Season of Glory

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  I considered that and wondered what methods an angel had to change a guard’s mind, or strike terror in him without saying a word.

  The streets were busy, with many out to finish their errands before nightfall, and I allowed myself to reach out, absorbing the odd, dark tension that seemed to plague this city. When we finally turned the corner and reached the stables, I sighed in relief. The first group was there, and the last was right behind us. Niero slipped a gold coin in the stable boy’s filthy fist, and we had a few moments alone.

  “I forgot just how much I loathe this city,” Vidar said, looking uncommonly grim. But I knew firsthand what birthed that response. There was a reason why a Sheolite tracker had so very nearly caught us here on our previous trip; Zanzibar was a breeding ground of evil. With men outnumbering women three to one, every female had become a commodity. And yet with every family allowing only a male heir to inherit, females were constantly killed, often as infants. Some were sold to pimps in the inner circle of the city, where we’d seen so many prostitutes, their eyes sunken and glassy, as if they’d long ago vacated their bodies. Others were sold to Pacifica to work in her mines or factories. I wondered how many girls had ended up there. The custom had begun after the Great War as a means of population control; within the walls, space was finite. And the walls had once been the main protection Zanzibians had against Drifters and rival feudal lords with growing armies and an eye on expansion. But what remained was twisted and wrong for men and women alike. Again, I wondered why the Maker would send us here. As powerful as we were together, how could we fight against such depravity? How could we reach a people who had traveled such a dark road for so long that their ears had to be deafened by lies, their eyes blinded by deceit?

  We sat down in a newly cleaned stall, atop fresh hay lining the walls. Azarel handed out pieces of flatbread and dried fish. “Eat,” she said. “We’ll need our strength.” I nodded, but I shoved the food into my pocket as she moved on to Tressa. The whole place made me feel vaguely nauseous.

  I looked over at Tressa as she bit into her fish. “Did they recognize you at the front gates?”

  “They didn’t recognize me,” she said softly. “Nor I them. Most of our lives were spent below ground, and the people we knew were from the center of the city, with the forgotten ones.” “But she still had to keep Killian from cutting one of the guard’s tongues from his mouth,” Bellona said, nudging Tressa’s Knight.

  “The man was … less than polite,” Killian ground out.

  “Someday, we shall go back to those men and teach them what it means to respect our wives,” Ronan said, sharing a warrior’s promise with his brother.

  “There will be other guards who will remember Tressa well,” Killian said to Niero.

  “I know,” he said, chewing on a bite of bread. “If they get in our way, we must deal with them as quickly as possible.”

  Meaning, they would have to die, I surmised.

  “I’ll be first in line to help with that endeavor,” Killian said, visibly cheered.

  I remembered the men who had held Tressa in chains on the palace wall. How they’d taunted her, touched her, even as those at the city gates had begun to do with me. “I understand your rage, brother,” I said to him. “Your desire for vengeance for your bride, to make right all that was done wrong to her. But surely we were not called to return to this city, at this point in our journey, simply for that. There has to be a greater call within.” I looked to Tressa, knowing she’d felt the pull to heal.

  “Yes,” Tressa said, placing her hand through the crook of one of his arms, which was wrapped around his knees. “There is someone here to be healed—perhaps many. That is the beginning of what we’re to do here, at least. I’m certain of it.”

  Killian didn’t like that I had called him out. He stared at me for a long moment as the others grew silent. At first, I could feel his resentment, almost hear the derogatory response on his tongue, but then there was a softening, the wash of wisdom warming him, the soothing pull of the Way. “You speak the truth, Dri. But I’m telling you now, it will be difficult to keep my anger in check.” He shook his head in apology, and some of his dreadlocks fell over his shoulder.

  “We’re with you,” Bellona said, putting a hand on his other huge forearm. “Look to us if you doubt your ability to discern between protection and retribution.”

  “I will,” he said with a nod.

  “It is imperative that we move with the Maker here, not in any way against him,” Niero said, looking around at all of us. “As Tressa said, it begins with those she is to heal. So let us find that person, or people, and then see where we are led next. But now, we must move. Once it grows dark and people are indoors, our movement will be more conspicuous.”

  We rose, and as we did so we came together, putting our hands together in the center of our circle, each saying a short prayer. “Protect us, Maker,” Niero said. “Go before us,” Kapriel said. Beside us … behind us … move within us … move those around us … show the people your power … call them away from the dark … and to the light.

  By the time we were done praying, the energy in that dark stable felt more like the warmth of a popping campfire, hours old. Pure joy and assurance surrounded us, the hallmarks of the Maker. It was true; we all knew it.

  We were here on his mission. Now it was time to see it through.

  CHAPTER

  17

  KEALLACH

  Maximillian burst into the western sanctuary as I knelt on the floor, meditating. I cast aside my irritation over his interruption; I hadn’t managed to focus on any sense of inner peace since the day I returned to the palace and found Andriana gone.

  Seeing my silent assent, Max grinned. “They’ve been seen. All the Remnants are in Zanzibar.”

  “Zanzibar?” I said, rising, feeling my weak knees. She was there. They all were. But in Zanzibar? “Surely they don’t think they can win over anyone there to the Way. Lord Darcel himself told me he’d have every one of their heads for daring to free a prisoner from his palace walls.”

  “Then perhaps Sethos and his men won’t have as much to do upon their arrival,” Maximillian said, grinning and crossing his arms. He held up his hands when he saw my expression. “No, no, Majesty. Lord Darcel has been informed. No harm is to come to either Lady Andriana or Prince Kapriel.” He stepped closer and laid a hand on both of my shoulders. I noticed he was looking stronger today, more himself. “Perhaps this very night, it will be over. The Remnants—and their rebellion—quashed. Those you love, back where they belong, where their gifting can be … utilized best. It’s finally happening, Keallach,” he added in a cheerful whisper, using my familiar name. “All that you’ve dreamed of.”

  He dropped his hands and went to the window with a spring in his step. “We’ll bring your brother here, reinstate him as sub regent to you, and you shall wed Andriana. Together, the three of you will be the face of the new Pacifica. All will willingly follow you.”

  My heart pounded. Could it be? Had the Maker made a way for my own plans to unfold, exactly as I had dreamed? A bit dazed, I walked to stand beside the window with Maximillian and looked over the green lawn to the sea. Andriana had loved the sea. She’d wanted to go swimming. Now she’d have the chance.

  “How do you know they’re in Zanzibar? Will they realize they’ve been recognized?”

  “Easy, easy,” Maximillian said, a cocky quirk to his smile. “We have spies everywhere—not among the Zanzibian guards, among the people. And it was two of them that radioed us the information.”

  I breathed a little easier. The Knights would’ve been very aware of any of the guards or Zanzibian patrols. But in a crowded city like that …

  “There’s more,” Maximillian said, leaning closer as if to share a secret. “We’ve activated Kapriel’s and Andriana’s ID chips. Not only will Sethos know they’re in Zanzibar, he’ll know exactly where they are. I tell you, Majesty, tonight they shall be ours again, and the Remnants’ cause
will be something of the past.”

  I gaped at him. “The Aravanders took out the Pacifican servants’ chips as soon as they entered the Valley! Do you think they’d allow Kapriel and Dri to walk about with them still embedded?”

  “No,” he said, lifting a brow. “But neither of them know they have one. Kapriel’s was embedded in the center of his back when he was so terribly ill. Andriana’s was embedded when she was in and out of unconsciousness, in those first days in the palace.” He held up his hands again when I shot him a dark look, remembering my rage at her mistreatment. “It wasn’t me. It was Sethos. And while I did not approve of his methods at the time, I have to admit, it will serve us well in the days to come.”

  “Where?” I grumbled. “Where did they put it on Dri?”

  He steepled his fingers and looked back out to the ocean. “Directly atop her cracked rib, where she was feeling some pain already and wouldn’t think about it further.”

  I let out a huff of a laugh and shook my head. The ID chips were incredibly tiny. And given that neither carried their chip in the traditional Pacifican location of the right shoulder …

  I reached out and patted Maximillian on the back. “Well done, brother. Well done. Now order a transport. We will travel through the night. I want to be near Zanzibar as fast as possible. Because when this tide shifts, I want to be there to witness it firsthand.”

  RONAN

  A large part of me thought we would be heading into the inner district, the city’s dark center, where we’d encountered the prostitutes and drug dealers before, and where we’d eventually found Tressa and Killian’s hiding place, deep within the sewers below. But when the Remnants urged us, as one, toward the palace, my breath caught. Not there, Maker, I breathed. Anywhere but there.

  Surely he wouldn’t send us where we might be most in danger. Where we could not hide. Where we’d have little chance of slipping in and then slipping out of this cursed city.

  Or would he?

  I took a deep breath, and Vidar caught my look of understanding, clasping me on the shoulder. “Hold on, brother,” he said. “This is bound to be … new.”

  I concentrated on Dri’s hand at my waist, her pace matching mine. She was with me, behind me, I reminded myself. Safe for the moment. There was not one among us who didn’t understand that we were to go wherever the Maker sent us. But wariness and wonder twined in every one of our hearts.

  “Do you think there are any trackers here, in the city?” she asked quietly, memories of our past experience clear in her tone. I wished I could turn and face her; I didn’t like that she wasn’t beside me, my partner, my equal, my love. For all to see. And I hated that she was afraid, that I couldn’t protect her from the truth. “It’s a distinct possibility. Pacifica will want to protect her allies from the infiltration of the Way.”

  “Then why does he not show himself?”

  “Because they do not yet want to be seen.”

  She fell silent. But it was necessary, this warning. As readily as we’d gained entrance to this city, I knew there would be no easy exit. And there was no way that Pacifica wasn’t watching every single person who entered or exited the Valley now, either. Spies were everywhere. I’d felt their eyes upon us from the moment we had left the comforting cover of the pines and had begun plodding through the damp sands of the desert, and then with increasing weight as we drew closer to Zanzibar. Regardless of what the Maker would have us do here, we had to do it quickly and return to the relative safety of the Valley as soon as we possibly could.

  Niero didn’t pause at a cross street that would have led us deeper into the city. He just continued, unabated, toward the palace, which loomed larger before us all the time. Vidar, just ahead of me now, with Bellona trailing behind him, wavered on occasion, and I knew he must have been seeing what we all sensed—the damnable creatures of the dark, watching, observing our trek forward. And yet no soldiers came against us; no whistles shrieked; no bells clanged in warning. I tried to ignore the admiring, lustful glances of the men we passed by, knowing that my jealousy would only increase Dri’s angst. But thankfully, by walking in this manner and wearing the band of leather around her wrist that marked her as a married woman in Zanzibar, the glances were fleeting. The men knew there was one sure way to quarrel with another in this city, and that was to make a move on another man’s woman.

  I silently thanked the elders for acquiescing and allowing our binding, if not full marital vows. When we’d entered the city before, we’d been lucky to avoid detection for our first precious hours on the streets, no one noticing our women were missing the leather bracelets. But even Tonna hadn’t offered anything but paperwork to get us through the gates that day. I knew it was all a ruse, really. No piece of jewelry or binding vows could keep Andriana fully safe. Only the Maker could. But I was fully in favor of using every element at my disposal to try. And while our binding both partially satisfied me and aggravated me because our union wasn’t complete, it was something. The Maker had made a way for us to be together and to honor the Community’s ways and the elders’ intent. And I would choose to find satisfaction in that, over and over again.

  Zanzibar was a city with curving walls and concentric circling streets inside. But the palace before us took up a good portion of the western edge of the city, and what it lacked in graceful style, it made up for in sheer size. Before, we’d managed to distract the guards that patrolled high above and scaled the walls; I doubted that trick would work again. And it appeared that Tressa was guiding Killian straight to the palace gates, despite the fact that her Knight argued furiously over his shoulder with her. Straight to the gates? My heart pounded, and sweat broke out on my clenched palms. What sort of madness was this? Forget the bindings, the tattoos. We might as well have just turned ourselves over to the city guards. We’d be hopelessly outnumbered in the palace.

  “Take courage, Knight,” Niero said, alongside of us for a moment. “We arrive here far more powerful than when we were here last.”

  I snorted. “But we didn’t exactly enter into the lord’s lair directly,” I hissed. “We freed Tressa and ran, as I recall.”

  “The time for running is over,” he said evenly, looking into my eyes. “It is time to stand and claim what belongs to the Maker. And what belongs to the Maker?”

  “Everything,” I said slowly, wondering over the truth of that word, even as it came from my mouth.

  “Indeed,” he said, giving me a hint of a smile. He and Azarel pressed forward, presumably to be closer to Killian and Tressa when we reached the palace gates. There were no beggars about as we neared it, as there were in the wealthier parts of other towns and cities. There were no handicapped children or aged men that Tressa might be called to heal. But then that made sense; the Lord of Zanzibar banished or killed anyone with any infirmity at all. Which only led me to believe that the one we were called to heal—the reason we’d been summoned to this foul city—was within.

  I stifled a groan as Killian did what I’d feared and walked directly up to the palace guards, standing at the center of twelve others. Above, on the wall, there were an additional six. “We demand an audience with the Lord of Zanzibar,” Killian said, his voice sounding strangled.

  “Of course you do,” retorted the guard, looking him up and down, as well as Tressa, then on to the rest of us. “And who are you?” He brought up his gun and leveled it at Killian’s throat. We stilled. The other guards followed suit, all bringing up their weapons and aiming them at us. Above us, I could hear the crack of additional weapons coming off of safety.

  “We are the prophesied Remnants,” Tressa said, coming out from behind Killian. “Zanzibian-born. As well as our Knights and companions,” she went on, voice high and clear, her eyes blazing with a confidence that could only come from the Maker. “There is one in this palace who ails, and I have been called to heal him.”

  The chief guard gaped at her. “Even if you are who you say you are, you have your information wrong, girl,” he snee
red, squinting at Tressa as if he recognized her. Her hair was hidden beneath a hood, or they would surely have identified her as their escaped prisoner. “The Lord of Zanzibar allows no illness outside his gates, let alone within.”

  “It is a child,” Chaza’el said, stepping forward, only stopping when another guard’s gun pressed into his chest. “A tiny babe. The lord’s own son.”

  “The lord’s heir has yet to be born,” scoffed the guard, puffing out his chest. “And when he is, he shall be as whole and hale as my own.”

  “He was born this morning,” Tressa said. “But the child’s heart is weak, his life fading from him even now as we—”

  The guard moved as if to strike her, and she shied away, but Killian stayed his hand.

  Behind them, the gate unexpectedly opened. The chief guard scowled over his shoulder and wrenched his wrist from Killian’s grip. A younger man hurried up to him, looking tentative, and whispered in his ear. The chief guard straightened, took a breath, and then turned to the other guards. “These people have been summoned within,” he said gruffly, as if it was his own idea. “Relieve them of their weapons, and search them to be certain no more remain in hidden places.”

  We were pressed to face the walls, our hands on the rough adobe brick above our heads, the guards’ hands searching and locating each sword, knife, gun, lance, whip, arrow, and axe upon us. I grit my teeth as the guard next to me took overly long with Andriana, searching the long lengths of her legs. “Get it over with, man,” I spat out, “or I shall come and find you later.”

  “Careful,” sneered my own guard, taking a handful of my hair and yanking my head back, “it’s a capital crime to threaten a Zanzibian guard.”

  “Thankfully, I don’t answer to anyone but the Maker.”

  The man stilled, and the other took a halting breath. Here in this city, too, the Maker’s name had long been taboo. But it had the desired effect; they left Andriana alone and shared a long look, as if debating what to do in response.