“Gods,” said Ren, brushing Tori’s shoulder again. “You’ll choke yourself if you don’t chew more.”
“Sorry.” She blushed.
“I’ll say it again. I think it would be best if you rested a few days before joining the others in their training regimen. Eat up and sleep in a bed for a change. You’re weary and you’ve been through so much.”
But Tori shook her head. “Things are moving forward for your resistance, correct?”
“Well, er, yes…”
Kale liked to see his brother stumbling over his words.
“If I’ve stirred up the makings of a rebellion, and if you’ve been waiting for this moment, we don’t have time to waste, do we? I have no control over my gifts, and I need to learn.”
Tori did not strike Kale as the revolutionary sort. She was soft-spoken and small. She was undeniably fierce, a survivor. But the face of a rebellion? Kale sensed she was driven by something much more personal than a magical revolution. Not unlike himself.
“Very well,” said Ren, smiling. “Your point is made. I will inform Sahra you will join the others tomorrow morning.”
“Sahra?”
“You met her at the gate this afternoon.” Ren gestured to the Alyut woman, who was conversing with a pair of younger children.
It had always worried Kale that children so young were learning the ways of war. But he, of all people, knew that even youths were not spared by the chancellor.
“Sahra oversees all drills and leads the morning exercises,” Ren went on.
Tori’s expression turned slightly, and something stirred in Kale’s Cerebro sense. “What about you?” she asked.
“I am the captain,” said Ren. “I oversee everything. Now, please, it is not healthy to eat so quickly. You will not go hungry again, I promise. Replenish yourself, slowly.”
“What about you, Kale? Will you be assisting in my training?” Tori turned to him. Her green eyes flickered in the torchlight.
Kale cleared his throat. “I’m afraid not. I set out at first light. There are more Watchers waiting to be found.”
“So soon?”
“Exactly what I said,” said Ren.
I am the Exiled Lord, after all, Kale thought.
“Walled life has never suited me much,” said Kale. “There is much work to do before we entertain thoughts of a revolution. As you said, there’s no time to waste.”
Mischa came by the table and whisked Tori off to meet the other Watchers. Ren watched her, and Kale watched them both. Ren was grinning, leaning back in his chair so it balanced on two legs, cheating gravity with a subtle flare of magic. There was a certain beauty to this place, Kale had to admit. The ability to use their gifts without fear of discovery.
“The rumors are spreading, Kale. Sahra says word has already reached Ytala of the Gallows Girl’s escape from the citadel. More Watchers will be coming to us. More will believe and more will discover their gifts. You will sense them by the day.”
He had sensed them already.
“We will have our army,” said Ren. “Mother would be proud.”
Mother would be proud of YOU. And she would berate me for my lack of fervor, for losing Kirra, for the Isle of Jallaa, for the day I discovered what I could do with my mind…
“It is a good day for us, Kale. You should enjoy it, and a few more like it.”
Kale shifted uncomfortably. He lowered his voice. “She is more powerful than you let on, brother.” Ren held his smile, though Kale sensed he’d been caught off guard. “Did you think I hadn’t noticed?”
Ren let his chair back to the floor, still smiling. “I would be a fool to think I could keep secrets from a Cerebro, wouldn’t I? Yes, Astoria Burodai is more powerful than I ever could have dreamed.”
Kale shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his uneasiness making him restless. Mischa Sufai was escorting the Gallows Girl around the room. Tori looked so innocent, yet he sensed a desperation inside her, something beyond her control.
“Look at her,” Ren whispered. “Shaking hands and smiling, as though she should be honored to be here. She has no desire for power. And that is just what we need.”
“You think she is a Mage.”
“She exhibits Conjuri and Regenero skills at the very least, one from both the Material and Corporeal realms. I’ve never seen someone heal so quickly, and with so little training. Her legs were obviously broken when she fell with the chancellor. The girl healed so fast, even she doesn’t know her own power.”
Kale watched Tori for a moment. He was not so sure this was true. Somewhere deep, Astoria knew she was powerful, but she was afraid of it. He had shared her dreams; he had seen her ghosts in his mind. “She trusts you, brother.”
“Should she not?”
“You want to use her.”
“For the good of our kind. The good of the world.”
“And you’re content to leave her in the dark about her power?”
“For the time being,” said Ren. “Astoria must learn to accept her strength. She must grow in knowledge of herself. Then, she will be ready to embrace who we want her to be.”
“Who you want her to be.”
“Who the world needs her to be, brother. This is bigger than you or me or the Gallows Girl.”
He was sounding more and more like their mother every day. “All the more reason I should go, then.”
“At least take someone with you. Dajha would do well.”
Kale shook his head. “No, I must go alone.”
Ren set his goblet down, hard, but he maintained his smile in the presence of his soldiers. “You’re not rushing to search for Watchers at all, are you? You’re looking for Kirra!”
Kale cursed him. It was a rare secret Kale could keep from his brother. “I journey where I please,” said Kale. “I may have come to help your cause. But you are not my captain.”
For a moment, Kale thought Ren might explode, but after a breath, he calmed himself. “I wish there were hope for Kirra as well, but do not build up hope where none should be built. She fell into the hands of the Morphs months ago. You know what they do to—”
“She escaped. And I must find her. I can send others to track down your recruits for a week or so.”
“And how do you know she escaped?”
I just know. Kale was silent.
“Tell me, brother, if she truly escaped, why hasn’t she returned? How can you be sure Kirra wants to be found?” Ren was always dependable for putting words to the fears Kale did not wish to voice.
“If Kirra has abandoned the Shadow Watch, she can speak it to my face.” Kale and Kirra had tracked together for years. They had been partners before Ren found his long-lost exiled brother, before Ren had recruited them in a gamble to restore the old ways. And Kirra believed in the cause, oftentimes more than Kale did. If Kirra is hiding, there’s a reason.
“You think she’s gone after the godstones,” said Ren. He was not pleased. “It was that damned fantasy hunt that got her captured in the first place.”
“You know this revolution will not be won with a handful of Watchers.”
“Oh, yes,” Ren said scathingly. “Our salvation belongs to little magic stones from the Old World, the ones that created the New, the ones that created the Morphs.”
“Mother believed they existed.”
“Our mother is dead, and this revolution will be won with men and women. Watchers. Not mythic weapons from the Old World.”
“The chancellor is harvesting magic from Watcher blood,” Kale said. “How do you suppose he’s doing it?”
“You think he’s using the stones?”
“How else could he keep up his army of Morphs? They’re not immortal.”
Ren sighed. “I don’t know.”
“I think Mother was right, that the chancellors always had one. And I think Cyrus Maro is looking for the others. When the Morphs attacked, Kirra and I were close. I think there was a reason they followed us to Jurka on our last expedition.”
>
“They’re myths, Kale. Has it ever occurred to you that our mother’s stories were shenzah? You want them to be true because you think finding them will relieve your guilt about what happened to her.”
“Don’t!” Kale nearly shouted. They had fought this fight before, and Kale was tired of it. He lowered his voice. “Do you trust me, or not?”
“I trust you, but not your heart, brother,” said Ren, clapping his shoulder like patronizing elder brothers had since the days of the Ancient Men. “You were always the soft one.”
“Godstones or not, I have sensed Kirra, and I am leaving. Whether with your blessing or not, I fly at dawn across the Steppe.”
“You think Kirra is among the Yan Avii?” said Ren, his tone growing lighter. “Well, that is convenient, at any rate. While you’re there, you can gauge that army the Great Soltayne is raising across the Steppe. The timing of his next move will be critical to our own.”
“An army?” said Kale skeptically.
“Vashti may have been banished for her sorcery, but she knows her father. Soltayne Burodai has been biding his time for years. With the Legions marching south, and Morgath soon to fall, he will be readying the twelve tribes for a counter-resistance to take back the Western Steppe, maybe even Greater Osha. If he does, it will provide our perfect moment to rise up in the White Citadel. Scelero says the High Council is tired of Cyrus Maro, and there are more who would welcome back the old ways if given the opportunity.”
“Does Vashti know you wish to use her people to initiate your own rise to power?”
Ren glared. “Vashti hates her father. Just find out what the Great Soltayne is scheming. And then you may search for Kirra and your silly stones as you please… with my blessing.”
Ren always had to have the last word, but Kale was glad for his blessing nonetheless. “Very well.”
“Before you go, tell Dajha where he can find the next recruits. You’ve sensed more, I trust?”
“Several, but Dajha? You think he can bear the responsibility?” Truth be told, Kale did not wholly trust the privateer’s son. Parjhan seafarers were not known for their moral code. They blew wherever the wind took them.
“Someone has to do the tracking while you’re galavanting with those herdsmen. Dajha is quick and ruddy sharp at getting out of a bind. And he’s itching to prove himself. Didn’t you see the glare he gave me when I asked him to tend the mounts?”
“If you say so.”
“I do.” Ren raised a glass of wine, smiling, though his eyes had narrowed. “You’re right, brother, there is much work to do.”
Kale excused himself and made for his quarters. He was so focused on his thoughts that he nearly trampled the girl as he turned a corner. Astoria roamed the halls alone.
“You should return to the feast,” he said.
Her face fell a little. “It feels wrong to… celebrate… while there is so much suffering elsewhere. I’ve never known comforts like this place.”
Kale could sense her thoughts dwelled on the people of the Fringes, and the Gallows Boy who haunted her dreams.
“It is good not to forget those who suffer.” Kale knew this well. “It is also not wrong to enjoy comforts. Otherwise, you lessen the hope of everyone else.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t forget those who live as you once did. But don’t cheapen what they themselves long for and die for—comfort and freedom.”
“You should speak more, you know,” said Tori. “You’re wiser than you look.”
“Well, that stings.”
Tori smiled. “Have a safe journey, Kale. I hope you find more Watchers. But… don’t stay gone too long. You deserve some comfort yourself.”
Kale nodded, and Tori left to rejoin the festivities.
When Kale reached his bedchamber, he found himself unable to consider the possibility of sleeping on a feather mattress in a stonewalled cell. He had spent so many years on the run, terrified to use his powers lest he be hunted down and murdered by the chancellor’s creatures. If you ceased to use an ability long enough, you could believe it did not exist, like an old prisoner who, after a lifetime underground, believes there is no such thing as color and light. There had been times Kale could not have used his Watcher gift, even if he’d had the nerve to try.
That was his existence after his self-appointed exile—until Kirra.
Kirra Fehn had reminded him who he was. In the outer realms of civilization, on an isle in the Bay of Jallaa—in the Far East, beyond the reach of the chancellor and his Morphs—they had rediscovered their gifts. There had been seventeen of them, a commune of Watchers rediscovering their true selves, led by a Watcher as ancient as the orders of the Old World. It was a place not unlike the Watchtower. But no place was truly safe from the reach of the chancellor.
The Morphs had come in the early hours of the morning, descending in grey light upon blurry, waking eyes. Kale and Kirra had spent the night in the gardens, and they were rejoicing in their triumphs and their awakening love when they heard the screams.
All the others were slaughtered, even their leader, whom Kale had thought could never die. Only one Morph was slain in the process. Kale and Kirra, the lone survivors, were left alone to walk among the dead and wonder what might have happened had they spent the night with the others rather than indulging themselves in love.
Kale had hardly spent a night in the same place since. It did not matter that his brother had lived safely in the Crooked Teeth these past three years. No place was outside the creatures’ reach. One day, Kale feared the Watchtower would fall, and the Shadow Watch would endure the same fate as the commune on the Isle of Jallaa.
Kale flew through the night from the Watchtower and the Crooked Teeth, but was forced to rest on the shore of the Steppe as the sun crawled its way back to the world. He slept during the day and flew three more nights to cross the great sprawling hills and plains, before he landed outside the capital of the Yan Avii—Vlyanii.
Sandstone spires jutted from within the central palace walls like daggers caked in dried blood. Rising above the entire city was the central dome of the Red Palace. Surrounding the city, portable kela-skin yurts spiraled in all directions. The Yan Avii were a nomadic people. Even the Great Soltayne spent less than half the year in the confines of his palace, preferring to sit a horse over a throne. It was a sentiment Kale respected about Soltayne Burodai, though the only one. The twelve soltaynes roamed the Steppe with their herds and their tribesmen, waging small wars amongst themselves and, at times—now, if Ren’s suspicions proved true—banding together under their Great Soltayne for larger and much longer wars. If this massive city of yurts was any indication, Ren was right. The Yan Avii were preparing for war.
Kale entered the inner walls of Vlyanii to the blaring horn call for the rising ritual of Arayeva. As the sun goddess began her daily journey across the sky, the people faced east and asked for her blessing upon the day to come. Kale made his way to one of the countless rooftop shrines of the Red City, doused his forehead in oil, and bowed his greeting to the Sol.
It was then, amidst a host of twenty kneeling men and young boys, that Kale realized the Yan Avii were in mourning. Every male was dressed in ceremonial sackcloth with a smear of ash upon the bridge of his nose. Their prayers were not a greeting of the sun, but a wailing lament.
When the prayers ended, Kale stopped a young man as he left the shrine. “I have just traveled many leagues,” Kale said in Yan Avii. “Tell me, what evil has descended upon the Red City?”
The young boy had tears in his eyes. “Our Great Chief has gone to join the Horsemen Among the Stars.” The boy wiped his eyes, oil and tears smearing with ash.
“How?”
“A shadow blade stole his breath,” said the boy’s father.
The Great Soltayne had been murdered. Kale cursed, then he said, “The Sol will have her justice.”
“The Sol will have her justice,” the boy and his father repeated.
Kale joine
d the throng of Yan Avii tribesmen as they made their way to the palace. The sun was particularly crimson as it ascended from the depths of the Wandering Dunes. The Yan Avii would see this as an ill omen for days to come. The mourning would go on all week. Perhaps longer, as so many had gathered for the Festival of the Rising Sun, when it was believed Arayeva walked among her chosen people. At the dawn of spring, she blessed the seeds of earth, of herds, and of men. On the final night, she caroused with the Great Soltayne himself and ushered in another year of plenty on the Steppe.
This would be a cursed year unless the mourning rites were especially long and fervent, in hopes the Sol would bring swift justice and bless the Choosing of her new Great Soltayne.
The Yan Avii would not be going to war anytime soon. Ren would not be pleased. But Kale’s true purpose was also cast awry in the wake of the Great Soltayne’s death. In the vast crowd, he could not sense Kirra anywhere. His mind was clouded. The Yan Avii minds, with all their sorrow and fear, descended on him like crows upon a rotting corpse. He could not discern one from another in the madness.
He was about to depart Vlyanii—before he was pressed into the heart of the mourning city by the crowds—when he felt a stealth blade at his throat.
Extending from the sleeve of a dark cloak, it was the signature weapon of the Ilya.
The assassins of the Red City.
The blade pricked Kale’s skin, and blood dripped warm down his neck.
“You are not the first Sky Blood to enter our city on this dark day.” The voice was feminine and confident, which took Kale by surprise. In Vlyanii, women were not known to carry blades.
The Shadow Watch Page 13