35
ANDRIANA
I said the words along with my brothers and sisters, reclaiming Keallach from the dark that threatened to pull him away from us. I still wanted him with us, regardless of what had transpired, because I was certain it was the Maker’s desire. But with my hand on his back, I knew the wrestling within him. The concern. The doubt. It made my mouth dry and my palms sweat, all at once. And yet as he gripped arms with the men and hugged the women, he seemed settled, once again ours in total.
I couldn’t really hold him accountable for something that I, too, wrestled with periodically. Once you’d dabbled with the dark, it left windows open in the soul that the dark ones loved to visit, trying to gain deeper access. Only time, Asher had once told me, would help me seal those windows for good. “But they’ll always have slightly weaker locks than others,” he’d said, giving me a squeeze of the hand and a look with his brown eyes that made me feel completely seen and understood and loved.
Ronan sidled closer to me, folding his arms and looking toward Keallach, who was embracing his brother and looking even more repentant. “It’s okay?” he whispered to me. “With him,” he added, jutting out his chin. “He’s feeling what he says he’s feeling.”
“Yes,” I said. “I think.”
He cocked a brow, and his hand slid into mine. “You think? Now Andriana, are you using your head instead of your heart?”
“On occasion,” I said, bumping him with my hip and smiling at his gentle teasing. “I’ve been told once or twice I should use both.”
“Ahh, yes.” His smile deepened. “And you have such a pretty head … and neck … and …” His eyes drifted downward.
“Ronan,” I said, feeling a blush rush to my cheeks. It wasn’t our way to talk about such things. Was it knowing that Keallach had pressed his way with me that made him start thinking in such a manner too?
“What?” he said, casting an innocent brow upward. “A husband is allowed to admire his wife, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” I whispered, “for things the Community would admire. Peacefulness, patience, loving-kindness …”
“Ah, well, you have those too, of course. I just also like what it’s all wrapped up in,” he said, finishing the last of his words in a conspiratorial whisper to my ear.
I ducked my head, as his breath sent a shiver down my neck. And then I looked around quickly, both worried that someone had seen and irritated that I was worried. He was my husband, after all.
I thought I caught a glance from Keallach. But when I looked back, he was turning to leave with Kapriel, as if I was the last person he could possibly be thinking about. And I thought, Is this his darkness we’re wrestling with, or mine?
There was no debate among us. We departed for Castle Vega as the sun was just rising, feeling buoyed in spirit by our warm reception at Georgii Post. And yet as we drew closer to the castle in the Drifter vehicles and trader trucks, I could feel the tension between my shoulders draw them tighter and tighter. Awkwardly, I moved forward in the truck, reaching out to steady myself with one handhold after another, until I could stand and hold a crossbeam beside Vidar and Bellona. I’d noticed him stand up earlier, and I could tell from his stance that he was feeling a warning too.
“What is it?” I asked loudly, the wind blowing my hair from my face. “What are you sensing?”
He gave me a half shrug, “Nothing definitive yet. Just a vague foreboding. You too?”
I nodded and looked with him and his Knight to the horizon, where Castle Vega had just come into view. From this distance, it hardly looked imposing, but we all remembered it well. What it represented. The dark arts that were practiced there in the streets. The prostitutes. The fortune-telling. A shiver ran down my back.
“This won’t be another Georgii Post experience,” Vidar said to me, no trace of humor in his eyes, only warning. He’d become more certain in the few moments I’d stood beside him. “We need to prepare ourselves for a real battle here.”
I nodded and found myself absently reaching for my arm cuff. He was right, of course. Already, there was a hint of chill in the metal fused to my skin that had nothing to do with the cool morning wind blowing in our faces. And yet there was nothing in me that said anything but forward. Nor did I sense anything contrary among the Ailith.
The caravan pulled to a stop outside the towering gates of Castle Vega, which were shut up tight. Ronan hopped down off the truck bed and reached for my hand. “It appears they’re expecting us.”
“There’s no way they want what happened at Georgii Post to happen here,” Kapriel said. “It’s Pacifica’s last outpost within the Union. If word got out that the Pacificans had been so easily ousted there, Pacifica might be ours without a fight.”
We approached the others. Keallach and Niero were in deep conversation, both with arms crossed, gesturing on occasion to the gates. Last time we were here, there had been guards at the gates and we had to present papers to enter. Now, clearly, no one was going in or out.
An Aravander returned to us after going to the gates and speaking to a sentry. “It’s as you supposed. The city gates are closed. Indefinitely.”
Keallach let out a scoffing laugh. “They so fear us?” he asked, arching one brow and looking down the line of us.
We were no more than two hundred in number. Hardly an army. We were here more for what we hoped to convey as emissaries of the Way, with strength beside and behind them. We were strong—a force to be certain—but not a threat.
“I will gain us entrance,” Keallach muttered.
He walked on without waiting for our agreement. My spirit agreed with the agitation among my fellow Ailith—he really should have conferred with us before making a move—and yet my soul kept me from speaking since I supposed it would keep the rest of them quiet too … because we were supposed to be here. We all felt the whiplash nature of it. The Maker’s pull was directing us inward, and yet the growing chill of our armbands made us want to run away. Here, at Castle Vega, we were certain to encounter our first real battle in weeks.
My heart stilled. Just who was inside?
“We need every Remnant on point,” Niero growled as we got closer, following behind Keallach. “Dig deep. Seek out the Maker to determine how he wants you to utilize your gifting here.”
We stopped, ten paces from the massive gates that were inset between the towering limestone block walls, and looked upward, side by side, with our throng of compatriots behind us.
“I am Keallach, crown prince of Pacifica and emperor of the West,” our brother said, his voice echoing upward to the guards who peered down at us, their faces in deep shadow. “I demand that you open these gates at once and welcome your ruler and his friends, as you have sworn to do.”
There was a prolonged silence. I was wondering if they’d elected not to say anything in response when a man finally called down to us. “You were once our emperor, Keallach of Pacifica, but now you are no more than a rebel prince like your brother, Kapriel. We answer to the Council, not to you. And the Council has ordered us to bar your entry.”
Keallach’s jaw muscles tensed, and his hands folded into fists at his side. “Even as a private citizen of Castle Vega, I should be granted entry. The palace itself is my private property, built by our father.” He looked over to Kapriel. “Her servants are paid from our personal treasury, not Pacifica’s.”
“It has been seized and made an official embassy of Pacifica,” returned the guard, perhaps the captain, since he was the only one who spoke. “You have been divested of every possession and property you once had, Keallach, as the result of your defection to the enemy. You are penniless.” We could all hear the glee in his voice.
“You might have seized every coin I had, but I am rich beyond measure,” retorted Keallach. “I have discovered wealth that my former brothers in Pacifica will likely never know.”
“Oh?” said the guard. “Was there gold in the rock of the Citadel that you favor? Perhaps the Council’s soldiers will return to min
e it further.” We could hear the chortles of his fellow guards. Clearly, he was gaining confidence.
Keallach took a deep breath to speak again, but Kapriel took a step to stand beside him, setting a calming hand on his arm. We all realized that Keallach wasn’t used to being thwarted; I knew that an inner rage built within him because of it.
“There is a gold that cannot be carried in the pocket,” Kapriel said up to them. “A wealth that can be mined but not measured in the ways we are used to. It’s only found in the peace and security of following the Maker’s Way. And the Maker has brought us here, to you, and has asked us to enter this city.”
“And we are asking you to turn around and go away,” said the captain wryly. “We shall not fall to your wiles as Zanzibar has.”
“I’m afraid we cannot. Open the gates, and no harm shall come to you,” Kapriel said carefully. It was then that I saw the gathering clouds above the castle.
“We do not fear you, rebel prince,” sneered the captain. “You have what? Bows and arrows? A few guns among you? That will not gain you entry.”
“No,” he said, “but the Maker shall.” He lifted his hands to the skies, and the clouds grew darker, building into a fearsome bank that spoke of hail and wind and lightning.
I could feel the electricity in the air, the promise of unworldly strength on the wind, and my pulse quickened. Vidar fell to his knees, lifting his arms. When I did as well, I could see glimpses of angels, moving so fast that it was like they were there a moment, and with a blink, they were gone—as if the veil between our world and theirs lifted and dropped, over and over again. But they were clearly amassing, and their presence made me feel a hundred times stronger. They would help us face down the chilling presence of what awaited us inside. It, too, grew in strength.
The wind whipped past us, pulling tendrils of hair from my band. Tressa fell to her knees beside me, gripping my hand in half terror, half glory. Because witnessing the Maker on the move, through us, was always that way. So beyond us, yet part of us too. Tears dripped down my face. Such honor. Such power.
May we be worthy of it, Maker, I prayed. May we use it for your glory, not our own. Open these gates before us. Help us capture this city and put down your enemies.
Thunder rumbled so loudly it reverberated in our chests, and the dark clouds above the city roiled in a slow circle, as if a tornado was developing directly above it. I thought I might have heard screams and cries from inside the walls, but I knew that would be impossible over the howl of wind. Then it occurred to me that, with my knees on the ground, I was feeling the combined emotions of those inside. The terror. The regret. The anger. The fear. The wild hope.
I looked up into the eye of a storm unlike anything we’d seen before. And it was magnificent, really. The lead-colored sky flashed with constant lightning, bolts of it cracking down toward the city in a terrifying display. The air smelled of ozone, and our hair began to rise—on our arms, on our heads—warning us of what was to come. “To the ground, people of the Way,” Kapriel muttered, still standing with his hands cupped, lifting and swaying to a divine rhythm we could only sense as a whisper.
As we fell flat to the sandy soil, we heard the lightning hit its mark, the sound so loud that, afterward, we were partially deafened. Ronan took my elbow, urging me to my feet again, and I saw that the gates had been essentially blown ajar. As we began to move forward, I knew that it had been the crossbeam that was blasted away. Keallach was raising his hands now, leading us with his brother at the front of our V-shaped gathering, lifting and flinging wide the gates, which I remembered oxen pulling open before, all with a single wave of his hands.
“Those princes …” Vidar said, panting as we ran. “Not just pretty faces, are they?”
“No,” I said with a huff of a laugh. “No, they’re not.”
But my tickled humor was short-lived as we entered through the city gates, right behind Kapriel and Keallach. Pacifican soldiers were gathering themselves even as they retreated into the recesses of the city, firing at us with guns and arrows. Even a small metal disc came sailing through the air, heading straight for my face. Ronan had grabbed my wrist but would’ve been too late to save me had Keallach not lifted a hand and sent the devious weapon swerving into a terrace post at my side. It pierced the wood and vibrated upon impact, its curved prongs making me swallow hard.
I looked to thank Keallach, but he’d moved on. As I watched, he saved Bellona from an arrow and sent a soldier, who had been set to pierce Killian from behind, flying toward a far wall. Kapriel was busy too—bringing a lightning bolt down in the center of the road before us, scattering a small force of soldiers who had regrouped to take a stand.
Still, even with the impressive power of the princes, bullets and arrows continued to rain down upon us. There were many, many soldiers within the outpost. Ronan grabbed my hand, and together we ran to a small alcove where the guards above us couldn’t get a good angle. Belatedly, we discovered two lithe Pacifican soldiers, their faces chiseled in fury and desperation, a lethal combination. One was already striking with his sword, and I barely twisted out of the way in time. The other was upon Ronan.
The first advanced upon me, driving me out into the open courtyard, where once again bullets and arrows came perilously close. But I couldn’t think about those, only about the man with the maniacal look in his eyes who struck at me again and again with his sword. I parried, repeatedly, but it wasn’t long until I knew he was stronger than I.
Vidar and Bellona were in skirmishes of their own just a few paces away, fighting off three soldiers—one of whom was a giant of a man, one a lithe woman who possessed a wicked talent with her thin sword. That was all I could gather in a couple of glimpses. My opponent, sweating and grinning a little as he sensed my waning strength, kept driving me outward, away from the rest. Kapriel’s wind sent garbage and hay swirling around us, making our battle’s canvas an unworldly backdrop.
I bumped into a wagon and spun, just as his sword came down, splintering wood that a second before would’ve been my shoulder. He growled, wrenched the sword free, and whirled, clearly intent on slicing me in half. I brought up my sword and blocked him, but the impact sent a shudder through my arm that proceeded all the way up my neck and down my back. I felt my hand release my sword, as if it had in its own mind to stop such nonsense. But my enemy didn’t pause when he saw this new opening. He swung wide, giving his strike added strength as he brought it down at me. I could do nothing but cradle my throbbing wrist and watch it come, knowing that this might very well be the end for me. Maker, I breathed.
Ronan’s body hurtled against my side, sending me sprawling. I looked back, and he had blocked the man’s strike with one hand while plunging a dagger into his belly with the other. The man staggered backward, dropping his sword and looking down at the dagger as if he couldn’t quite comprehend it. Then he fell heavily to his rear, legs straight out before him. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped into a wave of dead flesh.
Ronan reached for me, and together, we hunkered down behind the wagon, watching as the last of those who had dared to stand against us were waylaid by the princes, our fellow Ailith, and the many soldiers who had followed us in. When all was silent, we slowly rose, finding the sudden stillness eerie.
“They’ve retreated!” someone called.
We gathered together at one edge of the courtyard, beneath a terrace in case any other soldiers still roamed the walls. I had heard Niero earlier send twelve Aravanders to search the walls and remove anyone who did not immediately surrender, then keep watch from there to see how they might aid us as we delved deeper into the city. Taking stock, we found we’d only sustained superficial wounds.
“Not a one of us who entered the gates has been mortally wounded,” Tressa said in wonder, walking past each and every person present.
“The Maker be praised,” Niero said.
“The Maker be praised,” many of us echoed.
“It is he who brought
us here,” Kapriel said, “and he who will see us through.”
Asher edged closer, his hands on the hilt of his sword, the tip resting on the ground. “And now do we try and coax the innocent from their homes? Those who likely huddle in corners, fearing for their lives?”
“No,” Kapriel said soberly. “We must root out the evil that still abides here, and that will protect the few ‘innocents’ that remain.”
Again, my hand moved to my arm cuff. The chill was growing. And yet, for once, I knew it wasn’t just a warning of approaching attack. It was leading us toward those that we were to drive out.
Because this was a city the Maker either wanted to reclaim … or destroy.
CHAPTER
36
ANDRIANA
Niero divided our company into three groups, assigning a small group of Aravanders and Drifters to move ahead of us and serve as scouts, ferreting out any remaining soldiers who dared to stand against us. We Ailith stayed together, well aware that while our power had grown to an impressive level, we would remain the main target for our enemy to destroy. And as we wound deeper into the city, it didn’t take our arm cuffs to know there were still many enemies present.
A wail ahead of us had brought our scout party to a halt, but Niero waved them on. As we got closer, we heard the screech of a woman. Her fine linen fortune-teller’s tent was now in shreds from the wind, and the sound of her voice was both a wail of despair and battle cry of fury. “Be gone from here, people of the Way! Be gone! We do not want you here! It is our city! Ours!”
Kapriel did not pause at the remains of her doorway; he plunged right in. My breath caught, but I was moving before I thought about it. And so were the other Ailith, until we all stood in the woman’s tent, surrounding her. She moved, crablike, her eyes and hair wild. “No!” she keened. “No! Be away from me! You are not wanted here!”
From several paces away, Tressa kneeled before her with her hands on her thighs. “We are here to help and heal. Not to destroy.”
Season of Glory Page 28