It dawned on him what this meant. Callum’s death, in the end, had been for absolutely nothing. All along, she had a plan. And he had sent her to her death with no chance to unfold the whole thing.
Guilt blossomed inside him, replacing all anger and bitterness. If he was so intemperate, did he deserve to be on the Stone Throne? Was he any better than Father?
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Wells said with a gentle tone, reading Priva’s changed expression. “I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.”
“Don’t speak of things you know nothing of,” Priva said, but he couldn’t muster enough anger to sound as forceful as he had wanted. Instead he slumped back, laying his head on the back of the chair and staring at the ceiling. “The Creator should have chosen a wiser man to be the Sensor.”
“Then you see the wisdom of our plan?” Hux asked, hope in his voice.
This was it, then. Callum’s face wavered in his mind, followed by Graissa’s. That was strange. Why would he think of her? Perhaps because of their link? Would this decision affect her? He sighed and raised his head, eyes on Hux. “I will do what is best for the Bright Lands. But I will also avenge our sister.”
“Vengeance is the Creator’s, brother. He will exact retribution when needed, and it will always be just.” Wells leaned over to grip Priva’s forearm, fingers tight on his skin.
Too bad Priva didn’t believe a word of it. The Creator was a fool, if he even existed.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Brate Hightower
Brate squirmed in the Jin’tai garb, pulling at the trousers clinging too tightly to his thighs. The tunic wasn’t unlike what he was used to wearing, but the pants seemed as if they would rip if he turned too fast. Maybe it had its advantages. The pants wouldn’t snag as easily on brush, and their tightness trapped the warmth on his legs. Air couldn’t circulate through.
“Are you ready?”
Brate turned to look at Malok. His brow was furrowed and his eyes darted about, not resting on anything for very long. Seven days had passed since Garron had set off on his own, and Malok hadn’t been the same since. Maybe it was worry? Their friendship was different than any he had ever seen, having never had anyone that close to him. Well, besides Ma or Anyia. But that was different.
“Don’t fret. We will convince them.”
Malok grimaced. “Easy for you to say. You’re used to performing. This?” He peeked out to the large audience chamber where at least a hundred Library Elders waited, all assembling for the sole purpose of hearing what Brate and Malok had to say. Brate hadn’t counted on Malok being so nervous. But he was right; Brate was used to this type of attention. Something he took for granted. “It makes me want to throw up.”
“Take some deep breaths,” Brate suggested, grinning. “It always helped me whenever I got a little nervous when I was about to sing.”
Myra and Broad came around the corner, both appearing just as nervous as Malok. “There you are,” Broad said, looking them both over. “It is almost time.”
“You look...” Myra stopped, her mouth pulling up at the corners in a small smile as she gazed at Brate. His face started to heat, and he resisted the urge to pull his tunic down to cover the rest of his thighs. “Jin’tai,” she finished with a laugh. “I must say, the style suits you, Brate.”
“Brick off,” he muttered, turning away. Malok even laughed, which was probably a good thing. At least Brate’s discomfort proved to be useful in this situation. What would Anyia think if she saw him? His face heated even more. Star, he missed her!
“Don’t speak like that in front of the Elders,” Broad remarked, sighing. “They won’t be impressed by uneducated swearing.”
“Which is why Malok will do most of the talking,” Brate said, shoving aside his discomfort and trailing his mind over the surface of the Deep. He had somehow managed to teach himself to use it to calm his emotions without having to embrace and pull it. A very useful tool. It must be how the witches remained so aloof.
“Don’t be silly,” Malok said, face turning white. “You promised to help!”
“I will use the Deep if need be.” Brate grinned when Broad’s face turned red. “Just a little joke, Brother. I won’t manipulate anyone.”
“It wouldn’t do to have the Elders all barking like dogs,” Myra said with a laugh. Brate and Malok both chuckled, but Broad turned even redder. Instead of responding, he gestured with a quick hand. They followed him around the corner and toward the main chamber.
A hush fell over the assembly as they entered through a side door. A hundred foreign faces stared at them, and the inner calm that preceded any performance he gave filled Brate’s body with peace. Here were the greatest minds in the Lands. Where once the thought would have made him nervous, it only brought excitement. His stomach clenched. If he could face down a room full of witches, or come to face to face with the Liar and live to tell the tale, he could face a hundred geniuses without breaking a sweat.
A small dais had been erected at the front of the room. Myra and Broad went to a side table to sit with the rest of the Webmasters. This was it, then. Brate followed Malok to the only two chairs on the dais. Malok’s hands trembled. Brate sent a small portion of the Deep toward him, not sure exactly what he was casting but going on instinct. It settled over Malok and he visibly calmed, hands going still and muscles in his shoulders and jaw relaxing.
The Elders stirred in their seats but remained quiet. Brate sat and faced them, Malok to his left. The Seer stood straight, eyes ahead.
“Elders, thank you for answering the summons for this Council.” Malok paused, eyes sweeping the chamber.
What must be going through his head? Brate could only imagine the type of courage it took to face those you venerated the most and convince them to do something completely contrary to everything they believed. The weight of the moment settled on his own shoulders. Star, this had better work.
“Brother Broad has agreed to represent me, and you agreeing to hear me and heed my words is not unappreciated. I must admit, several months ago if someone had told me I would ask for a Council I would have scoffed at them. Me, an acolyte from the Loun Library? I can see mirrored on your faces the skepticism I would have felt, if such a thing had been done. But please, don’t discount my words simply because I am young and uneducated.”
Brate almost laughed. If Malok was uneducated, Brate was... well, a landworker. The only reason he was educated was because of Ma. Warmth and gratefulness for her filled him, quickly followed by a pang of grief. It was bittersweet. She would have been so proud of him.
“The height of folly is to judge a person based upon external factors. Gender, race, or age does not mean idiocy. You know this. So please, judge me by what is found to be measurable. My mind. My heart. My passion. If those things show a lack of wisdom, then I will stand down and lower my eyes.” He stopped and sat, flicking his eyes to Brate. Was that it?
A man stood in the audience, flowing robes and long chain on his neck swaying with his movements. All the Brothers appeared dressed the same. Was it some sort of signifier of their status? It must be.
“Well spoken, Malok Mountain Keeper. I am Elder Cliff Marker of the Highland Library. Although you are only an acolyte, you may rest assured we will judge you based on your actions and words. So tell us. Rumors have spread that you are the Seer, and that the man beside you is the Bender. It would be understandable, then, if we had our misgivings about such claims, would it not?”
Brate stiffened. Although eloquent, there was a hardness in Cliff Marker’s tone hinting at high skepticism and irritation.
Malok didn’t bat an eye. “Indeed, Elder. As should be expected. That is why Brother Broad will speak for me. He was soon convinced of our claims. Although I do not desire to repeat the situation in which he was convinced –” Malok’s mouth twitched before he continued, “It is not beyond reason to prove what we say is true.”
The Elders moved in their seats, a low hum echoing off the ceilings and w
alls. His words clearly made them uneasy, and Brate couldn’t blame them. His and Malok’s claims were unprecedented, and although it was sometimes tiresome to have to prove himself time and again, this certain group of men deserved a demonstration. More so than anyone else, perhaps.
Another Elder stood, young and with smooth cheeks. He looked Malok in the eye as he spoke. “I am Elder Time Dancer of the Lowlands Library. If what you say is true, Mountain Keeper, then I for one agree that a proven marker of your words must be demonstrated. What do you propose?”
Malok gestured at Brate with his hand, and Brate stood. He cleared his throat. “Who here would like to volunteer?”
Silence. Some men coughed, others looked anywhere but at Brate. Finally, a man stepped forward. “I am Elder March Wood. Do what you must.”
Brate glanced at Malok, who nodded his head. They had talked about this before, but now that the time had come, nervousness replaced his confidence. He looked to March Wood. “Do you attest that I have never met you, Elder?”
“I do,” he said with a nod of his head, arms clasped before him.
“And do you attest that, under normal circumstances, you act with all propriety and wisdom, not letting foolishness dictate your actions?”
The Elder leaned back, eyes shifting to Malok before turning back to Brate. “Yes.”
Brate took a long breath and summoned his will. “Then Brother, step forward and take off your robe.”
There was some protest, and Myra shifted away, her movements a flash in the corner of his eye. But March Wood promptly undid the knot of the rope around his waist and started to pull his robe over his head. Shocked silence filled the chambers. Malok had said that no Elder would ever act in such an inappropriate manner, standing naked in front of his peers. Such was the case.
Most Elders looked away, but some stared in shocked silence, mouths open or brows crinkled. “Put it back on,” Brate willed before March Wood had even finished undressing. He obeyed, face flaming.
“Any other volunteers?” Malok asked. A few snorts of derision filled the chamber, but no one said anything.
“Would you like another demonstration?” Brate folded his arms and waited. March Wood glanced at him, but instead of hate as Brate expected, his face was amused. A smile hovered on his lips, although his face was still red.
“You have me convinced, Master,” March Wood said, and some uneasy laughter rippled through the crowd. March Wood grinned and sat back in his chair.
“Since that is settled, I will demonstrate my own skills.” Malok paused and the Deep rippled around him. “Elder Cliff Marker, you are about to sneeze. Elder Light Ream, your arthritis will get worse tomorrow. Elder Tree Top, you will yawn in three seconds.”
A man in the back yawned, and then stopped, eyes shooting open. Cliff Marker sneezed, so loud it seemed to startle those around him. More uneasy chuckles filtered through the ensuing silence.
Malok didn’t move, his eyes glazed over. Brate waited, but when Malok reached a hand forward as if he was going to grab something, Brate nudged him with his elbow. Malok snapped out of it, lowering his hand and turning wide eyes to Brate before gathering himself and looking out at the assembly. What had just happened? Was he tempted by the strings of light again? If so, Malok needed to be careful. The more he seemed to See the future, the more the strings tugged at him. Brate needed to remind him to See as little as possible. Insanity never looked good on a man.
“What is your request?” Cliff Marker asked, and the others agreed, heads nodding around the room.
Malok clenched a fist. “The Rift must be closed. But in order to do so, several things need to happen. First, the web must come down.”
The muffled voices were louder this time, some outrights shouts of, “Stupidity!” or “Ridiculous!” louder than the rest.
“Second, you must join us as we fight against the Triumphant King.”
“Fight?” Time Dancer asked, and the Elders’ voices pitched even higher.
“Third, all knowledge must be shared with the other Lands. No more hiding away, scared of your own shadows.”
“You have been granted to speak, Mountain Keeper, but your words are nonsense!” An old man stood at the back of the room, white beard shaking as his jowls clenched with rage. “You would undo centuries of tradition!”
Malok remained calm, eyes sweeping the room. “And fourth, no more lies about who you—no, we—are. Mind-sensing is an accessing ability. Brothers, you are accessors.”
The room erupted in rage. The Brothers were on their feet, several starting to come forward to the dais as if to physically remove Brate and Malok. The Webmasters shot to their feet and surrounded the front, pushing the Brothers back. Broad jumped on the platform to stand in front of them. He raised his hands.
“Silence!” he shouted. “Or would you, grown men, prefer to act like children throwing tantrums?” His words seemed to calm the Elders. They stepped back but continued to shake their heads and pace the floor.
“Tantrums? Who is the one throwing a tantrum?” The old man made his way closer, forehead glinting with sweat. “That acolyte throws around the title of Seer and expects us to fall in behind him, waving his flag and worshipping his name?”
“When did I say such a thing?” Malok bit back. Good. He was standing up for himself. Brate crossed his arms and waited. He would intervene if things started to take a wrong turn, but so far, Malok was holding his own. “Judge a man by what you see and hear, and not what you want or project to see and hear.”
“He’s right,” March Wood said with a nod of his head. “But Malok, surely you understand why we are surprised.”
“I didn’t say your surprise was wrong, or even misguided.” Malok nodded at March Wood before turning back to the others. “What I propose is safety. We cannot watch the Lands burn and do nothing.”
“What say you, Broad? You’re a Webmaster! Yet you stand there and protect him?” Cliff Marker waved a fist at Broad, who squared his shoulders.
“I only agreed to call the Council and make sure he was heard. I never intimated I agreed with him!”
Brate frowned. The Webmaster was a coward. What more did he need to be convinced?
“Brothers!” Malok called, stepping forward, eyes flashing. “I understand your misgivings. Please, give me your time and silence. You agreed, did you not?”
The Elders mumbled but quieted. Time Dancer shot a look to Brate. Maybe he thought Brate was manipulating them? No matter. As long as the fear was there, maybe they would behave.
“Thank you,” Malok said, waving Broad to step to the side. The Webmasters relaxed but stayed where they were.
Brate turned to look at Myra. Even she was on her feet, face and muscles tense. She had pulled in the Deep, too. He turned in his chair back to Malok.
“The truth stands whether we like it or not. I have Seen it. The web comes down.” He raised his hands as the crowd began to grow angrier. “Fear has kept it in place this long. Fear was what created it in the first place. But does not love and compassion override superstition and racism?”
“You don’t know what you are talking about!” Time Dancer scoffed.
“Why not? What proof do you have that I am speaking in ignorance?” Malok shook his head, face wreathed with anger. “I have seen the sphere burned to the ground, the smoldering ruins of civilization ground to dust! I have seen famine, disease, rape, murder, and deception reign. The Triumphant King would open the Rift wide and rule under the supremacy of the Liar. Do you think the web will stop the Prince of Chaos?”
Brate started. Where had Malok heard that name? In one of his visions?
“You are foolish to think you will be protected from his power and wrath if the Rift busts open the Deep!” Malok paced to the side, staring the Elders down. “Yet it can be stopped. The Stewards, the witches – we can stop it. But we need the ancient wisdom to do so. If there are any documents dictating the destruction of the Rift and the sealing once and for all, it would be
here. In the North. Perhaps one of you even knows where.”
Malok stepped back and ran a hand over his face. He glanced at Brate and shook his head. Brate smiled at the Elders, who had gone strangely silent. “I am Brate Hightower.” He pulled the sleeve of his tunic up, revealing the charcoal imprint of the Liar’s touch. “I have on my body the mark of the Liar.” A gasp echoed throughout the chamber, but he didn’t stop. “His power increases even as we speak. You have no other option. Help us or face the consequences.”
“You threaten us?” Cliff Marker asked, but his tone was quiet. Reflective.
“No. I give you the opportunity to do the right thing.” Brate rolled his sleeve down, trying not to the itch the mark. It burned as if it knew he was talking about it. “Please. We will only ask once.”
***
Brate closed his eyes as the wind ruffled his hair. Malok paced beside him. It had been two hours since they left the chamber for the Elders to talk and argue. Three hours was the limit he had set. If they hadn’t made a decision by then, Brate and Malok would do what they had to do without them.
Unfortunately, neither of them had a clue how to actually take down the web. Malok could always See into Brate’s future, if necessary. But best to avoid that if at all possible.
“Are you worried for Garron?” Myra’s voice cut through the silence. Brate glanced over to where she sat against a tree, watching.
Malok stopped pacing and sighed. “Yes. I feel like I have lost a piece of my own soul.”
Brate knew what that was like. Anyia’s face flashed through his mind once again. An ache took up residence in his gut. He would give anything to have her in his arms and let his worries pass them by.
“You love him.” Myra’s tone was low. “Of course it feels that way. He will be okay. His mission is important.”
Malok sighed and folded his arms against the wind, hugging himself. He looked like a lost boy, unsure of where he was. Compassion filled Brate. “I know. No one told me that this path would be so lonely.”
“And daunting,” Brate added. “There is always someone who needs us, something that needs doing. What about us? What about what we want?”
The Last Steward Page 28