Ren returned to the earth and knelt beside her, brushing her shoulder. “What was it like, the day you destroyed the chancellor’s gallows?”
Tori thought back. It seemed unfathomable that it had been so sudden, that her abilities had surfaced by some necessity to save Darien, that in all the years since her mother sold her, not once had her powers emerged, not even for a second. But her memories were dark and empty, like looking back into the depths of a cavern, and she feared what lurked in the past. How was it possible her powers had remained dormant for so long? Even the new boy, Jann, had traces of Fieri power.
There was the memory of the Yan Avii boy, but Tori did not know what had happened that day. Had she used magic? It was as though the details were blocked from her mind. But something happened, didn’t it? That’s why Mum was scared that night. That’s why she sold me into slavery.
Or perhaps all of it was wishful thinking. “Far as I can remember, I never sensed it before that day,” she said finally. “It came over me like a wave crashing, and suddenly, I was filled with energy. I could sense it. I could see it. It was as though a shroud had been lifted from my eyes, and I could see something that had been there all along. I could sense the energy at the heart of the world.”
Ren smiled. “And what did you feel in that moment?”
“I was desperate. The Gallows Boy… he was my best friend. I was so angry!”
“And the Gallows Boy, he is a soldier now.”
“Or else, dead.” Again, she thought of Darien’s ghost, his shredded back, the blood dripping from his hands.
“I am sorry I did not hear anything while I was away. I’m afraid the nobles’ interests have moved on in the past year. The Gallows Boy was all the talk in the wake of that day, but I’m afraid he’s been forgotten in Maro’El.”
Tori did not know what to say, so she remained silent. It angered her to think that his defiance had been forgotten. Because I stole it from him.
Ren thought a moment, then said, “Go on. You were so angry…”
Though it was painful, Tori replayed the events in her mind. “As they led him to be hanged, I had to do something. He was the only friend I had in Maro’El. And then, I was able to do something. I became aware of the energy, and suddenly, the gallows was exploding. I didn’t control it. It just… happened.”
“Because it needed to,” Ren mused. He stared off at the mountains looming in the growing predawn light, then he strode across the courtyard toward the gates of the Watchtower. “Come along, Tori.”
They left the confines of the castle and walked across the snow-covered meadow toward the tallest of the mountains surrounding them. Winding up the steep slope was a narrow path cut perilously into the face of the stone. Tori looked up. “W-we’re going up there?”
“The mountain folk do not venture to this valley because of superstition,” said Ren. “This mountain is sacred. This staircase is believed to have belonged to the god Orran in the ancient world. To receive his blessing, peasants had to brave the treacherous passes of the Teeth, and then, the Staircase to the Clouds. Most turned back, many fell to their deaths, but those who reached the top received riches and lovers and plentiful harvests. It is said that Orran left the ancient world in a rage. His temple crumbled to ruins, and he left the mountain cursed. The mountain folk believe we are monks devoted to the old gods. They think we are a blessing, but they do not dare approach the mountain. I, however, find the view marvelously inspiring.”
Ren led the way up the face of Orran’s Mountain. At first, the climb came easy to Tori. Over the past month, her strength had increased incredibly. A flush had returned to her skin and her eyes seemed brighter, according to Mischa. She’d put on weight and her muscles were growing taut with Sahra’s rigorous training exercises. Tori was proving adept with a saber, and she had always been able to hold her own in a scrap.
But Orran’s stairs went on and on. They were so steep she had to scramble on all fours, the sharp stone cutting into her hands. Soon, Tori fought for breath and had to will each limb forward. She looked down and nearly slipped, clutching at the step in her hands. The stone sliced deep. They were at least five hundred feet above the Watchtower. Far below, the courtyard was bustling as the Watchers made their way to breakfast. From this height, they looked like bees scurrying around a hive.
Still, the mountain rose hundreds, perhaps thousands, of feet higher. Tori paused to regain her composure. The skies had turned bright with morning, though the sun would not be visible for some time over the towering peaks. Ren urged her on.
They had still not made it halfway up the face of the mountain when the sun crested the peak and painted the valley with color. Ren led her to a small niche in the mountain to rest. The ledge looked down upon the Watchtower. There was a sheer drop for hundreds of feet before the mountain eased into the gentle slopes of the valley. Tori caught her breath, one hand clutching the mountainside. Ren stood at the edge and breathed calmly, his eyes closed—as though he were not at the edge of a looming cliff, as though he had not climbed a mountain for the past two hours. His chest eased in and out with perfect rhythm. After some time, he opened his eyes and said, “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Trying not to gasp, Tori managed, “It is.”
“I must confess, there are times I think it wouldn’t be so bad to stay here at the Watchtower. It’s beautiful and safe. Maro’El is conniving and dangerous, and I wonder if we might do all this, only to run straight into our own demise. But it is only my mind playing tricks with my heart, just as your mind is playing with you now. Telling you that you have no more strength. That you have no control over your gifts, or perhaps that they are shenzah altogether.”
Tori did not respond. Perhaps because she was still dying from lack of breath, or perhaps because she knew Ren was right.
“My mind tells me things too, at times,” Ren went on. “Fear and doubt and guilt have a hold on us all. But some of us step out to the edge and face them.” Ren held out his hand to her. “Step out to the edge, Tori.”
It took all her willpower to let go of the mountainside, but she did. Her legs were so weak, she did not trust them to steady her, but she forced herself not to think about it. She looked out at the valley, rather than at the sheer drop below. It was beautiful. The valley was painted with a warm glow in the morning light. Summer grass poked through patches on the hillside where the sun shone the most.
“Now breathe,” Ren said.
Tori breathed, slowly, acknowledging the chilling sensation as the frigid air filled her lungs and reappeared in a warm cloud.
“You are strong, Astoria. You have always been strong, though you have been taught not to recognize it. But your body knows. It has proven it over and over again, in spite of your mind. When it is forced to… it reacts!”
There was no warning. Ren did not even have to touch her. He simply reached out with his Conjuri sense. Tori felt the ledge disappear beneath her boots, and she plummeted over the edge of the cliff.
19
Forces at the heart of the earth pulled on Tori’s body, as though a thousand invisible hands had emerged from the ground, and all their strength was focused on drawing her to her death. Tori shot towards the earth. The weight of the world seemed to be contained in her chest, the forces pulling harder and harder, as though she might be torn apart before she even reached the earth below. She did not have time to think. Her mind shut off. The world was a blur. But her body reacted.
At the last possible moment, her body lurched upward. Tori missed the rocks and landed in a heap upon the scree. She tumbled down the face of the mountain, scraping her face and hands raw. Finally, she latched onto an exposed tree root and stopped her fall.
Nothing but pain filled her senses. Her head felt like it might burst. There was blood everywhere. Shards of rock specked her skin like gruesome freckles.
Ren landed gracefully beside her. Tori tried to raise herself up, but her arms gave out and she collapsed, screaming in agony. How ma
ny bones did I break? That insane bastard!
But then, before her eyes, blood retreated from Tori’s bare hands back into her body; the skin closed over; her leg shifted beneath her, straightening itself out; the bones pieced themselves back together. It was incredible. The pain subsided and then disappeared altogether. Ren was smiling at her, undisturbed at her healing.
“Y-you knew that would happen?” Tori stammered. She was still shaken from the fall, and from her regeneration.
Ren took her hand. “My family survived the purges of the First Chancellor. Our House preserved the tales of days when Watchers did not have to live in secret, when we counseled kings and kept peace across the entire Old World. You do not know how rare it is to wield two gifts in our world, but I do. You are exactly the girl I was looking for, so I will not stand to hear you voice your doubts to me.” Ren helped her to her feet. “You are strong, Astoria. I know you don’t like it when I call you by your true name. But it is only one more proof of your fear and your doubt.”
It was true, as though Ren could see her thoughts. She did fear it. When she met with the chancellor it had felt like she was being true to herself, but now Astoria, the Gallows Girl, felt like some other person. Who was she to be the hope of the lowborns? Who was she to lead a rebellion? “I’m just a slave. All this, my magic, it’s all an accident. A mistake.”
Ren shook his head. “My mother used to tell me that there are no accidents in this world, only those too afraid to embrace their own destinies. Your mother named you after the goddess of the weak and the destitute. The defender of the poor and the downtrodden. Astoria gave them hope and strength, and it is believed she gave humanity its first awareness of the magic behind the world. Tori, you are strong. Even when you don’t feel it. Even when others call you a sham. Even when your mind tells you lies. Look at what you just did! You fell hundreds of feet, and you do not have a scratch.”
Suddenly, Tori understood. Two gifts. This was how I survived the fall with the chancellor in the Fringes. I didn’t fly. I healed like the Regeneros.
“I… healed,” she said. Ren nodded. “But what does it mean?”
“It means that while you may not have control over your abilities, or your fears and doubts, you are still incredibly strong. In here.” Ren pointed to his temple. “And you will become much stronger.” Ren held onto her hand, but he did not lead her down to the Watchtower. He turned and faced the mountain.
“Now,” he said. “Again.”
And they began the arduous climb up Orran’s Mountain once more.
“Three times?” Mischa Sufai exclaimed over the noonday meal. “He made you jump off the mountain three times?”
“Well, technically he pushed me off the first time,” said Tori. She had missed breakfast and spoke between eager mouthfuls of warm stew. A bit dripped down her face, and she wiped it with her sleeve.
Zaya Shalvar laughed and handed her a cloth. “No wonder you missed the morning run.”
Run was an inadequate word, making their morning fitness regimen sound like a leisurely jog. For beings who could fly, the Watchers did precious little of it. Sahra believed that in order to make proper use of their gifts, they first needed to grow strong and disciplined without them. The morning run consisted of hauling weighted sledges behind them as they trudged through the thick snow with webbed Alyut muluqs strapped to their boots. Tori never came close to a running pace, but Sahra would run the course, then come back and spur the others on with unfathomable enthusiasm. Tori had never seen anyone with as much stamina as their Alyut trainer.
Tori was unsure which was worse, the morning run or climbing the Staircase to the Clouds. “Yes, I’m sorry to have missed that.”
Zaya chuckled, leaning closer. Her sparkling golden eyes reminded Tori of Darien. The Medici hailed from the Klavash mountains of his childhood. “So how was it?”
“How was what?” said Tori.
Mischa smiled, locking her arm around Zaya’s, and whispered, “Spending the morning with the captain, of course.”
Just then, Vashti brushed past, bumping Tori’s chair as she maneuvered past their table. More stew dripped down her chin.
“Excuse you,” Tori hissed. But Vashti did not respond and chose a seat across the room with Calla. “Gods, I am sick of her shenzah.”
“Yeah, she’s a cold one,” said Zaya.
“You’re telling me,” said Tori. “I’ve never been anything but decent to her.”
“Probably makes her hate you all the more,” said Zaya.
Mischa had gone quiet. Her eyes lingered after their roommate, but not with the anger that Tori felt. Mischa looked… sad.
“You okay?” asked Zaya, touching her arm.
But before Mischa could answer, Dajha plopped down to join them, his bowl spilling over, as he had filled it so high. He followed their gazes to Vashti. “Ah, don’t mind ’Er ’Ighness. She en’t used to being second in line.”
“What do you mean?” said Tori.
“The cap’n don’t exactly give private lessons all around, yeh know.”
“Vashti was the only other one,” said Mischa. There was softness in her voice. Mischa teased their bunkmate, but Tori realized Mischa was fond of her. Tori couldn’t understand why. Vashti did not seem to be fond of Mischa, or anyone else.
“En’t you ’eard ’ow she came to the Watchtower? There’s a bloody tragedy, what ’er father done to ’er.”
“I thought she was royalty. A princess,” said Tori.
“Princess only means so much to the Yan Avii when you’re a woman,” said Mischa.
Tori didn’t carry vivid memories of this from her childhood on the Steppe, but she had heard the notion uttered often enough in Osha.
“Vashti always had fine things, of course,” Mischa went on. “Had servant girls and porters and all of it. Would have been married off to one of the soltaynes. If she hadn’t been special.”
“Couldn’t stand to ’ave a daughter more powerful than ’im. The Great Soltayne saw ’is own daughter as a threat.”
“So he burned her at the stake,” Mischa finished. Her gaze still lingered on Vashti across the room. Vashti faced away, whispering back and forth with Calla.
“But Vashti’s alive,” Tori said incredulously.
“Bloody miracle, en’t it?”
“Her brother stole her body,” said Mischa. “She survived the execution. Just barely. It was a remarkable show of power for someone with no training. The captain trained her personally for nearly a year. Wanted her to be his queen when the Shadow Watch rose up. She fell in love with him, but… Ren thought she might be able to rally her people to our cause, but it was more complicated than that… He moved on when the hope of an alliance with the Yan Avii fell through.”
“And now you’re here,” said Zaya.
“Now I’m here,” said Tori.
“The symbol of the revolution,” said Mischa.
Dajha chuckled darkly. “Gods! En’t seen this much drama since me mum took me to court in the Silver Palace of Malai.”
Tori didn’t laugh at the joke, and neither did Mischa or Zaya.
“Yeh know? Where the princes ’old that contest to choose their brides? If that don’t breed drama, I don’t know what else—”
“We know what it is!” Mischa cut him off.
Zaya took her hand. “Come on. Let’s go forget about sad things for a while.”
But Mischa shook her head. “I can’t… I, er, promised Tori I’d spar with her.”
Tori raised a brow. Mischa was lying to her.
“Okay, well, I’ll come find you later, then.” Zaya left them.
Dajha soon scurried off to another table, muttering about how Tori and Mischa needed to learn to see the humor in tragedies, and something about how they would die crying in their sleep. But Tori was not really listening.
Ren caught Tori’s gaze from the head table in the dining hall and smiled, his eyes twinkling in the lamplight, and Tori could not help but smile ba
ck. She longed to prove herself to him. She looked forward to the next climb up the mountain, and yet…
What does he want from me? she wondered. To be his queen, like Vashti? Tori did not want to be Ren’s queen, or symbol, or anything else. But then, what did she want exactly?
The coming weeks followed the same routine each day. Tori and Ren would climb Orran’s mountain three times in the mornings. Tori would nearly fly, just enough to slow her fall, but not enough to land the way Ren did, and she would heal from her wounds. The pain was arduous, but the more it occurred, the more it became strangely bearable. In the afternoons, Tori joined the others for the remainder of their daily training, and the others muttered behind her back as she failed to show any evidence of giftedness whatsoever. At first, Ren took these failures in stride, but as the failures mounted, Ren began to lose his cool demeanor.
After several weeks of private lessons, Tori took a particularly hard fall. The crunch of her own bones filled her ears. The healing took longer than normal. She groaned in agony while Ren watched her body repair itself.
“That was the worst attempt yet,” Ren said as she finally managed to raise herself from the ground. “The point is not to prove how well your body can heal itself. We’ve damn well established that! The point is to fly, Astoria!”
A bone in her arm righted itself with a snap, and Tori cried with the pain. “I can’t fly!”
“Nonsense! I’ve seen you! Gods, I swear your flying has gotten worse the more your body proves it will heal no matter how hard you land. What are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid!”
“Shenzah! You have fear dripping off you like sweat. You have to face it. Embrace your power. Rule over it!”
“Don’t you think I want to? I don’t know how!”
Ren watched her for a moment, his chest heaving. Tori had never seen him this frustrated. Usually he was so calm and collected. But it had been weeks of this, and Tori had only regressed since her first fall.
The Shadow Watch Page 17