A slick, tingling chill ran up Ambrous’ spine at the sight, and he knew then that Torrahs had returned to the Amneas coast and his aged Brothers a far different man—a far more dangerous man. Whatever Torrahs had experienced in his years of journeying remained buried, but Ambrous did not think he ever wished to know what had caused the dark, driving force clenched around his Brother’s soul. All he knew was that he had come to this realization far too late to turn back now, and he had a promise to keep.
The tower had fallen completely silent again after the tremendous undertaking these men had endured. Having witnessed two immortal beings in their last moments of existence had of a surety filled each one of them with an unexpected awe. Some of his Brothers glanced at their fingers in wonder and pride; others stared at Dehlyn’s motionless form slumped forward in the chair, the manacles still binding her beneath the sheen of golden hair. Had they, too, expected and craved such destruction by their own hands? It was impossible to tell which of them would not have followed Torrahs if they’d known the consequences, and Ambrous doubted anyone would raise their voice to speak of it at all.
This was not their purpose. They had not formed the Brotherhood to eliminate the omniscience from the world, to bend such graceful, terrible creatures to their will. They had not sought knowledge and learning for so long only to sow agony and death. How did no one else see it?
Each man lining the circular room of the tower stood in anticipation of what they all knew was to come. But the seconds passed with an agonizing slowness, and still no final amarach appeared in his white brilliance to spirit Dehlyn away for the night. A new sort of tension rose in the air, then—wonderment, caution, a daring to suspect they might have finally tempted fate and at the same time unraveled it. A low murmur of men’s voices built around them, and still the woman chained to the chair did not move.
Ambrous was a smart enough man to know his knowledge of the amarach, their vessel, and their self-imposed punishment remained inferior, especially when held up to the things Torrahs himself had claimed to know and demonstrated to be true through his repeated trials in this tower. Still, no one could doubt now that something had been irrevocably changed. For the first time since Torrahs had brought this woman-child—immortal vessel of all worldly and otherworldly wisdom—to Deeprock Spire, she remained in their custody past the darkest hours of the night and the highest point of the moon’s course. This one inexplicable law of many had shifted, at least for tonight.
It seemed Torrahs struggled with the wild grin spreading across his face; the sight of it lanced a cold terror through Ambrous’ frail heart, which did not warm for some time, even after his Brother regained control of his emotions. Ambrous could not say whether or not he expected Torrahs to celebrate such an odd and unexpected victory, but when the one who had returned to the Amneas coast now ran a deadly calm hand through his hair and drew a deep, determined breath, any doubt Ambrous might have had took on a hardened resolve. Something powerfully undeniable tugged at the core of his being—he almost felt it right below his heart—and he knew he had to act. He had a promise to keep.
Just as Torrahs raised his staff and pointed its tip toward the still-unconscious Dehlyn in the chair, Ambrous stepped forward from his place in the circle of Brothers. His soft shoes echoed in the tower’s silence despite the thin layer of dust blanketing the wooden floor. The speed of his movement surprised even himself, and within seconds, Ambrous knelt before the woman-child’s motionless form, placing himself directly in Torrahs’ path. He thought his hand was shaking when he reached up to smooth the hair away from Dehlyn’s face and gently lifted her to rest against the back of the chair, her chin sagging to her chest. But when he finally glanced at his own fingers, wrinkled and spotted with age, he found no tremor there at all.
He had never been a man to freely stand against those he followed, and while the pull urging him to protect Dehlyn might have been the only catalyst for doing so now, the fear he expected to overwhelm him did not appear. Whatever the consequences of such insubordination—even directed toward a returned Brother who had left them for decades and whom Ambrous no longer knew—they swayed neither his decision nor his steadfastness. Perhaps, if nothing else, his purpose in this life would finally become clear when he fulfilled his vow to the immortal vessel.
Turning to look over his shoulder at Torrahs, he said, “I think it wise to return her to her room for the night.” His voice was low, filling the tower and seeming to dampen the destructive energy still rippling through the air. The strength and surety behind his statement did not sound like his own, as if having vowed to ensure Dehlyn’s safety had awakened a new man within him, inhabiting his body and choosing both word and deed Ambrous himself would never have dared. His only option was to embrace it.
Slowly, Torrahs lowered the tip of his staff and returned it with a soft thump to the wooden floor. The man’s steely, penetrating gaze washed over his newly insurgent Brother, but the anger and vehement disapproval Ambrous expected to find behind Torrahs’ eyes did not appear. Instead, he was met with only a calm curiosity; when the corner of Torrahs’ mouth twitched in apparent amusement, Ambrous instantly recognized the dangerous, calculating awareness in which his returned Brother had always been so skilled. For years, this would have quelled him instantly. On this night, it had no effect.
“By all means,” Torrahs said evenly, his blue eyes glinting, “enlighten us as to the reasoning behind such a proposal.”
No one stirred. Every pair of eyes latched onto Ambrous; he felt them as keenly as if his Brothers had turned their incantations upon his person instead. Yes, these men had questioned Torrahs’ motives and purpose the minute he’d re-entered their lives after so many years, bringing with him mysteries and power they had only dreamed of understanding. But none of them had openly defied him like this, particularly when the truth and the end of this age were both so obviously close at hand. The fact that Ambrous himself had been the meekest of them all—the one who had fainted beneath the weight of their actions on their first night attacking the vessel in this tower—did not engender the least of their surprise.
“We have clearly changed many things just now,” Ambrous replied slowly, steadily holding Torrahs’ gaze. “The amarach has not appeared to remove the vessel, and it seems he will not do so tonight. Perhaps never again, but we do not know. Nor can we predict the consequences of continuing towards our goal without properly assessing what we’ve done.” He made sure to emphasize their mutual effort, though the ruse made him nauseous. Torrahs was not a fool, but neither did he rush to hasty conclusions. If Ambrous slipped in his deception—if the mask he’d donned when he’d vowed to protect Dehlyn at all costs cracked in the least—Torrahs would know. For now, the man merely studied him with interest and what seemed a frightening and surprising amount of respect.
“It may be best,” Vos added from across the room, his low voice laden with fatigue and uncertainty. “Personally, I do not wish to undo this progress by mistaking it for absolute victory. This feels... different.”
A pressing urge to turn around and acknowledge Vos with a nod of gratitude swelled within Ambrous’ breast, but he could not allow himself to break Torrahs’ gaze. Each man here also knew the price Vos himself had paid, both in pride and status, by agreeing to relieve his bond with the amarach he had kept for decades and offer it to Torrahs. That amarach, of course, had now been destroyed. But no one would question Vos’ subtle attempt to retrieve some of his dignity by voicing an opinion the man had never been too timid to share.
It surprised him when Torrahs’ broke their stare first to quickly glance at Vos, then tilted his head slightly in concession; on any other man, it would have been a careless shrug. “Very well. I am your Brother, not your master.” The astringent sting of the man’s untruth dried the back of Ambrous’ throat as if he had swallowed sand, but no one else seemed to notice the duplicity. At least, no one revealed a recognition of it. Torrahs looked at Ambrous once more with that disturbi
ng curiosity, nodded, then turned to open the tower doors and disappeared down the winding staircase.
Ambrous took a deep breath, steadying himself against the rising nerves of having so brazenly tested his luck. But for now, he had done his duty; he had protected her.
His movements felt unnaturally fluid for all the tension behind them when he reached into his robes and removed the ring of four iron keys. It remained a testament to Torrahs’ claim of Brotherhood that a few men among them had been given keys both to Dehlyn’s prison of a room and the manacles binding her to the chair. Ambrous realized full well he had been selected as one of these only because he had always been, until tonight, the least imposing among them—the least likely to turn from their joint effort and use what lay at his disposal for his own means. At the moment, it seemed his Brothers still thought the same of him, but he had to be unerringly diligent in what he did and said in the future.
Only when he gently unlocked each shackle and let them fall against the chair did he realize he most likely did not have the strength required to carry Dehlyn down the staircase and hallway to her room, though she weighed very little. He did not look up at his Brothers filing silently out of the tower, most likely swept up in the rising tide of anticipation and disorienting power they’d unleashed around themselves tonight. But he did pause briefly in his ministrations when a figure quietly approached the back of the chair and stopped.
Ambrous looked up to see Vos standing there, his bald pate dripping sweat into his creased brow. Where he’d expected to find his Brother’s condescension, he saw only concern and an unassuming sympathy. They shared a brief, consenting nod—a relief in its simplicity—and worked together to lift Dehlyn’s limp form into their arms. Together, they carried her from the tower in wordless consolation.
Chapter 19
After having chosen his purpose and the course of his own free will, Kherron found fear and doubt to be as dangerous as a handful of salt in a man’s only source of drinking water. The minute he stepped from the doorway into the chaos of the clanning and witnessed the last few seconds of Aelis’ transformation, he cast those things aside. He had no other option.
Kneeling before her, he cupped Aelis’ cheeks in his hands, her skin hot beneath his palm. Her brown eyes flickered up to latch onto his, and the pain and fear behind them melted into relief and trust and a gratitude Kherron had never before seen directed at him. This was all he could do for her, at least in that very moment. The rest would come, but it would take time.
And then the face he knew was gone, her flushed cheeks now thick sable fur beneath his palms. She’d grown to twice her own size at least, the brown bear’s massive shoulders rising above Kherron’s head. He did not remove his hands; her eyes had not changed, and they had not left his steady gaze. They stared at each other amidst the dying trembles of the earth and the lessening clamor of terror and confusion, and when she snorted a hot breath into his face, he knew she had not changed. This was the woman he chose to save—albeit by agreeing to go to another’s aid—and he would return to her and all the Nateru the lost pieces of themselves. Kherron was a Blood of the Veil.
He did not notice the man in grey standing before him until the words struck his ears. “These would be new circumstances.”
Kherron finally pulled away from Aelis’ gaze to look up, finding the man in the oddly round cap looking down at him with wary hope behind his frown of concern. He knew the words were not delivered in blame, but they certainly did not make him feel any better. “I spoke too soon,” he replied, then glanced back down at Aelis’ dark, glistening eyes within the face of her bear.
“You did not cause this,” the man replied. “But you can mend the broken pieces.”
“I will.” Kherron narrowed his eyes and leaned toward Aelis until his own nose nearly touched the soft, wet tip of her muzzle. “I will make this right.” She blinked and took a deep breath, studying him with a calm conviction he now felt himself. Then he stood and faced the man in grey.
“Good,” the man replied. Kherron missed neither the man’s hand going to the thick fur of Aelis’ back nor the way his fingers sank briefly into her pelt, but it did not stir the protective rise of anger he might otherwise have felt. There was no room for that now. “I would like to join you,” the man continued. “Aid you in any way I can.”
Kherron nodded. “Thank you.”
“Kayu.” The deep voice came from behind him, and Kherron turned around to see Erbun, his blue eyes alight with urgency beneath his mane of golden hair. He glanced at Kherron, then dipped his head in acknowledgment with an averted gaze before looking back up at the man he’d called Kayu. “Are you...”
“No worse than before,” Kayu replied, his flesh rippling with large grey feathers before they faded back into his youthful-looking skin. “And you?”
“I’m fine.” Erbun glanced around the clearing with a deep frown of concern.
Most of the Nateru who had escaped the moment of torment as birds had already taken wing and departed. A few human forms milled about, some joining their newly restricted animal brethren, others staring vacantly about the clearing as if they had never experienced such a thing. Kherron very much thought they had, though something told him it had been a long time.
Most of the remaining beasts ruffled in agitation, screeching and growling and chuffing in concern and anger, though the shrieks of agony and terror had subsided and the clearing had grown comparatively quiet. Kherron found only one of the two deer he’d seen earlier, which now stood without its companion, watching the aftermath of this unforeseen attack by an unknown enemy—at least unknown to them. Kherron did not think the Nateru knew of Torrahs by name or in any other detail, but he had no doubt the man was behind this in some form.
Kayu and Erbun might have exchanged more words Kherron did not hear, but when he heard Kayu ask, “And Vaedhri?” his attention immediately shifted toward a dark, sleek figure pacing on the other side of the clearing. It took him a few seconds to recognize it as a large cat, lean muscle rippling beneath the pitch-black fur, its tail curling and uncurling from side to side as it moved back and forth across the clearing, as if searching for an answer on the soft earth beneath its huge paws.
“She has been stripped of all but her last,” Erbun said. He glanced back at the aggravated panther, and Kherron knew the woman who had embraced Aelis like a daughter now existed only as the fierce, pacing beast; if he failed, she would remain so forever.
“As has Aelis,” Kayu said.
Kherron already knew Aelis would not walk again as the woman with fiery hair if he failed to fulfill whatever the amarach’s prophecy demanded, but hearing it aloud brought a hard knot of sorrow to his stomach.
When Erbun fixed him with a penetrating gaze, it was filled with so much grief and despair, Kherron expected to see tears in his eyes. “Will you go?” the large man asked.
Kherron nodded, feeling any more words here would have been blasphemous to the situation.
“Then we must leave now,” Kayu said softly.
Intending to offer Erbun a parting nod as both his gratitude and his promise, Kherron hesitated when he saw the blond-haired man lift his arm. Erbun passed a huge hand over his eyes, then raised his palm toward Kherron as if in benediction. “Your blood so I may see,” the man said; though he spoke the words low and gentle enough, his voice filled the clearing as if he’d shouted.
“Your blood so I may see.” Less than a dozen voices lifted in reply, sounding like a hundred. A hand from every human form remaining amidst the clanning passed over closed eyes and lifted toward Kherron, bringing an unexpected heat to his face. While the words sounded ominous in and of themselves, he could not rein in the inexplicable flash of pride at such a gesture, especially from those he had just met, spurned, and now resolved to protect.
He gazed out at them for a brief moment, hoping to present himself with more impassivity than he truly felt, and offered a small nod of gratitude and sober intention. They would all be
watching now. They had heard his story, seen him give his word, and pledged themselves to him in a way he had yet to fully understand. But he knew it all the same. He would do whatever it took to return peace and the lost facets of their many forms to the Nateru—to Aelis.
He did not expect, from within the ensuing silence, to hear the terrifying, grating scream of the black panther pacing at the far end of the clearing. Vaedhri had stopped moving, staring at Kherron now so intently, it seemed for a moment she’d pegged him as her prey. Without the icy fear that would have filled his belly in such a situation if he had not known what he knew now, Kherron did not look away from the awesome beast when he dipped his head to her and placed a hand over his own heart. He made this promise to all of them. A low growl escaped the throat of Vaedhri’s panther, and she broke their stare to resume her agitated patrol of the clearing.
Kherron turned again to nod at Kayu, and the man in grey led him with a somber step toward where he’d first entered the clanning with Aelis. Though it did not surprise him, Kherron found his heart swelling with a mix of pride and remorse when he felt the massive bear’s solid, commanding presence beside him. Without thinking, he buried his fingers in the thick hair at the scruff of her neck, stabilized by the smell of earth and animal musk that rose to greet him.
It was swift and simple; one moment, he stood upon the lush grass of the clearing, and the next, he’d entered the half-open cavern with Kayu and Aelis beside him, the frozen gorge and the rush of the river below at his back. There remained no trace of the clanning’s inner glow, no after-image of trees and grass and Nateru, all of which had existed where now there was nothing but cold, empty air and an unfathomable drop down the side of the cliff. Kherron did not stop. He did not turn to stare with mouth agape at the impossible feat of having come from a place that did not exist. Now that he’d made his decision, he could not abide wasting any of his quite little time in deciphering the mysteries of the world around him. He was a Blood of the Veil; the mysteries would unravel in time, but he had to act.
Sacrament of Dehlyn (The Unclaimed Book 3) Page 19