Rise of the Seer

by Brandon Barr

  Anger rose within her, pure and focused. It traveled beyond her father, beyond Valcere, out over the distant mountains. Toward Praelothia, where merciless cruelty sprang from the hand of that vile Beast, Isolaug.

  Betrayer of man and Maker.

  A clamor arose behind her, and she turned.

  A pair of soldiers accompanied four familiar faces. Heulan and the falconer Dolostone. On their heels were Mica and Tanaclast.

  Meluscia wiped her wet eyes with the sleeve of her dress and awaited, frozen, unable to move as a cacophony of emotions tugged within.

  “My Lady,” called Heulan. “A letter from Regent Adulyyn, brought by falcon. It has the seal of urgency.”

  Mica stopped before her, concern lining his eyes. Clearly, he and everyone else noticed her flushed cheeks and the marks of tears on her cheeks.

  Dolostone held out a small rolled letter. She took it from his hand, and squeezed the letter tight as if it held a verdict of either life or death.

  “Tanaclast,” Meluscia said, her eyes on the young woman. Her fingers ached to open the letter. “Have you just come back from your journey?”

  The rider nodded. “I arrived at noon today. Went straight to your father and gave him the return letter. Mica and I searched for you, to inform you that I had completed the errand, but we were unable to find you until now.”

  Meluscia stared in disbelief. Tanaclast had given her father the letter at noon? He had mentioned nothing of it. She swallowed, the significance of that fact gripping her like fingers constricting her throat.

  Her gaze lowered to the letter in her hand. She broke the seal and unrolled the tiny parchment. Her eyes devoured the short note quickly.

  The paper crinkled as she crushed the letter in her hand. She looked up at the blurred faces before her, the wind whipping the loose strands of her hair into her wet eyes.

  Dizziness hit her like an earthquake, and she nearly collapsed.

  Mica caught her as she fell and held her in his arms, but she was consumed by the voice in her head that kept reading the letter again and again. As though her mind could not grasp the words.

  Dear Meluscia,

  I fear I have failed you. The council majority was not swayed by my enthusiastic appeals for you. I couldn’t convince a single undecided Regent to vote in your favor. The final count was eleven to three.

  My sincere regrets,

  Adulyyn

  LOAM

  The inner suffering of questions and doubt are sustenance to the soul tuned to eternity. Bring before me a man or woman whose mind is free of such contemplative troubles, and I will wipe their dumb smiles away with a word from the Makers that hits like a horse hoof to the head. But, bring before me one plagued by questions and doubts, and I will reach out my feeble hand and take their shoulder in my grip and give them a word of hope. That is my calling. To bring doubt to the undisturbed, and comfort to those whose minds are a sea athrash.

  -Fragment from Rheum the Heretic: Speaker for the Gods, Library of the Royal Quorums, Anantium

  “. . . Farmer or not, the girl is of the highest priority. Break protocol. Throw the procedure books into the sea. Whatever it takes. Acquire the farm girl, quickly, as if your job depends on it.

  -Higelion, Magnus Empyrean of Sector 54 (Archived transmission to Karience, Empyrean of Loam)

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  WINTER

  Winter woke early and wriggled further down into the warmth of soft sheets and heavy blankets. The fabric had a sweet spice scent that pleasantly tickled her nose. Such a smell she could never have imagined. It was strange. The luxuriously warm blankets, the lavish red and white velvet of the room décor, the rich aromas. All of it.

  Winter breathed deep the smells of the room. How easily such beauty and opulence hid a poisonous heart. The Baron adorned himself with lovely things, yet inside he was perfumed with decay and rotting with greed.

  Rabbit had never arrived last night. Winter hadn’t been given any further instructions on where to meet her, so she’d watched out her window until late in the night, hoping to glimpse her friend, but Rabbit had failed to show.

  Winter feared her friend had been caught, though there was no way to know. Perhaps she’d simply been unable to come for one reason or another, but Winter doubted it.

  She brought Whisper’s vial out from under the pillow where she’d hidden it for the night. She’d successfully managed to keep her tiny companion close without anyone other than the one concubine seeing it. Tenderly she stroked the vial, wishing she could let Whisper out.

  Her thoughts turned toward all the day held. Though she tried to remain cautious, the truth was that she was excited. If the Baron wasn’t deceiving her and her brother—which was very possible, even likely—then she and Aven would be leaving their lives behind today for something just as unimaginable as this lush bedroom. Something stranger, more exotic. The thought made her shiver with excitement. Was this the destiny the Makers had planned for her? It had to be. She remembered what Leaf had told her, after drawing her from the river.

  On your shoulders stand many heroes, and under your feet the life of a Beast.

  For so long she’d wondered when her destiny would come for her, and now it looked like it finally had. She kept trying to temper her excitement, but what she really wanted to do was shout with joy.

  Her eyes fell on two cloth sacks sitting beside the door to the bedroom. They hadn’t been there last night. Curious, she padded over to them, enjoying the feel of the silk sleeping gown on her skin. The things in the bags were hers. It appeared her belongings had been taken from her home and brought here.

  Did this mean the Baron really had arranged for her and Aven to join the Guardians? Why have her belongings brought here otherwise? But maybe it was just a trick, still. Perhaps he’d had their things brought to them as part of his ruse. So when she and Aven left after the announcement, the farmers would think they really were going to join the Guardians—when, actually, they would be taken somewhere away from watching eyes and killed.

  There was no way to know until it happened. She would just have to have faith that the Makers were watching and protecting her.

  She found her sling pack among her belongings, as well as her collection of feathers. One feather, she placed in her hair. The others, she wrapped in cloth and placed in the pack.

  A noisy bird’s call sounded from the open window. Her room overlooked the garden that she and her brother had walked through when they first arrived at the fortress. She’d spent a long time last night staring out that window at the garden, watching for Rabbit’s arrival. Torches had lit its path, illuminating the exotic flowers with their warm glow. It really was a beautiful garden. A shame that it was wasted here.

  The bird call sounded again, even louder, and Winter turned to see Rabbit appear at the window. She was hanging upside down from the roof, her hair, tied in a ponytail, swaying like a leaf viper hanging from a branch.

  Winter rushed over to the window.

  “Quick!” whispered Rabbit. “I can’t stay long. Take these. You may need them today.” She handed Winter two daggers. “Have you any word for us?”

  Winter struggled to organize her thoughts. She needed to focus on what was most important. “The Baron said he’s going to amend the farm contracts. Something about removing the harshest parts.”

  Rabbit’s brow crinkled suspiciously. “That’s good. If it’s true. Did he say anything about disbanding the Watch?”

  “No. Nothing.” Winter glanced beyond Rabbit, past the garden path where there loomed the large gray wall. “How did you get in here?”

  “Easy enough. Only the gate is guarded, so I use a hook and rope to scale the wall. This isn’t the first time I’ve come to visit the Baron’s guest rooms.” Rabbit glanced nervously around. “Is that all I should know?”

  “The Baron—he knows about you and Gray Bear. He knows about the rebellion.”

  Rabbit frowned. “He knows? Is that why—”
r />   Winter heard the door to her room swing open suddenly.

  Hiding the daggers in the folds of her gown, she turned, her heart leaping in her chest.

  Zamlah and Rose entered, followed by Aven, who wore a clean white tunic.

  The faintest patter sounded on the roof above.

  “Why aren’t you ready?” snapped Rose. She wasn’t looking at Winter. She was looking at the window. She walked over to it and leaned out, looking all around.

  “I just woke up,” said Winter, her heart pounding frantically, praying Rose wouldn’t see Rabbit.

  Aven scooped up a blanket off the bed and came over and wrapped it around her. It was then she realized she had been standing there half-naked in her sleeping gown. She pulled the blanket closer as Aven took her hand.

  You all right? tapped Aven.

  Yes. I’m fine.

  You look like you saw a ghost.

  Rabbit was here. She almost got caught.

  Aven frowned at that but didn’t reply.

  Rose turned away from the window and looked Winter up and down. “Are you going to stand around, or are you going to get dressed?”

  Winter felt keenly the weight of the hidden daggers. She shuddered at what would happen to her if they were found. She forced herself to meet the woman’s harsh gaze. “I’ll get dressed as soon as you leave.”

  Rose looked like she suspected something, but then all she said was, “Hurry. We’re leaving in half an hour, whether you’re dressed or not. I’ll drag you out naked if I have to.” The way she said it made it clear to Winter that she’d prefer it that way. She left the room.

  Zamlah stayed standing in the doorway. “I’m here to make sure you understand the Baron’s expectations for you both.”

  “Speaking of expectations,” Winter said, “how do we know his offer is genuine, that this isn’t a trick?”

  Zamlah’s jowls flushed red. “You place too much importance on yourself, farm girl. You cannot fathom how fortunate you are to have such an opportunity. There are people all over this world who would leap at the chance, who would do anything, to join the Guardians, and the Baron is simply handing it to you. Keep being rebellious, and the Baron will change his mind.”

  “Don’t mind her,” Aven said. “We’ll cooperate. You don’t have to worry about us.”

  “You don’t speak for me,” said Winter. “I want to make sure that the Baron will do all that he promised for the farmers.”

  Through gritted teeth Zamlah said, “If they cooperate, they’ll receive everything the Baron discussed in your hearing. However, if they make further demands, if they are not satisfied, then there will be blood. As for the two of you—keep your mouths shut, do exactly as you’re told, and all will go well.” He pointed one long finger at them. “But cross the Baron and you will be dead before the day is out. That is something you can be sure of.”

  He turned with a flourish and left the room.

  “Do you have to cause trouble?” Aven asked, once the door had closed. “Can’t you just go along?”

  “I’m only trying to make sure this isn’t a trick,” Winter replied. She checked to make sure the door was closed, then handed her brother one of the daggers.

  “What’s this?” he asked, refusing to take it.

  “It’s a dagger. Rabbit brought it. We might need them.”

  “I won’t take that.”

  “Just hide it inside your shirt. No one will know. It’s better to have it, just in case, isn’t it?”

  Reluctantly, Aven took the dagger.

  Winter took off the sleeping gown and pulled on the clothes she’d worn the night before. “I’m worried about Gray Bear and Rabbit and the others. What if this is just a way for the Baron to get them together so he can kill them off?”

  “Don’t waste your time worrying about Gray Bear. I warned him not to resist. He’s the cause of all this.”

  Winter turned on him angrily. “Don’t twist that around. The Baron is the cause of this. He’s not our friend. Gray Bear is.”

  Aven didn’t back down. “Gray Bear is too eager for war against the Baron. I’m not sure he will even accept the Baron’s concessions. If he refuses to accept them, others will follow, and people will die. Our friends and our neighbors. If that happens, then whose fault is it besides Gray Bear’s?”

  Winter bit back against the hot words she wanted to say. “Whose side are you on, Aven? What will you choose?” She tapped herself on the chest, feeling Whisper’s vial as she did so. “I will not stand by if this turns bloody. My allegiance is with the farmers.”

  Aven’s face twisted. Winter, who knew him almost as well as she knew herself, saw fear and despair and anger there, all tangled up together. It was a strange moment. She felt as if she and Aven were on a precipice.

  “Just go along, Winter. Please.” His voice was harsh with suppressed emotion. “I can’t…I can’t lose you, too. I want you to live. That’s all I want. Is that too much to ask?”

  “It is if it costs me my soul,” she said stiffly. “Nothing is worth that.”

  “What good is…” He broke off what he was saying, his hands clenching into fists. He bent and snatched up one of the sacks holding her belongings savagely. “Let’s go. I don’t want to keep the Baron waiting.”

  Winter caught him at the door. “Whatever happens, we have to stick together. Right?” Her eyes searched his face.

  “That’s what I’m trying to do.” He left without looking back.

  Winter stared after him, her hand going to Whisper’s vial without realizing it. Stay close to me today, Leaf, she prayed. Help me to have faith, no matter what happens.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  AVEN

  They rode out of the fortress, the Baron in the lead with Pike beside him, Zamlah close behind, flanked by Rose. Aven and Winter rode behind them, followed by the Watch, all of them mounted. Aven twisted to look over his shoulder at the soldiers. By his rough count, there were sixty of them, which he thought was the entire Watch. Why had the Baron brought them all? Was it to intimidate the farmers, force them to face what would happen if they continued defying him? Or was it to protect him from them?

  And why wouldn’t he hold some of them back in case of trouble?

  Aven tried to relax and release some of the tension from his shoulders, but it was hopeless. His fears crowded him from every side. He could lose everything today. His sister, his friends, his own life. Everything he held dear felt like it was hanging from a thread. He felt the weight of the dagger tucked into his pants and already regretted letting Winter talk him into taking it. If he was caught with it, the Baron might have the two of them cut down on the spot. What good would daggers do against armored soldiers, anyway?

  His horse snorted and sidestepped, spooked by a rabbit that bolted from underneath a nearby bush. The sudden motion almost unseated Aven, and he had to grab onto the saddle horn to keep himself from falling off. He’d never been on a horse before. No one he knew had. Horses were animals of royalty and wealth. He stroked the muscular neck. There was an elegance and a power in riding such a strong animal.

  Aven scanned the tall grasses and the trees as they rode. There was no sign of movement anywhere. Even the birds and the insects seemed to have vanished, as if they sensed something portentous about to happen. It was eerie, the only sounds horse hooves clopping on rock and dirt, the creak of leather, the jingle of armor and weapons. He noticed Rose scanning the woods, too. She clearly suspected an ambush. Were Gray Bear and Rabbit and the other rebels hiding in the trees? Or were they where they were supposed to be? Were all the farmers there? He had a sudden, disturbing image of himself, riding with the enemy, dressed and mounted like them.

  As if he were one of them.

  They came to the hillock that marked the edge of the small hollow where the village lay. Not far, now. Aven was so tense he felt as if he would be physically ill. He glanced at Winter. She didn’t look at him. Her face was like stone as she stared at the Baron’s ba
ck. He reached for her hand, wanting to tap out one last warning, but she pulled away from him.

  They crested the hillock. In the hollow below stood the village, two rows of small, shabby buildings. The smithy was the largest structure, and the first thing Aven noticed was that no smoke rose from it. The blacksmith had not lit the fires today. The sight filled him with a sense of doom. It was always a sign of trouble in the valley: violence portended by a smokeless sky.

  Next to the smithy was the slanted candlemaker’s cottage, the carpenter’s stone house, the cordwainer’s booth. Across from them the potter’s kiln, and a handful of traveling cottars’ tents with their odd specialties for sale.

  At the end of the lane was a raised pavilion, with a large, open grassy field in front of it, the field ringed by trees on two sides. The pavilion had been built as a place to hold weddings and new moon dances. It was also the place where executions were held. It was raised up, so everyone in the crowd could have a clear view.

  Packed onto the grassy field were the people of the community, the farmers, and their families. It looked like all of them—more than a thousand people. This was the only community Aven knew, having never traveled outside the boundaries of the farmland. He looked at them, seeing in his mind’s eye the violence and death that was so near, and his heart grew cold. He wanted to call to them, to beg them to accept whatever the Baron offered. Nothing could be worth so much bloodshed.

  And there would be so much blood if violence broke out. Most of it would belong to the farmers, for even though they greatly outnumbered the Watch, they lacked the armor and the weapons that the Watch had. Perhaps even more importantly, they lacked the training. The Watch were well-trained and disciplined. They would cut a bloody swath through the farmers in a fight.

  The farmers were quiet as they approached, only a faint murmur rising from them. Every eye was fixed on them, and Aven felt strangely self-conscious sitting above them as he was, looking down at them.