The web pushed in toward him, pushing, pushing –
The house! He called for it, desperation joining the panic weighing him down. It didn’t matter if the Liar was there or not. The web was about to consume him.
The web winked out as if it had never been there. A door leading to the broken-down house appeared, and he lunged for it, breaking through and falling to the grass. Myra stumbled after him, followed by Malok and Garron.
“What in the Liar’s teeth...?” Malok didn’t finish, instead scrambling to his feet and gazing around. “You did it, Brate.”
“Well done.” Myra grinned at him, and relief flooded Brate’s whole body. Had he really done it?
“I hate this place.” Garron wiped his hands on his pants, frowning at the house. “Reminds me of when we got captured by Ezra Carp.”
Brate stood, and a wave of dizziness washed over him. The sphere spun ever so slowly, and nausea bubbled into his stomach.
“You don’t look so good.” Malok stepped forward and laid a hand on his arm. His touch was strong and reassuring.
“He needs rest.” Myra’s voice came from far off, as if she was disappearing. No, wait, she stood right beside him. Why did she sound as if she spoke under water?
He landed on his side on the ground and gazed up at the sky. The same sky where the Liar had taken him to overlook the valleys and hills and dales that he could rule. Something shifted, and he fell into blackness.
Voices were there to meet him. They shouted in an ever mounting crescendo of accusation and blame. From the darkness, their faces appeared, white and furious. They were back? The hundred men he had killed?
Perhaps with fatigue his defenses were down and they could break through. Whatever the case, their eyes melted in rage, fingers pointing in shame, razing him to the ground with their words. He tried to cover his ears, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t escape. The air in his lungs turned to lead. Each breath was ragged and piercing, pulling his lungs apart.
“I can make them go away.” The child stepped into view, and the ghosts shrank back behind him. He flickered, for a moment taking the visage of the Prince of Chaos, before he flickered again and was the child once more. Brate tried to scramble away, gasping for breath. No. This couldn’t be happening. Where was he? The Rift roared forth in his chest, begging for release. Words formed on Brate’s tongue, a language he didn’t even know. He clamped his lips closed. What was going on?
“It calls for me.” The child grinned, black hair falling into his eyes. “Let it answer, Hightower. Your tormentors will disappear.”
“No.” The word barely escaped Brate’s lips. Once it did, the voices wailed in response, floating around and behind the child until he was obscured. Closer, closer they came. Brate closed his eyes, but still he could see them, hands reaching, eyes accusing, voice shouting—
Brate screamed and launched upward. Somebody caught him, strong arms holding him down. “Easy, Brate! Easy! It’s Malok. Calm yourself.”
The Deep entered his consciousness, wielded by someone else. It trickled into his mind, calming his fear, stilling the racing of his heart. He opened his eyes, the blue light enveloped his head. Myra had accessed it. It flowed from her in gentle waves, lulling him until the voices ceased. Malok held Brate tight against his body, Garron looking on from behind Myra where she bent over Brate.
“It’s okay. You passed out.” She gazed at him with concern. “What happened?”
He sagged back against Malok, shivering. “I don’t know. But he was there.”
“He?” Garron frowned, crossing his arms.
“The Liar.”
Malok’s grip on him intensified. “Are you sure?”
“Of course!” He shoved Malok away, standing. However long he had been unconscious had allowed him to regain some of his physical strength. The Deep remained miles away. He couldn’t have accessed it even if his life depended on it.
“What did he say?” Myra stood with him, narrowing her eyes.
“Nothing important,” he mumbled, and then stalked away. But where was there to go? The house? He dare not. He stopped, turning back to them. They looked on him with concern. “I will be fine. Come, let’s go to the web. Malok, you can take us through?”
“Yes, but you are not Jin’tai. When we get there, you must do exactly as I say.” Malok turned to the web, which glimmered and shifted a mile away. It spanned across the horizon as far as the eye could see. Something stirred in Brate, something indecipherable. Fear? Excitement? Longing? All three, perhaps.
“We must reach it before dark.” Myra started off, and they followed.
The trip didn’t take long, for the way was easy. The plains stretched on, flat and dry, the wind gusting but not too hard. If only he had been able to bring the horses, too. But that would have been far too difficult.
Steadily the web drew closer, until he could feel the vibration in the Deep. Or was it humming? It reverberated with a physical power, something he could feel and hear, deep in his soul and rumbling. As he drew closer, his head seemed to compress. He should turn away. This was foolhardy. The mission would continue even if they didn’t convince the Brotherhood to join them.
“Brate?” Malok was looking back at him with a frown.
He hadn’t realized he had stopped walking until Malok spoke. “Sorry. Lead on.”
Malok nodded but kept an eye on him. Brate trudged forward, but each step was weighted. Would he even make it to the edge of the web? Gritting his teeth, he put his head down and pushed through the mental strain. If he could just make it there...
Someone grasped his hand and pulled. He followed behind, fighting as if against a current that was shoving him the opposite way. One foot, and then another. And another. And another. The anchor of whoever had grabbed him kept him going.
“Here.” Malok took a blade from his side. Before Brate could protest, Malok slit his own hand. What was he doing? “Give me your finger, Brate.”
He extended it. Malok pricked it with the tip of the blade, and then covered it with his bleeding palm. The warm blood was slick, and as it mingled with his own, the weighted feeling dissipated. Finally, it disappeared altogether.
Brate stood straight and looked Malok in the eye. “We are tricking the web into thinking I am of Jin’tai blood?”
“Essentially, yes.” Malok’s long hair blew as the breeze picked up intensity.
“How did you know to do that?”
“The same way I know most things nowadays. The Seeing.” He shrugged as he turned. “Come. We aren’t far.”
The Seeing. An interesting way to put it. What must it be like, to be able to predict the future? Brate glanced down at his bloody fingers. Yes. The Seeing had its uses, for sure.
The web loomed upward, rippling in the breeze. White and blue, it was nearly transparent. Across on the other side there were structures that appeared to be huts. Or a village, perhaps. But it was like seeing through water, and the water was thick.
“Let’s go. Take hands, and don’t let go until I tell you.” With that, Malok grasped Brate’s hand and walked into the web. There was nothing to do but follow.
Thick, viscous fluid wrapped around Malok’s skin, and then Brate followed. It was like walking through water, except thicker. More like the pudding his Ma used to make, but firmer. And he could still breathe. The hum intensified, vibrations filling his whole body. What would happen if he grasped the Deep while walking
through? He was too tired to try.
Malok tugged, and Brate followed, Myra and Garron behind him. Closer the village loomed, until Malok was through and then Brate stepped out of the web. He stopped as Myra and Garron followed.
Several large, intimidating men stood waiting, accessing the Deep and carrying weapons. They didn’t look thrilled.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Malok Mountain Keeper
Malok hesitated as the others made it through the web. Eight Webmasters stood with calm assuredness, weapons grasped in their hands. Brother Broad, just as muscled as Malok remembered, frowned as he seemed to recognize them.
“So, you have returned.” The Brother’s face was pinched with anger. “You stole something that belongs to us.” He held out a hand. “Return the tolo-grun, Malok Mountain Keeper.”
“That’s what concerns you most, Brother?” Malok let go of Brate’s hand and stalked forward. The Webmasters formed a tighter line, blocking any way through. He stopped, nose to nose with Broad. “If I recall correctly, any may come through who are of Jin’tai blood.”
“But not those who are thieves!” Broad planted a hand on Malok’s chest and shoved him backward. Garron surged forward but stopped when the other Webmasters raised their weapons.
“I think this is a misunderstanding that can be easily rectified.” Brate raised an eyebrow at Malok and turned to Broad. “First, my name is Brate Hightower. I am the Bender, and I demand to see whoever rules over this place.”
“Demand?” Broad smiled, but it wasn’t pleasant. “The Bender? Now I’ve heard everything.”
“Brate –” Malok began to say, but Brate interrupted him.
“I can force my way through if you prefer. Or, we can handle this diplomatically. Hear us out, Brothers. And then you can decide whether you want to toss us from your Land.”
It was a bluff, of course. Brate couldn’t access the Deep because of the fatigue from the transporting still following him. But the Webmasters didn’t know that. However, it was just as Malok had Seen, down to the way the Webmasters gazed at each other in uncertainty before Broad finally nodded.
“We will hear what you have to say, but not before the tolo-grun is returned.” He held a hand out to Malok. “Hand it over.”
Malok grinned and dropped it into Broad’s palm. The Brother blinked as if surprised, then turned and gestured to the others to make way. They parted, and Malok followed Broad through to the village. Brate, Garron, and Myra fell in behind him, Myra mumbling something about men and their ways of negotiating.
The village was small, perhaps fifty in all. Was it only the Webmasters and their families? It made sense. There was no need for military defenses, and no one who lived in the Scrape Lands had any desire to leave. Well, except those foolish enough to desire adventures. Malok shook his head. Had it only been a few short months since he had set off to find his identity? To discover the legitimacy of this whole Seer business? Yet here he was, back again. And this time, with a plan to destroy everything his people stood for.
He was the worst Jin’tai to ever live.
***
“Don’t sound so surprised.” Malok shifted in his sheets, glancing out at the dark room where he and Garron slept. “Remember the prophecy? ‘One to turn them, one to save them.’ The people need to know what is coming, and who is bringing it to pass.”
Garron sighed and rolled in his bunk to peer down at Malok. “You are asking me to leave you.” His hair fell down his forehead, nose and mouth hidden by the edge of the bed. “You keep wanting me to do that.”
“The first time was for your safety. I was afraid Ezra Carp was going to kill you or use you to force me to do what he wanted.” Malok sighed, closing his eyes. “I would never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me.”
“What about the meeting tomorrow with all the Webmasters? I should be there.” Garron’s head disappeared as he shifted overhead.
“Why? It’s nothing Brate and I can’t handle. And Myra. Or perhaps she should go with you.”
“I...” but his voice trailed off. Garron shifted again, swaying the bunk beds. “What did you See?”
Should he tell him? About the loneliness, fatigue, cold? That Seeing ended in Garron’s success. Or about Myra going with him, their companionship, blossoming love, yet not as successful because Garron was distracted? Malok drew the sheets around him as the cold seeped into his bones. What was he becoming? The threads of light invaded his thoughts, as they always did when he was tired or emotionally distraught, or both. If he could just follow them for a while, get lost in other people’s lives, forget about his own troubles. He reached a hand forward –
“Malok?” Garron’s voice snapped him back to reality.
He snatched his hand down. “It doesn’t matter what I have Seen. You must make your own choice.”
“Yet you say I must go either way.”
“If our people are to be prepared, then yes. You must go.”
“Prepared for what, exactly?”
Again, what should he say? There was enslavement down one thread, war and death down another. Starvation, chaos – the threads weaved a thousand tales. He planted the picture of schools built on the mountains into his mind. That was the outcome that would come to pass. It must.
“Prepared for the Stewards to rise and lead us to victory. The Scrape Lands play a vital part. We cannot fail, Garron. And you will help to ensure that we don’t.”
Garron sighed. “Tell me what to say, Malok, and I will do as you ask.” His voice was small, afraid. Malok’s heart seized. Garron’s courage was unmatched by anyone he knew.
“Get rest. I will tell you in the morning.” Tears filled his eyes, and he didn’t stop them from rolling down his cheek. It wasn’t fair. Being the Seer was a curse, not a blessing.
The threads called to him, sparkling and spinning in the void of his mind.
***
Malok clenched his jaw as Garron gave one last nod before hefting the sack onto his shoulder and leaving the village. The road stretched before him, but his steps didn’t falter. He didn’t even look back at them.
Malok stamped down the emotion surging into his throat. He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t. Not in front of Brate and Myra, and certainly not in front of Broad.
The Webmaster crossed his arms and then turned to Malok. “Okay. Your friend has left. Come, we have a lot to discuss. We have all gathered at the center platform.”
They followed him to the village square, where his words proved true. A platform stood erected, surrounded by the villagers – children, women, and Webmasters. At the center of the platform there was tables with drinks and food laid out.
“Why are we doing this outside?” Brate tugged his coat tighter around himself.
Malok shrugged. “We are used to the cold. But more than this, it signifies that what we have to say is for everyone to hear. We hide nothing behind closed doors.”
“Maybe we should,” Myra grumbled. “You are going into this too fast, Malok.”
He once again fought irritation at her distrust of him. “I will tell you again. I have Seen it.”
“Be that as it may, the least you could do is tell us what you intend.” She stopped, eyeing Broad, who travelled ahead. “He is out of hearing distance. Tell us.”
Brate shook his head. “That’s a bad idea. We shouldn’t try to force a certain outcome just because Malok Saw it that way. Who knows how that might affect the future?”
Brate spoke wisdom. Perhaps he understood more than he let on. The morning had brought a fresh bounce to his step, a new tinge to his cheeks and sparkle to his eye. Rest did him well.
“That doesn’t mean he can’t tell us what he intends! Why are we even here, if he doesn’t need us?” Myra shivered as the wind gusted, sending her hair swirling around her face.
“He does. Just trust him, Myra.” Brate rubbed the spot where the Liar had touched him. “Who knows which future will actually come to pass?” He glanced at M
alok before hurrying after Broad. Surprise filtered through the irritation binding Malok. Before, Brate had been angry when Malok had intervened at the inn, telling him to rein in his power. Now? He defended Malok’s own. Perhaps his interaction with the Liar had humbled him.
“You better know what you are doing.” Myra glared at Malok before following Brate.
Malok shoved his hands into his pockets and hurried to keep up. He really did hope the same as she. There was little control he had over the future, regardless of his power. It didn’t work like that. But how could he explain it? Maybe that’s why Brate sided with him. He probably felt the same about his bending will.
The villagers parted as they entered the square. The Webmasters climbed the platform and took their seats at a long, wooden table. All eight regarded them with various expressions, some hostile, some open, others with skepticism. Malok took a step onto the platform and sat in the last chair beside Brate and Myra, facing the table. He reached and grasped a cup of water. The wood was cold against his fingertips. He drank but wasn’t thirsty. He was just nervous.
“Let us waste no time.” Broad leaned forward, spearing Malok with his gaze. “Last time you were here, you stole a tolo-grun and escaped without our permission. Now you return, claiming to have the Bender. What is the meaning of this, Malok Mountain Keeper?”
The other masters nodded. Malok leaned back in his seat. Should he See Myra, or even Brate, or one of the masters, and learn what he should say?
No. Brate was right. Go on instinct, not on the path he thought led to a certain outcome.
“I will explain all in due time. First, I need to call a Council.”
The masters stirred. “Council?” One of them laughed, his wrinkled face filled with amusement. What was his name? Brother Stain? “There hasn’t been a Jin’tai Council in... how long?” He looked at the other masters.
“There has been no need for centuries.” Another Brother, Oliver, responded. His beard was clipped and trimmed to perfectly angle his face. “What would be the reason?”
The Last Steward Page 23