In all their years together he’d never tried to push their relationship beyond friendship, except to concoct ridiculous plans about eloping with her. She turned his words over in her mind.
We can be together now. What we’ve always wanted.
Though she wished it weren’t so, Ember couldn’t claim he’d never raised this idea before. He’d constantly sworn his affection for her. Jested that they should be married. Had his teasing masked the true desires of his heart?
Her chest tightened. Perhaps she’d been too hard on him. Alistair had been so loyal, so dear to her. If he did love her as he’d claimed, then her words must have battered his heart. Ember’s sigh was long, full of the weariness of her body and spirit. She would try to mend anything broken between herself and Alistair, but she had to do so in a way that didn’t encourage him. She loved Alistair, but as a brother, not as a lover.
Much to her relief, and surprise, only Barrow was waiting for her in the barracks’ main hall. She sat beside him, happily accepting the bowl of steaming porridge he pushed in front of her.
“Where is everyone?” she asked.
Barrow leaned back in his chair; lines of concern appeared at the corners of his eyes. “Lukasz called a meeting. There’s been some news.”
Ember put her spoon down. “Shouldn’t we be there as well?”
“He discussed the matter with me last night,” he said. “We have other work to focus on today.”
She returned to eating, her poor mood worsening at the lack of inclusion. Despite the praise she’d received after her trial, Ember still felt like an outsider, like she was being kept away from the real purpose of the Guard. She took a few more bites of the porridge and set her spoon down again. When she rose, Barrow frowned.
“You’ve barely eaten.”
“I’m not hungry this morning,” she said.
He studied her face. “Are you ill?”
“No.” She avoided meeting his eyes. “Just eager to begin the day.”
Barrow stood up and servants appeared to clear the table. “If I know Morag, she’ll have worked nonstop to have your weapon ready. We’ll head to the smithy first.”
Ember didn’t answer but simply followed Barrow out of the barracks. She felt restless, battered by her fitful night after Alistair’s appearance and her deepening uncertainty about her place in Conatus. Too many questions left unanswered, too many secrets whispered behind closed doors.
When they stepped into the courtyard, Ember looked over her shoulder, her gaze wandering toward the stables.
She turned back with a sigh, only to find Barrow watching her with a knowing smile. “I won’t keep him from you long.”
Ember returned his smile stiffly. She was too unsettled to seek a bond with the knight over their shared love of riding. The one person she’d fully trusted here had been scheming, manipulating her path to serve his own desires. Alistair’s confession—no matter how well intentioned—only felt like a betrayal. It stung in her chest and made her bristle against any friendliness Barrow showed.
Though the sun had risen only a short while ago, the smithy was already alive with its craft. Barrow led Ember, stopping only when he’d reached Morag’s forge. The blacksmith was stoking the fire.
She greeted Barrow without looking up. “Good morning, my lord.”
“Morag.” Barrow leaned against the workbench. “Do you have something for us?”
Morag straightened with a smile. “Nothing for you, but something for the lady.”
Ember sidled past Barrow, curiosity edging out her ill temper. What could have manifested from her strange visions of a double moon?
From a lower shelf of her workbench Morag withdrew two leather objects.
“It’s a good thing I apprenticed for two years with a Chinese blade master,” the blacksmith said as she gripped a leather-wrapped handle. From within the slipcover appeared a weapon like none Ember had ever seen. Morag extended the strange piece to her. Her fingers closed around the handle and she held the weapon up to examine it. Connected to the handgrip was a bright silver ring, a perfectly circular blade with a diameter slightly wider than her face. A crescent blade with sharp, gleaming points projected from the leather grip into the center of the ring.
“Two moons,” Ember whispered. The weapon was light in her hand. She moved her arm up and down slowly, marveling at how natural it felt to hold something so foreign to her.
Barrow stepped closer. “What a strange thing.”
“Not everyone must fight with a massive hunk of steel.” Morag snickered. “This weapon will play to her strengths.”
“What is it?” Ember asked, turning the piece over so its bright surface reflected the leaping flames in the forge.
“A variation on a weapon of the Far East, the wheel of wind and fire,” Morag said. “Your vision pointed to a wheel for combat, but a wheel of two moons.”
The blacksmith cast a sidelong glance at Ember. “But its origins are naught. This weapon belongs to you. It shall not serve you until you give it a name.”
“A name?”
Morag nodded. “The name invokes the blade’s power. As the one who’ll wield the blade, the name comes from you, lass.”
The blacksmith handed Ember a second leather case, identical to the first. “Wheels are wielded in pairs. They are tools of beauty and devastation. Graceful and lethal.”
Ember closed her eyes. She could see the full moon and the crescent sliver. Tears of blood rained from the night sky. “Silence and Sorrow.”
Hearing Barrow expel a slow, even breath, Ember glanced at him to find he was nodding.
“Fine names,” Morag said solemnly.
Gazing at the blades’ mirror-like surface, Ember thought she caught a glimpse of the moonlight and crimson tears—as if her vision were captured within the very steel.
Ember broke out of her reverie, eyes narrowing. “These are weapons of the East?”
“China,” Morag told her.
“And you’ve followed the overland route that distance?” Ember asked. “As the spice merchants do?”
Morag laughed. “I couldn’t spare the time. If I took a caravan to the East anytime I needed to make inquiries about their weaponry, I would never forge a blade of my own.”
“But you said you could craft these wheels because you apprenticed there,” Ember said.
Morag looked at Barrow sharply. “She doesn’t know?”
“Later,” Barrow said, putting a hand on Ember’s shoulder. “Let’s give you a chance to test these blades.”
“Hold, knight.” Morag laughed. “You lot are always too eager to skip the rote lesson for the sake of letting your blades fly. The girl should know our magic.”
Barrow smiled with chagrin. “Very well. Teach on, Morag.”
With a snort, Morag turned to Ember. “The vows of Conatus require that we submit to the will of this earth. We are the shield that pushes back corruption that would taint God’s creation.”
Ember nodded and Barrow took up the story: “The Crusades taught the Church that we aren’t alone in this battle against darkness. The Templars were born to seize the Holy Land for Christians—but Conatus was born of the Templars for a purpose altogether different.”
“Father Michael said we learned from the Saracens,” Ember said quietly. “That we share our wisdom.”
“Our sometime enemies in the mortal war prove our allies when we fight for that which is immortal,” Barrow said. “And we rely on constant correspondence to increase our skills.”
“I understand the reasoning behind this cooperation,” Ember answered. “But Morag spoke of an apprenticeship without a journey.”
Morag smiled. “Not without a journey, lass, but a journey other than what you imagined. You were called to the Guard, but there are other gifts that bind our numbers to Conatus. The clerics have uncovered some of the earth’s greatest secrets. Secrets that render the impossible possible. That make a journey to the Orient take only a moment rather than
months.”
“How can that be?” Ember asked breathlessly.
Barrow shifted the sword at his waist and coughed.
Morag glanced at him. “Your companion is eager to train you. And here I’ll agree that you must see the magic at work to truly understand it.”
Barrow bowed deeply to Morag. “We are, as ever, indebted to your skill.”
The blacksmith inclined her head.
“Thank you,” Ember said as she returned the first wheel to its slipcover and discovered that the two cases were designed to hook onto her belt. With the weapons hanging comfortably at her side, she hurried to catch Barrow, who had already made his way back to the courtyard.
Her irritation bubbled over when she fell in step beside him. “What did she mean?”
Barrow didn’t answer, only walked more quickly in the direction of the practice fields.
“When will I see this wonder?” Ember asked. “Will I travel to the Orient?”
He stopped, returning her hard gaze without flinching. He didn’t speak, and a moment later it was Ember who pulled her eyes away.
“You are one of us,” Barrow said quietly. “But you are here to learn, not trot off to sate your appetite for travel. And I am to teach you. Trust that I will meet that task.”
Ember kept her head bowed, following when Barrow continued on his path. But after a few steps she came to a halting stop. She couldn’t be certain if it was shock or outrage traveling over Barrow’s face when he realized she wasn’t following and wheeled around.
“I am here to serve.” She forced herself to speak calmly. “But not to be led around because my own ignorance blinds me. You are my teacher. You’ve just said this yourself. Give me the knowledge I seek.”
His brow furrowed as he walked slowly toward her. He looked her up and down.
“Have I truly angered you this much?”
Ember frowned, thinking her words hadn’t been that harsh. Then she noticed him looking at her hands. Unbeknownst even to her, they’d clenched into tight fists at her sides, bloodless and shaking. It took a surprising amount of will for her to pry her own fingers free of their furious pose. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“I—” She didn’t want to look at Barrow. This outburst had nothing to do with him or her impatience with her schooling in the ways of the Guard. Tears that had begun to burn beneath her eyelids made her squeeze them closed so none could escape.
“Perhaps you’re right,” Barrow murmured. “If you have questions, I’ll hear them. My desire was only not to delay your training. You’ll need your weapon sooner than you might think.”
Ember hoped that her tears were gone when she forced her eyes open. She was about to apologize when Barrow turned away from her, waving for her to follow him. He swung around, no longer heading toward the practice field but instead toward the stable. Her spirit surged at the possibility of another outing with Caber, but she kept silent, regretful of her rash words. Barrow had done nothing to deserve her childish temper. She was lucky he’d taken her disrespectful tone in stride. Part of her wondered why he hadn’t simply sent her back to the barracks with some punishment to carry out—like scrubbing the floors or, worse, emptying all the chamber pots.
Instead of punishment Ember received what felt like a reward for her complaints. Barrow seemed thoughtful, his only words to her when they reached the stable: “Ready your mount.”
Caber snorted and immediately began banging his hooves against the stall when he saw Ember approaching. She fondly patted his soft nose, laughing when he tried once again to chew on the ring of braids that crowned her head.
When she led the horse from the stable, fully tacked and ready for the ride, Barrow was waiting with Toshach. He remained silent as he swung into the saddle, leaving Ember to guess that she was expected to do the same. Toshach was already heading for the gates at a fast clip when Ember mounted Caber. The young stallion tossed his head, impatient to follow.
Barrow didn’t look back to see if she had managed to get herself into the saddle. Ember hadn’t quite caught him when he passed through the gate, Toshach’s pace steadily increasing. When he hit the valley floor and Toshach broke into a gallop, Ember began to wonder if this ride wasn’t intended as some kind of punishment after all, one in which Barrow would force her to ride hard without any aid should she lose control of Caber. She leaned forward, letting Caber leap into a flat run. He stretched out, flowing over the ground like a gale in pursuit of Toshach.
The path Barrow took led in the opposite direction from their previous day’s ride. Toshach tore through the glen. Soon Tearmunn was a speck and Loch Duich a shadow in the distance. They rode east for an hour. The clouds had broken through the night and sunlight filled the glen with the impish gleam of spring. Ember found the pace exhilarating, smiling as the sun warmed her back and the wind pulled strands of hair free of the braid to tickle her cheeks. Caber reveled in their speed as well, giving a whinny of triumph when he finally caught Toshach. Barrow still didn’t look over his shoulder, but the slight tilt of his head made Ember smile, knowing he was fully aware of her approach.
Toshach began to slow, first to a canter and then to a trot as Barrow turned his mount south. With the horses blowing hard, they began to climb the hillside, leaving the open valley for the cover of trees. Though Ember couldn’t make out any path, Barrow kept Toshach moving forward. They wove through the dense pines, their path twisting but leading steadily upward. Sunlight battled the trees’ heavy shadows, its golden blades periodically splitting the darkness to mark their progress.
Now that her attention wasn’t captivated by the thrill of Caber’s strength and speed, Ember found herself waiting for some acknowledgment from Barrow. The forest around them was unnervingly quiet. The pine trees surrounding them rose straight and solemn like pillars of a temple. Her own breath seemed blasphemously loud.
Ember was chewing on her lip, fighting the impulse to speak and quell her anxiety, when a new sound drew her attention. At first she thought it was wind rustling through the trees. But the sound was steadier than the rise and fall of fickle spring gusts. And it was growing louder. Her head cocked to the side, Ember concentrated on the noise, trying to discern its source.
Barrow reined in Toshach and dismounted. He turned to look at her for the first time since they’d left Tearmunn.
“We’ll leave the horses here,” he said. “Don’t worry. Toshach knows this place well. They won’t wander.”
He gave no further explanation but watched her, waiting. Ember slid out of the saddle. She murmured her thanks to Caber, taking a moment to stroke his bowed neck and convey her reluctance to part from him.
During the ride Ember had forgotten the new additions to her wardrobe, but now that she was walking, the wheels beat rhythmically against her hips. Their presence was oddly comforting, since she still had no idea how to wield them. As she followed Barrow up a gentle rise, the persistent sound grew in intensity to a quiet roar. Ember had guessed what the cause of the rushing noise was by the time the waterfall came into view, but she wasn’t prepared for the sight that met her eyes.
Her breath caught at the web of white water that cut through stone. The stream didn’t throw itself from a sheer precipice to strike a pool far below. Instead the water had wound its way between ancient rock, splitting into three rivulets and glistening like enormous threads of spider silk.
Barrow carefully made his way between the jutting rocks, descending until he reached the place where the falls settled into a narrow stream that wound its way toward the glen’s floor. He paused at the edge of the brook and then beckoned for Ember to join him. It only took a few steps for her to understand why he’d taken so much time in the descent. Though the drop wasn’t steep, the stones beneath her feet were slick, waiting for an opportunity to catch her off guard and turn her ankle.
When she reached Barrow’s side at the bottom of the falls, she asked, “Why have you brought me here?”
“You were
distracted this morning, and angry,” he told her. “That’s not an ideal disposition to bring into your first bout of training.”
Ember looked away; even the mention of her irritability made it roll beneath her skin.
“In the Guard you’ll see things more terrible than any man or woman should witness,” Barrow said. “It can lead to distraction . . . and despair.”
He was speaking softly and with kindness. A child forced to hew off his own fingers. The kelpie’s claws dripping slime as they shredded Barrow’s tabard, seeking flesh. Barrow thought her erratic mood was a result of the fight . . . of fear and uncertainty. She almost laughed. That she’d fought that creature and won was one of the only things sustaining her sense of place. Her heart was the beast she couldn’t tame.
Barrow crouched, laying his palm on the water’s surface. “It helps if you can find a place that brings you peace. Make it your own, share it with no one. Go there when you need solace. If you can’t fight the demons that seek to conquer your spirit, you will not survive among us.”
“Share it with no one?” Ember asked with a sidelong glance.
“Being that I’m your teacher, I’ve made an exception.” Barrow looked up at her. “You’ll need time to become familiar with the valley. I found this place many years ago, shortly after I joined the Guard. This slope, this brook—they’re almost as helpful a friend as Toshach. You’re welcome to come here until you find such a place of your own.”
Ember tilted her head, regarding him curiously. “I had a place like this at home. Somewhere I could hide from the world . . . though it was mostly to hide from my father.”
“I don’t blame you for that.” He smiled. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t reveal it to any others in the Guard.”
She did laugh then. “Of course not. I’m honored that you’ve brought me here.”
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