by Shae Ford
Baird snorted. “The Swordmaiden? Why should he fear her?”
“He doesn’t fear her. He just …” Kael sighed heavily. “He loves her. He’s desperately in love with her, but she won’t have him — he understands why, though. He knows it’s because they’re too … different. That she would never even think of him. But still, he can’t help himself. He isn’t quite strong enough …” Kael gripped a fistful of his hair, trying desperately to keep his anger at bay. “The thing is, he knows it’s going to hurt — he blasted well knows it! And if he had any sense at all, he would forget the whole thing. But he’s too big an idiot to let it go. That’s precisely Kael the Wright’s problem: he’s a stubborn, irredeemable idiot.”
For some reason, speaking about himself as somebody else to a beggar-bard who likely wouldn’t remember his own name in a moment — much less anything Kael told him — made admitting the troubles of his heart much easier.
Baird raised his head from the Atlas. His mouth parted beneath his bandages in what was very likely shock. “Oh dear, oh me, that is a problem. Yes, a broken heart is a powerful enemy. Every time I hear of one, it reminds me of Calhamos the Healer. Have you ever heard that story?”
Kael hadn’t. But he realized he could certainly use a distraction. “Tell it.”
“Very well. Calhamos was a man from this very mountain. He served the Kings for two lifetimes of men, tending to their wounded —”
“Wait a moment — two lifetimes? How could a healer live that long?”
Baird’s head tilted to the side. “Healers are masters of the flesh, young man. There is nothing a craftsman imagines that he can’t create, nothing a warrior can’t topple, and if a healer whispers for his heart to beat on, there’s almost nothing that can stop it. Almost.” Baird raised a finger. “Like so many healers before him, Calhamos grew weary of the Kingdom’s pain. He fled to the mountains in search of peace — but instead, he found love.
“When his wife died in the throes of birth, Calhamos lost hold of his heart. Only one thing kept him from falling into Death’s embrace: the cries of his newborn child. Part of his heart had died and broken away, but he lived on for his child’s sake … lived on with half a heart.” Baird smiled. “Love can kill a man, but it can also save him. What a strange thing love is.”
Kael nodded absently. Maybe if he’d been more of a healer, he could figure out someway to keep his gut from squirming every time he thought of Kyleigh. He was sorry he’d ever brought her up. “Do you have any books about Ben Deathtreader?” he said, hoping to change the subject.
“Now that’s interesting,” Baird whispered.
The deathly hush of his voice made the hairs on the back of Kael’s neck stand on end. “What’s interesting?”
“Deathtreader was the name he gave himself. A strange name, a secret name. Most people in the Kingdom didn’t know it. But you do. Hmm,” he murmured into the pages of the Atlas, “I wonder what that means?”
Kael had no idea what it meant. And he doubted if Baird knew, either. “Well, what name did you know him by?”
“He tricked them.” Baird sat up suddenly. His knobby fingers twisted into his tunic. “He ripped their secrets out! He pulled them away strand by strand until he knew them all. They didn’t know any better. How could they? It had never been done.”
“Who didn’t know any better?” Kael said carefully. Baird was on the brink: one wrong word would tip him over into madness.
His rant dissolved into groans. He buried his head beneath his arms and rocked back and forth. Kael was just about to give up when he suddenly spoke:
“He claimed to have fallen through the eyes of a dead man — chasing after the last light of his life. But he wasn’t dead, and so his soul couldn’t pass on. He walked the wastes between worlds for a thousand years until Fate finally took pity on him. But instead of sending him to the green lands beyond the rift … she sent him back. That’s why he called himself Deathtreader.
“And they believed him!” Baird cackled and slapped his hands upon the desk. “The man claimed to have walked through death for a thousand years — a thousand years — and they believed him!”
Kael certainly believed it. Deathtreader was a powerful healer — the adventures he’d written about in his book defied all possibility. No time passed in the realm of the mind, after all. So it was possible that Deathtreader could’ve walked for ages without a single moment passing in the Kingdom. But there was no way he was going to try to explain that to Baird.
“At least we know Kael the Wright isn’t false,” he chirped from the desk.
Kael thought that was a strange thing to say. “Why would he be false?”
“He isn’t false. Otherwise, Setheran wouldn’t have given me that letter … gah!” He slapped his hands to the sides of his bandaged face. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that. A courier must never reveal his source!”
Kael rolled his eyes. “Come off it, Baird. I know Kyleigh gave you that letter. She just wanted to trick the wildmen into teaching me.”
Baird smiled widely. “Men expect the great, the bold, and the strong. But Fate never uses the obvious things,” he whispered. “He knew that I’d be able to wander the realm without question, to stand in the very ranks of his enemies and never be noticed. I suppose that’s why he chose me …” He grinned. “At least, I like to think it is.”
Those words tingled inside Kael’s ears — faint, but strangely familiar. “Who said that to you?”
“Setheran.” Baird’s smile widened to a grin. “Four others stood beside me — each a great warrior in his own right, each far more worthy than I. We were all to take different paths to the mountains. I only got as far as Oakloft. No one I asked was willing to take me any further. So for nearly twenty years I sat —”
“And I just happened to be the first one to come along?” Kael said. He was angry, but he wasn’t sure why. Something strange rumbled inside his chest as he growled: “Stop lying to me, Baird. There’s no way any of that’s possible. There’s no way Setheran could have known —”
“He stole her future!” Baird cried.
“Who’s future?”
“He stole it!”
All of Kael’s anger burned at his front. He felt it spread across the top of his chest and arms, as if he was using it to guard against the thing that squirmed behind it — the thing that said it could be possible.
There was only one way he could ever know for sure: “Show me the letter.”
“I don’t have it.”
“I saw Griffith put it in your bag.”
“Gah! Fine.” Baird reached inside his tunic and slapped the crumpled parchment upon the table. “But you mustn’t tell a soul.”
Kael tore the letter open. His eyes scanned across the words. He read the simple message over and over again: Before you stands Kael the Wright — see to it that he’s awakened.
There was something familiar about the lines of the letters. The way they’d been printed on the page was careful and sure, more simple than beautiful … and they were eerily familiar.
Kael’s hand shook as he reached across the table for the Atlas. He turned it around and read them side-by-side. His eyes went back and forth between the letter and the Atlas, studying the lay of the words and the angles at which they’d been drawn. It only took him a moment to realize why the words had looked so familiar:
They’d been written by the same hand.
Kael felt as if he’d just taken one of Griffith’s fists to his chin. He rocked back on his heels, swaying under the force of his shock. He didn’t know if anything Baird had told him was true — but there was one thing he knew for certain.
And it made everything else seem small.
“Where are you going, young man?”
He heard Baird calling after him, but Kael didn’t stop. He shoved through the hospital doors and out into a thick curtain of rain. Icy drops thudded onto the top of his head as he ran, washing down his back and shoulders. It mixed with t
he chill in his skin and made his joints seize up, but Kael ran doggedly for the forge.
A bright yellow light glowed beneath its door. When he shoved it open, a wave of heat knocked him backwards.
“Kael!”
He heard the lid slam shut over the trough of fire and the heat mercifully abated. Kyleigh’s hands grasped his shoulders, but he knocked them away. “Why did you lie to me?”
As the glare from the yellow light faded, he saw her face. Her gaze was steady, her arms hung at her side. Their eyes locked and he watched the passing of the flames behind the green, not daring to look away.
“I didn’t lie to you,” she said finally.
“You told me that Setheran’s child was dead.”
“No, I said that Fate took him away. I never said he was dead.”
He wanted to fall through the floor. He wanted to yell. He wanted to punch the wall as hard as he could. But Kyleigh’s gaze kept him steady. “Why didn’t you just … tell me?”
She frowned. “It was too dangerous, at first. You were wide-eyed and fresh off the mountains. I didn’t want to burden — fine. I was being selfish,” she said when she saw the angry words forming on his lips. “It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you, or didn’t think you were ready. I just … I wanted to protect you.”
“Because that was your task?”
“Because it’s my purpose.”
He didn’t understand the sudden change in her eyes, how the flames could calm and yet lose none of their light. It was a look that made heat pool inside his middle. When he could bear the fires no longer, he looked away — seeking the cool relief of the floor.
She gripped his shoulder. “And I suppose that, if I’m being completely honest, I didn’t want Seth to change you. I wanted you to find your own way.”
“Well I haven’t, have I? Not really.” He could feel the anger coming back, dulling the pressure of her hand. “It was Setheran’s chant that got me through the tempest. Those were his words, weren’t they?” He bit his lip when she nodded. “Setheran was in my head when I fought Gilderick. Baird swears that he wrote that blasted letter — and I know he wrote the Atlas.
“He’s been helping me all along. If it hadn’t been for him, I would’ve died a thousand times over. And you …” He paused, thinking. “You’re only here because he sent you.”
She grabbed him under the chin. “I resent that. He might’ve been the greatest warrior of our age, but that doesn’t mean I let him order me about.”
“Oh? Then why were you searching for me?”
A shadow crossed her eyes. “I don’t remember — well, I don’t,” she snapped when he snorted. “The last thing I remember is attacking Crevan. The rest is all bits and pieces …”
She released him and turned her glare on the wall. “The harder I try, the further my memories get. I don’t remember who sent me, but I knew that I’d been sent. Sometimes I got off on other errands,” she admitted, smirking. “The wildmen chased me down the mountains, and the Sovereign Five chased me back up. But every once in a while, I remembered that I was searching for someone — someone very important.
“When you said your name,” she snapped her fingers, “I knew who you were. All of my memories of you came rushing back, clear as glass —”
“Your memories of me? You mean we’d met before?” His mouth went dry when she nodded. “That’s not possible. I would’ve remembered.”
She smiled. “You were only a few days old.”
He took a step back. “You knew me when I was an infant?”
“Of course I did. Who do you think carried Setheran into the Valley so that he could meet you? I wouldn’t have done that for just anybody, by the way. We dragons don’t take well to being saddled and flown about. We’re very proud creatures.”
She laughed as he sank to the ground, but he didn’t think it was funny. Not in the least bit. He leaned against the wall and stared out the open door, watching as the rain pounded the earth. He hardly felt it when Kyleigh slid down beside him.
For a long moment, they sat in silence. Kael just stared — stared, and tried to wrap his head around it.
“You were adorable, by the way.”
He groaned. “Kyleigh, please.”
“What? You were. But you wouldn’t sleep. I suppose you must’ve been excited about coming into the world.”
“Probably. Let’s just leave it at that.”
“So I stole you away —”
“I really don’t want to hear this.”
“— and we played for hours, just you and I.”
The sudden softness in her voice made him look. She was smiling, her head tilted back against the wall. Her eyes brightened as she watched a distant memory.
“We sat by the fire and I told you stories — mostly about how frustratingly stubborn your father was. Little did I know,” she added with a raised brow. “You were far too young to speak, of course. But your eyes were open. Most infants have this sort of glassy shine over their eyes. Bloodfang used to call it the reckless flame of new life. But the light in your eyes was different.
“Your stare went deep. You were so focused … I remember thinking how serious you looked. When I sang to you, it was like you already knew the words. You understood the story before I’d even finished singing.” Her eyes snapped back suddenly and she cleared her throat. “I suppose it was just the Wright in you.”
She got to her feet, then — leaving Kael feeling something he’d never felt before.
Heat spread from his chest to his fingertips, but didn’t quite burn. That space in his middle held the warmth like hearthstones. It pushed all of his worries aside and pinned them back. They’d keep swirling in a corner of his mind, building as they wove themselves into questions. But for now, he would enjoy the sudden lightness of his heart …
The sudden, unexpected, completely impossible lightness.
“I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Are you certain there’s nothing else you’d like to ask me?”
He thought she might’ve sounded a bit surprised. “No, I think I’ve got the answer I wanted.” And with that, he stepped out the door.
The rain that struck him as he walked back to the hospital wasn’t nearly as icy it’d been as before. It warmed as it rolled down his skin, fed by the heat that spread from the center of his chest. He imagined that each drop would burn hotly by the time it struck the ground.
And as the rain soaked into the earth, it’d carry enough fire in its crystal innards to melt the layer of frost beneath the mountains’ skin.
Chapter 23
Poisoned Darts
Days passed while the pirates and the giants traveled on. They walked along the rough ground beside the road, marching against the exodus of the Valley.
Most of the ragged line hardly seemed to notice the army passing by: they kept their chins anchored to the ground, only lifting them to see how much further they had to go. Their eyes squinched at their bottoms as they took in the Pass. Some looked worried, others afraid. But most were empty.
Jonathan tried to gather information from the people they passed. But no matter how he asked it, the Valley folk all said the same thing: Grognaut the Bandit Lord was to blame.
“He attacked us in the dead of night. The bandits set fire to our homes while we slept. When we managed to escape the flames … they were waiting for us.”
“One of them got my finger — chewed it right off. And look how the nub’s festering, will you? I’ve kept herbs on it for three days and it’s still turning black as dusk.”
“Terror is all it is. It’s all the bandits ever want. Thieving is just an excuse to spill blood. And now that they’ve got the Earl’s protection, they can spill as much as they please —”
“What was that, mate? You say the Earl’s been protecting them?” Jonathan interrupted.
The man he’d been talking to was a shopkeeper from Crow’s Cross. His eyes dulled at Jonathan’s question. “Yeah, I suppose that’s what you�
�d call it. He gave them weapons and armor, let them have the run of the land. Grognaut’s even settled into the Earl’s old castle — word is that Titus has got himself perched at the top of the mountains. Fate only knows why.”
He kept walking, and Jonathan bounded to catch up. “But what about the King? Hasn’t he sent his army crashing through here, yet?”
“The King? Huh. No one’s heard from the King since last autumn,” he said with a snort. “The Cleft fills with snow during the winter. But usually his blasted patrols are back to taxing us by spring. Now here it is, summer, and I’ve not seen so much as a glint of gold on the horizon. Either His Majesty doesn’t care about what’s happening here, or he’s got a hand in it. Us free folk can do nothing but walk on and hope things are better on the other side.”
It was nearly nightfall before Jonathan caught up with the rest of his party. They’d passed the tail end of the line of Valley folk and were only half a mile from the ashen land beyond.
They spent the evening setting up camp and gathering wood for the rest of the journey. For, as Morris put it: “Most things have only got one burn in them.”
Once their camp was made, Jonathan told his companions everything he’d learned. “So it’s true, then. Bandits really have taken over the Valley,” Lysander murmured.
“And Titus had a hand in it,” Declan added with a furious grunt. His eyes began to go dark. “I knew it. I knew he’d have something to do with all this! There’s not a tear shed in the Kingdom that wasn’t Titus’s doing. I’ll put such a dent in his head —”
“Take a deep breath now, General,” one of the giants said as Declan’s eyes turned darker. “You’ll have your chance to dent him. There’s no need to go getting upset —”
“No need? No need?” Declan roared. “There’s every need! I’ll waste no more time — I’ll have him throttled before dawn!”
The pirates scattered in all directions as the giants fell upon Declan. He roared and twisted beneath them, trying to throw them off. But they held on tightly.
“Somebody give him a shock! Wake him up!” one of the giants cried.