by Claire Frank
They entered a small building with a tall ceiling and walls that were nothing but pillars, the interior open to the air outside. In the center was a rectangular table piled high with smooth, round stones. Stacks of baskets surrounded it, most with woven lids set aside. More stood along one wall, and Pathius could tell by their shape that they were full.
“Sunstones?” Pathius asked as he walked over to the table and picked up one of the rocks. As soon as he touched it, he could feel the energy inside. Sunstones were much like Pathius, able to absorb energy and let it dissipate into the air. Halthians used them frequently for warming bathwater.
“Yes,” Raed said. “A simple thing for us to make and always popular with our neighbors.”
Raed drew out a few baskets and the two of them worked in silence, packing the stones with care. He showed Pathius how to layer dry straw between the sunstones, to ensure they were secure and wouldn’t chip as they knocked into each other while in transit. Once the baskets were full, they carried them out to one of the waiting boats and stacked them in the hold.
After working for several hours, Raed reached into his bag and produced a pouch of roasted seeds and dried fruit. He handed some to Pathius and they both sat on the dock, their feet hanging over the edge above the water as they ate.
“Your help is appreciated,” Raed said.
“I’m happy to,” Pathius said, and he meant it. There was something in the simplicity of their task that was satisfying. “I appreciate feeling useful, I suppose.”
“It is difficult for me to imagine what sort of life you led before you came here,” Raed said. “I have been to Halthas, but when we travel, we do not see those who live in palaces very often.”
“I haven’t lived in a palace for a very long time,” Pathius said with a laugh.
“Is it your wish to return?” Raed asked.
“To the palace, or to Halthas?”
Raed glanced at him. “Either.”
Pathius looked out over the water. The river was wide here and the water drifted by, seeming to be in no hurry to reach the sea. “Halthas is my home. As for the palace, I honestly don’t know. People keep assuming I’m supposed to challenge Rogan for the crown, simply because I’m not as dead as everyone thought.”
“And what is it you think?”
“That, for now, I’m here. I don’t really know what the future holds, but I suppose I can’t worry about it right now,” Pathius said.
“This is good,” Raed said. “You are learning. Perhaps soon you will learn to hold a spear correctly as well.”
Pathius glanced at the Imaran from the corner of his eye and saw his lips turned up in a smile. “Is that humor? Raed, I didn’t think you capable.”
Raed laughed, his deep voice carrying across the water. “I am known for being hotheaded. I realize this.”
“Perhaps you just need a good woman to help you settle down,” Pathius said with a smile.
Raed gave him a sidelong glance. “The same could be said of you. I am young to be married, according to Imaran ways. What of you?”
Pathius shook his head. “I said before, I have a talent for loving the wrong women.”
Raed laughed as he stood, and Pathius followed, turning to walk across the dock to the shore. Something tickled the back of his neck as he stepped off the wood planks onto the sandy riverbank, and he turned to find Ara a few feet away, staring at him with her mouth slightly open.
Pathius gaped, then snapped his mouth shut. Her eyes were wide, like a prey animal spooked by a noise, and he felt powerless to move.
Raed patted him on the shoulder. “You see? Blind.” With a nod to Ara he left, walking up the path toward the trees, and left Pathius alone with her.
Her shoulders relaxed, and she tucked her hair behind her ear. “I left you abruptly before. For this I owe an apology.”
“No, an apology isn’t necessary,” he said as he took a few steps toward her. He felt drawn to her, like a freezing man to a fire. “Though, perhaps we should speak about what happened?”
She pressed her lips together and nodded, then looked off to the side. “Yes. There is something I wish to show you. It is best seen at night, so I will come for you later, if you are willing.”
“Yes, of course,” he said.
Ara nodded again and turned to leave the way Raed had gone. Pathius watched her go, shaking his head at himself. He didn’t know if Ara would prove to be yet another wrong woman, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from finding out.
22. DANCING IN THE MOONLIGHT
The surface of the hearthstone was smooth, as if it had been thoroughly polished. Pathius ran his fingers across the pale stone. He could feel the complex threads of energy woven into the rock, an odd mix of pushing and pulling. He’d been studying some of the Imaran inventions, trying to decipher their secrets. The Imaran goods fascinated him; the way they were infused with power was unlike anything Halthian Wielders or Shapers created. The Imarans had a way with energy that seemed altogether foreign, and yet familiar.
Delving into the stone, Pathius followed the lines of energy. He resisted the urge to Absorb, hesitating on the edge of his ability. It almost seemed as if he could unravel what was inside, but it felt like an intricate knot, the flows of power intertwining without a beginning or end.
He set the heavy stone down on the table and looked around his dwelling. It was small, but airy and comfortable. He’d been waiting for Ara for what seemed like hours, although he knew it couldn’t have been so long. It was a relief that she was speaking to him again, and he looked forward to seeing whatever it was she wished to show him. But worry intruded on his anticipation. The sense of connection he had felt with Ara was complex, something that spoke to a place deep within him. What would she find if she could see inside? The disparate memories of a deposed prince. Years of captivity and torture. A stolen bond to another woman. Power that had threatened to unmake him. He shuddered at the thought of the broken pieces of himself laid bare.
A knock at his door pulled him from his thoughts and he rose to answer it. Ara stood in the doorway, dressed in a dark cloak and holding two spears.
“Do you wish to join me?” she asked.
Pathius nodded and outfitted himself in his own cloak before taking one of the spears from Ara. She offered no explanation as to where they were going, leading him through the walkways and outside in silence.
The trees closed in as they entered the forest, the massive cedars thick with moss, the ground covered with forest debris. Ara moved with certainty, her stride carrying her across the ground with ease. She glanced behind occasionally, as if to be sure he was still there, but otherwise remained quiet.
As they moved farther from the Imaran city, Pathius began to wonder how deep into the forest they would travel. He spent most of his time within a close distance, rarely venturing farther unless he was with Raed or Ara. He had seen firsthand some of the creatures that lived in the Deep Forest, and he took the Imarans’ warnings to heart. Adjusting the grip on his spear, he took some comfort in its weight.
Although the branches were too thick to see the sky, Pathius could tell the sun was sinking low. The light dimmed as they walked, shrouding the trees in semi-darkness.
They emerged into a clearing, a wide expanse where the trees suddenly stopped and the sky opened above. The ground was mostly bare, with occasional shoots poking forth from the dirt. In the center was a life-size statue carved from stone. Pathius followed Ara around to the front of the carving, looking it up and down as they walked. It was a woman, as tall as Pathius, with both arms lifted. One was turned out to the side, while the other was bent across her chest, both sets of fingers pointing in the same direction.
The details of her face were exquisite. Were she not all one color, Pathius might have believed she was real, someone standing still to mimic a statue.
“Who is she?” Pathius asked.
“I do not know her name,” Ara said. “It might be that once people kn
ew, but no longer.”
“It’s beautiful.”
Ara took a few steps backward and sat, crossing her legs and laying her spear across her knees. “She has been here a long time.”
Pathius moved to sit beside her. “Why spears?”
“I bring you into the Deep Forest at night. It may be we return without incident, but we may not. I do not take this chance.”
Ara fell silent and Pathius gazed up at the statue. The lines were so smooth as to almost appear soft, the folds of her clothes falling in gentle waves. One leg was tilted outward as if she were about to take a step away from her perch, and the lines of her arms were gentle.
Pathius swallowed, trying not to fidget. He wanted to speak to Ara, but he couldn’t find the words. Her presence near him was disarming, her call to his soul a steady invitation.
“There,” Ara said, pointing up to the statue. “Now you will see.”
Bathed in moonlight, the statue seemed to come alive. Pathius could see that the statue was still, yet as he gazed at it, she appeared to move. It reminded him of the Life Tree in Halthas. The longer he stared, the more he could see her shift and change.
“The bonds between Imarans are very strong,” Ara said, her voice soft. “Once connected, there is little that can break them. Imar split himself in two, and through our bond, we again become whole. It is said that the man who crafted this lost his wife. She died, although I do not know why. For an Imaran to lose their aewe or aewan, their wife or husband, is a terrible thing. The energy inside them is intertwined; it is like losing a piece of yourself. Some do not survive.”
“This man survived, and he carved a likeness of his wife?” Pathius asked.
“Yes. He made her from Arcstone and poured something of them into her, something of their bond. She does not reside in the stone, but a part of her energy very well might. It is said he would come here when the sky was clear, and when the moon shone on her, she would come to life and dance with him.”
The statue’s face was haunting, almost glowing in the moonlight. As Pathius stared at her, he could feel the deep sense of loss that had inspired her creation. She exuded an aura of loneliness, but there was something else in her features.
A breeze blew through the clearing, brushing pine needles and leaves across the ground. As he gazed at the statue, Pathius felt as if he could hear music in the distance. She seemed to move in time with the soft rhythm, and he could imagine her husband dancing with her across the clearing. Swallowing hard, Pathius tried to choke back the surge of emotion that threatened to spill over.
“Why did you bring me here?” he said. He could scarcely bring his voice above a whisper.
“Because I love this place,” Ara said, “and I wished to show it to you. I want you to understand.”
“Understand what?”
“The energy of life is not a tool. Halthians see it this way. They say they wield this energy, as if its only purpose is some sort of usefulness. But whether or not you use it, the energy is there. It is part of both of us.”
“I know this.”
“You do here,” she said, pointing at his head, “but you do not feel it here.” She gestured to her heart and turned her gaze back to the statue. “Sometimes love transcends what is possible. Did he dance with his wife here, in this clearing, after her death? Perhaps he did. Perhaps that helped him survive his loss.”
“Or perhaps his loss made him crazy,” Pathius said, “if he believed his wife was here, in this stone.”
Ara sighed. “Yes, I understand why you would see it this way.”
“Why is that?”
“Fear. There is so much fear inside you. A man who fears to be bonded to another may focus on the loss, on the fear that he will lose the one he loves.”
“That isn’t what I fear,” he said. As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them.
“What is it you fear?”
Pathius gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to talk about this. Admitting he was afraid was akin to admitting he was weak. “Nothing.”
“Everyone fears something,” Ara said. There was something in her voice that compelled him, urging him to speak.
“I have always lived in fear,” he said, his eyes locked on the ground in front of him. “I can hardly remember anything else. I feared my father. I feared his councilors. I feared the guard. I grew up with the fear that I would be weak, unfit to rule, and that my father would find a way to be rid of me. Then I was a captive for years, always living in fear. They tortured me, made me into nothing but a slave. I buried who I was, forgetting everything, out of fear. It was easier that way.” He looked up at Ara; her face was contorted with a look of pity. “Fear is all I have. It’s all I ever had.”
“You must let go of this,” Ara said. “It holds you back.”
Pathius turned away. “Holds me back from what? I’m nothing, Ara. I’m a ruin of a man.”
“You are what you choose to be,” she said. “There are still things inside that you must face, the way the other Wielders have. Let me help you.”
“Why?”
Ara didn’t speak for a long moment. Pathius ached to touch her, wanted nothing more than to turn and take her in his arms, but he couldn’t make himself move.
Ara’s whisper broke the silence. “Because my soul sings to yours.”
Her words nearly knocked him over. His chest tightened, making it difficult to breathe. He knew, deep in his soul, that she spoke the truth, and it terrified him.
“Let me help you,” she said again, and reached out her hand to touch his arm.
As he turned toward her, he clasped her hand in his own and nodded, his body suddenly trembling. He felt the winding trail of warmth and recognized Ara’s essence. Closing his eyes, he let her in, felt her energy filling him as his own reached out to meet her.
The landscape changed, shifting from the clearing to a stark plain. He and Ara stood side by side, as if they had always been there. “What am I supposed to do here?” Pathius asked.
“I am not certain,” Ara said. “This place is familiar to you?”
“I think so, but I don’t know that I truly understand it,” Pathius said. “I think Daro brought me here once.”
Ara nodded. “I cannot lead. If there is something here you must face, it is up to you to find it. But I will help you how I can.”
Pathius look a deep breath and started walking. He had no idea which direction he should go, but they all looked more or less the same to him anyway. When he and Daro had been here, it had seemed treacherous, haunted by the remnants of the men Nihil had poured into him. It was calmer now; the sky was a rich blue, like a velvet cloak hung above them, and the air was still.
A structure loomed in the distance, so Pathius veered toward it. Misshapen spires reached for the sky, the dark gray stone cracked and crumbling. The windows were dark, and a large door stood half open, hanging off its hinges at an odd angle.
“Do you know what this is?” Ara asked.
Pathius shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
They wandered closer, wary of what might be lurking in the shadows. There was a familiarity to the building, a sense that he should know what it was. A chunk of rock broke free from one side and tumbled down to the ground with a loud crunch, sending a cascade of smaller chips and pebbles clattering down after it. “It’s falling apart,” Pathius said.
Cold air wafted across their legs, as if a low mist hung just above the ground. “This means something, Pathius,” Ara said. “I think this place is important somehow.”
Narrowing his eyes, Pathius looked. With a sharp intake of breath, he stepped backward. “It’s the palace in Halthas,” he said.
Without the lush gardens and shining white stone, it was almost unrecognizable. The walls were blackened as if by fire, the tall towers crumbling and broken. It was more like a twisted version of the place of his youth, a tormented thing, clawing at a relentless sky as if it writhed in agony.
Pathius walke
d toward it, heedless of the danger. Something drew him closer, a sense that he was being watched, and a figure emerged from the door, creeping out as if attempting to stay hidden. The figure stopped and turned toward Pathius, a slow, deliberate motion. It was dressed all in black, and Pathius’s heart nearly skipped as he realized it was masked, its head and face covered in slick, dark fabric.
As if the air had been knocked from his lungs, Pathius gasped for breath. Ara spoke, but he couldn’t make out her words as he stared at the masked man in front of him.
“Number One,” he said.
The man tilted his head and glowing, multicolored eyes stared back at Pathius. Number One reached out a hand and Pathius felt a shock of cold as the heat ripped from his body. Clutching his stomach, he bent forward, pain writhing through him. He looked up as Number One stopped, standing silent with his hand still outstretched.
“You don’t exist anymore,” Pathius said, his voice a growl. He reached out and Absorbed, pulling energy from Number One. Heat coursed through him as the other man stumbled backward.
“He was the best version of you.” Another voice sounded from the crumbling palace, and Pathius whipped his head around to look. His heart raced as the familiarity washed over him.
My father.
“How would you know?” Pathius said, calling out toward the building. He couldn’t see the face, but he knew that sneering voice, even years later. “You never knew anything about me.”
“I knew your weakness,” the voice said. “How I could have sired such a child is beyond me.”
“You heartless bastard,” Pathius said. “I did everything you ever asked of me and you never gave me anything but disdain.”
“How could I?” Hadran’s voice said. “You weren’t worthy to be my heir. It doesn’t matter what sort of monster Nihil turned you into, it never would have been enough.”
Rage exploded inside Pathius and he reached his hands toward the palace. He would freeze every inch of it and tear it to the ground.