by Jeff Wheeler
She leaned forward and placed her hands on the table in front of her. All eyes in the room were fixed on her. Most of the council members looked nervous and worried. Her latest revelation was still sinking in. Ereshkigal, the Queen of the Unborn, had won power in secret by manipulating kings and queens. She’d persecuted the mastons to the brink of extinction. Her return would cause terrible events to unfold.
“I propose an amnesty for the traitors,” Sera said. “Those guilty of crimes against us or those who do not wish to live among us any longer shall be exiled. This world is certainly big enough. Our cartographers will choose a location that is wholly uninhabited. These people will be colonizers in a way. They will establish their own society. Rule themselves as they please. We will provide sufficient provisions for them to survive for several years, and then we will leave them be. Without sky ships, they will be stranded. Perhaps Lord Welles, since he sought to be our governor, would prefer ruling such a society to facing charges for his crimes. Those who do not accept the amnesty will be charged through the Ministry of Law. It may take years to try all the cases, but we will grant each person a fair trial and an advocate to speak on their behalf. Those found guilty will suffer the consequences of their crimes, including prison sentences for lesser crimes. Execution for treason or murder.”
She leaned back in her chair, looking at their faces one by one. Silence.
Mr. Durrant’s brow was deeply furrowed. His mouth was pinched into a frown. “Would the exile be permanent?”
She stared at him. “Yes.”
The door to the privy council chamber was thrust open, causing looks of alarm to spread over the small group. It was one of her guards, Lieutenant Wilton.
“Your Highness,” he said breathlessly. “A tempest bearing the name of Serpentine just hailed us. They’re en route from the Fells. Prince Trevon is on board.” He struggled to breathe. “He’s on his way to Lockhaven now!”
I am back at the hospital with a group of malnourished and sickly children whom we recovered from the cesspit in the heart of the Fells. It is morning, and I am still alive. But I’m deeply worried about Cettie and what has become of her. The monster from the grotto attacked us in that awful place, but the iron door held the beast at bay. It raked its foul claws on the metal door. It howled and raged. Our only light was the lantern I held. Then all went quiet. Sickly, deathly quiet. We waited, unsure, trying to calm the children. But it was still out there. The orb told us it was lurking, waiting for us to emerge.
We unlocked the children from their bonds. We readied ourselves to face the monster. How many hours had we been trapped down there? I have no idea. But we felt, finally, that we should go. That we should trust the Mysteries, which said we should leave. We knew, from the orb, that Sera and Cettie had been transported to Cruix Abbey. We had to tell the government, anyone who would listen. I knew they were both in grave danger.
The monster attacked as we emerged from the locked chamber. I made the lantern I carried as bright as the sun. It charged at us still. I heard Juliana’s pistols fire twice. It was too big, too monstrous to be stopped by such a small weapon. And yet it worked. It shrieked in pain and then slumped to the floor. For a moment, I thought I saw a man standing behind it with a drawn sword. An angel from the Knowing, perhaps? I don’t know. The beast was dead. I brought the children with me while the others left on the Serpentine. I pray they make it safely to Lockhaven. That the empress, and dear Cettie, may be returned whole and hale.
—Adam Creigh, Killingworth Hospital
CETTIE
CHAPTER THIRTY−TWO
RUINS OF PAVENHAM SKY
Cettie and Maderos stood together on a beach. The sun had not yet risen, but there was sufficient light to see the endless gray waves before them. The water hissed as it lapped up on the shore, stopping before it reached their shoes. Cettie waited at the old Wizr’s side, gazing at the scene before her. A giant tree lay on the sand, its massive gnarled roots facing the sea, the bark silver and black from its constant bathing in the salty waters. Sera had described such a sight to her before. It belonged on the beach below Pavenham Sky.
But the estate had fallen. Part of the cliff had been sheared away. Boulders mixed with wall stones on the surf. Seaweed tangles tufted from broken turret windows. Small seabirds skittered around the debris. Skeletal bones from the walls and struts had been washed up on the shore. But some were too heavy to be moved by the sea and emerged from the sand like mammoth Leerings. The wind had a briny but pleasant smell.
What wreckage. What destruction her mother had wrought.
“He is here, Maderos?” Cettie asked, turning to look at him after taking in the whole of the scene. “Jevin?”
“Up there,” Maderos said, pointing his staff to an island cliff that rose before them. There were towering trees on the cliff, and she realized that the beached tree had originally come from its grove.
“But why?” Cettie asked. “Why would he come back to these ruins?”
A little smirk lighted on his face. “So many questions, little sister. My friends are always curious. Because,” he said, pointing to the little island, “there is a mirror gate here. A small one. Not big enough for a ship with sails. But plenty large enough for a smaller vessel. Yes. Here there is a mirror gate the ministries don’t know about.”
Cettie gazed at him in surprise.
“Our enemies are cunning, little sister,” he said in a mischievous voice. “They find unexpected ways to subvert us. Some they learn about in legends gone by. Others are given to them in evil books.”
Cettie nodded.
“Walk with me, little sister,” he said, and started at a quick pace along the shore toward the island. “The tide is low. He will not stay here long. You have the ring?”
She nodded, touching it on her finger.
“Good.” As they approached the mass of rock, white crests lashed against its sides. A few gray-and-white seagulls hastened away from them as they walked along the shore. The sand they trod was so wet the island was mirrored in ripples on its surface. Looking back, she saw their footprints disappearing into the sand.
“How will we get to it? Do we have a boat?” she asked.
“No, little sister. We just need to bend the water back is all. Like this.”
He held up his hand and muttered a word she didn’t understand. The water receded farther and farther, exposing the ground beneath the surf. Not all was sand. Jagged tidepools, previously covered by the sea, could be seen near the cliffs. As they walked along the wet rocks, Cettie peered into the small little pools flourishing with colorful and strange sea life. How she wished she could stoop and explore the contents, but Maderos continued hiking along the uneven ground with the assurance and ease of a mountain goat. She had to watch her step to avoid plunging a shoe into one of the pools.
When they reached the edge of the cliff, she stared up at its massive bulk. Rivulets of water trickled down the seaweed-encrusted edges, revealed by Maderos’s magic.
“I will hold the waters back while you climb up,” the old man said. “Hasten, little sister.”
She gazed at the rocks, searching for handholds. She adjusted the poisoner bag against her back and looked up again, trying to pick the best spot to climb.
Then she paused and looked at him. “Thank you, Maderos. For everything you’ve done for us.”
He shrugged slightly. “You may need a weapon, little sister, when you face him. Take mine.” He offered her his cudgel staff with the golden knob.
She stared at it a moment and then accepted it. She wound the straps of her poisoner bag around its grooves, securing it for the arduous climb. He stepped away, arms folded, and watched as she began to pick her way up the side of the cliff. Her training at the poisoner school had hardened her muscles and given her the confidence to do such a feat. She felt no fear as she quickly maneuvered up the face of the cliff. The hard climb tested her limbs and made her hot despite the chill of the morning breeze. After she’d gone
up a little way, she heard the surf smashing against the stones beneath her. Gazing down, she could no longer see Maderos.
The muscles in her forearms, hands, and calves began to burn as she continued to climb. Part of the rock was slick from the water trickling down from above, reminding her of the water wall at the poisoner school. Had the Knowing presented her with that challenge to prepare her for this moment? She rested at times, drawing on her strength, and then continued. Soon she could smell the trees crowning the small island. With her muscles straining, she finally reached the crest and pulled herself up, pausing to catch her breath. She’d done it. Sitting on the gorse at the edge, she stared down at the waves beneath and felt a touch of dizziness, which she still experienced when at a great height. Then she stared down at the ruins of Pavenham Sky, which she was now more level with. It had sunk a crater into the mountainside. Shattered bits of stone and shingles lay everywhere.
When she was ready to continue, she untied the knots and brought the staff around to help her rise. The wood felt smooth in her hand. She began to stalk through the smattering of thick trees atop the islet. She could hear the faint notes of magic coming from farther ahead, toward the middle of the island. The feeling reminded her of the sound of Jevin’s hautboie. She thought she smelled a whiff of wood smoke in the air.
Dawn had risen at last, the sun an orange globe rising over the mountains in the eastern sky, so pale in comparison to the sight of Idumea. She walked purposefully but quietly, trying to mask the sound of her approach.
The feeling of magic grew stronger. Then she heard voices.
“It’s time to awaken,” she heard Jevin say. “We must go before the kishion finds us. Come now. We must hurry.”
Jevin wasn’t alone.
Cettie followed the noise, approaching a tighter cluster of trees. It struck her that she, and these others, would be invisible to anyone on shore. She couldn’t even see the shattered remains of the mansion any longer, obscured by the tall evergreen trees. Shui-sa trees.
“I’m cold,” Cettie heard a young woman’s voice say.
“I know. We’ll build another fire after we escape. Come, lass. We must hurry.”
Cettie saw movement through the trees. As she carefully approached, slowing even further to avoid alerting them of her presence, she peered around a tree. There was Jevin in a black cassock and a dark gray cloak. He looked haggard from the events of the night. His eyes were burning, feverish, and he kept looking over his shoulder as though he could sense he was being watched. “Come on, lass. Hurry.” He gestured again to a young woman wrapped in a cloak, his expression straining with impatience. Cettie saw dark hair spilling out. Then the girl lowered the cowl, and Cettie recognized her.
It was Becka Monstrum, Sera’s maid.
“Where are we going?” Becka asked, her voice worried.
“Where that murderer can’t find you,” Jevin said, holding out his hand to her. His other hand snaked toward his pocket.
Cettie invoked the power of the ring just as he pulled out the Tay al-Ard. She felt the magic link the ring on her hand to the metal of the device. It was yanked out of Jevin’s hand and sailed directly to her, binding itself to the ring on her finger.
He looked up in shocked surprise, a twist of fear on his face.
Cettie slipped the Tay al-Ard into her own pocket and then stepped away from the tree and started toward him.
“You!” he hissed, and she saw the furnace of hate begin to open once more. His momentary fear was blasted away by fury.
“You have failed in your scheme, Jevin Toussan,” Cettie said.
He bared his teeth like a wild animal.
Becka, whirling around, saw her. Her eyes widened with recognition, and she reached out a hand.
“Stay with me,” Jevin said, gesturing for her. “She is a kishion’s daughter. The one you saw murder that young man. Ask her to deny it!”
“Becka,” Cettie said. “Get away from him. I’ve come to save you.”
“She won’t deny it. She can’t deny it. She’s the seed of that man! I’m trying to protect you. Come here.”
Cettie continued to close the distance between them, brandishing the staff.
“You come at me with a pauper’s stick?” Jevin mocked. He drew a long dagger, its blade dusty with poison. It looked familiar to her, from some ancient memory not her own. An Oath Maiden in the past had faced a similar weapon.
“The kishion did sire me,” Cettie explained, keeping her eyes fixed on the dagger. “But he is not my father. Lord Fitzroy is.”
“And Fitzroy is dead. Murdered. Come, child. Come with me now.”
“He will destroy you, Becka, just as he almost destroyed me. He is a deceiver. An accuser. You mustn’t believe anything he says.”
Becka was on her feet now, backing away from them both. She looked like a mouse poised to flee.
“You think you can best me?” Jevin said with contempt. “I who taught you?”
Cettie gazed into his eyes without flinching. “Yes.”
He hefted the dagger, but then turned sharply as he flung it, aiming for Becka instead. The girl screamed in terror. It felt as if time slowed. Cettie rushed forward, spinning the staff. The end of the weapon caught the dagger midspin and knocked it away. Cettie turned, feeling as if she were underwater, and gripped the staff by one end, swinging it around.
Jevin ducked and struck out at her, his face contorted with rage. His hands joined together, he mouthed a word, and she saw lightning race from his fingertips to consume her. The jagged bolts were sucked into the staff, making it hiss and steam. Jevin stared at her in shock. He’d expected his magic to destroy her, but the lightning merely tingled against her skin. Traces of it danced on her shoulder blades.
His spell had been ineffectual.
Cettie lunged at him, striking him in the stomach with the knobbed end of her weapon. He bent double in pain but managed to grab the shaft of the staff. Smoke began to sizzle from his burning hands, and he let go at once, howling in agony.
Power surged inside Cettie. She charged toward him again, striking his collarbone, hearing it snap. Another strike hit his shoulder. He fell, only to roll and get to his feet again. His eyes glowed silver as he screamed at her, trying to grab her, to choke her to death as he’d attempted to do with Sera. Dark shapes hovered in and out of him, Myriad Ones just as intent on destroying her as their host was. Their magic, their envy, their malice hit her like a bludgeon. But she would not yield. She stepped forward into the murk, and struck him again. His body collapsed, fingers clawing at the small shrubs. He tried lunging at her again.
You are nothing! An urchin! You were born in filth and will die in filth!
She could hear the words in her mind. How he transmitted them to her, she didn’t know, but she recognized Jevin’s voice. His thoughts tried to overwhelm her like floodwater.
You mean nothing. You are utterly worthless. Pathetic! A traitor to anyone who ever mattered to you. No one will weep when I kill you. They’ll be grateful you’re dead. Just die. It would be better if you just died! Hurl yourself onto the rocks below the cliffs. Just die!
The thoughts held power, and Cettie felt them collide with her soul like fists. These were thoughts she herself had entertained, and he threw them back at her, knowing the injury they would cause. For a moment, she had the urge to do as he said. To give in and give up. But they were lies! They were desperate lies from a coward.
Through some magic or innate skill, he could weave his thoughts into the minds of others. Was it Fountain magic?
It didn’t matter, in the end. She would listen no more. She would not allow him to cause any more harm.
Cettie cracked the staff across his cheek before his fingers could reach her. The blow stunned him, made him sag. He blinked rapidly, trying to regain his balance.
He looked dizzy, disoriented. “Who are you?” he gibbered. “Where am I? How did I get here?”
The Medium whispered to her, the voice clear thi
s time, undeniable.
Into your hands is the accuser delivered.
She knew what she had to do.
“Who?” He looked up at her, his eyes sparking with recognition once more. The next moment they blazed silver as he invoked his kystrel to save himself.
Cettie spun the staff over her head and brought the metal knob down on his skull with killing force.
Jevin slumped into the brush, his arms and legs twitching. He choked and gasped a moment, struggling to breathe. She saw his eyes roll back in his head. Then he stopped moving, stopped breathing.
He was dead.
Cettie wiped her mouth on her sleeve, backing away from the body. She glanced over and saw Becka staring at them, aghast.
“C-Cettie?” Becka whispered.
Cettie was winded by the conflict. But she also felt . . . free. As if a fist that had been clenching her mind had suddenly relaxed. She stifled a sob.
“Are you all right?” she asked Becka.
The young woman trembled. She opened her mouth but seemed to struggle for words.
“The man you fear. The kishion who murdered Mr. Skrelling. He’s already dead, Becka. So is the woman you knew as Lady Corinne. My . . . my mother. I’m going to take you back to Lockhaven. Have you been trapped here on this cliff since you were abducted?”
Becka nodded. “I was so frightened, Cettie. So frightened. They told me he was coming. That he’d throw me off the cliff if I tried to escape. I’ve been here for days.”
Cettie smiled reassuringly. “Come. You’re safe now.”
“Where is Sera? Where did they take her?”
Cettie, holding the staff with one hand, took Becka’s hand in the other. She felt for an invisible ring on the girl’s finger. Thankfully, there wasn’t one. She then checked the other hand, just to be sure.
“To Lockhaven. Where I’m taking you. Sera’s worried about you. She needs you.”
“I would like to go back. They . . . they poisoned her.”