“The heartland.” She answered her own question. The trace of magic all around was unmistakable. And yet it did not feel like before, when she had first stepped out of the mirror chamber at the Palace. There, she had been overwhelmed, the heartland’s presence fizzing against her skin, powerful and unavoidable. Here, it was more like being at the Taellaneth, where she could ignore the magic around her until she needed it.
“Yes.” That one word was weighted with meaning.
Before she could ask what he meant, there was movement behind him. He did not react, telling her that whoever it was, was expected.
“I am glad to see you awake,” Miach said. The uncertain light picked out few details to her inferior eyesight. “Ferdith is anxious to be moving on but we wanted to wait until you were ready.”
Arrow finished the tea in her cup, handed it back to Kester, and rose to her feet, hissing again as her muscles spasmed as she tried to use them.
“I may need a little while longer,” she told Miach, taking an experimental step forward. Her legs felt hollow, stomach a twist of unease, arms wanting to move in odd directions.
“We will wait.”
“A moment, svegraen,” she called his attention back as he turned away. “Who is we? Who is here?”
“Of course. You were not yourself when we gathered.” The first guard tilted his head back to the direction he had come from. “A large group. The temple has insisted on a good number of people be present for whatever ceremony is required. Me. Elias. The six. Serran. Gilean. Orlis. The Prime. Evellan and Seivella. You and Kester.” Miach’s mouth quirked in a smile, “And a lot of extras. Kallish and her cadre. Elias’ cadre. My cadre. They would not let us come alone.”
“Too curious,” Kester suggested, smile in his voice. Miach inclined his head, agreeing.
Arrow’s eyes were wide. A large group. Miach was prone to understatement. It was a near-army’s worth. Three full cadre of White Guard. Two war mages. The Erith’s most famous mage. The Academy’s master and his deputy. Some of the most prominent Erith alive. Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“Anyone else from the Palace or the Houses? The Taellan?”
“No.” The tightness in Miach’s face and voice told Arrow that he had noted that oddity as well. If the temple were concerned with the future monarchy of the Erith, they had picked an odd selection.
“Unless they are already at the temple,” Kester added. Not the first time he had made that suggestion to Miach, Arrow thought.
“That is true. I will tell the others you are on your way. We should move on soon, if you are able.”
“I will be a moment,” Arrow told him. She felt steadier on her feet, distracted from her inferior body by the conversation, mind turning over possibilities. She turned to Kester. “Is there-”
“Of course,” he interrupted, ghost of a smile across his face, and handed her a packet of food. “Apparently Elias thought he should provision us for a long journey. There is plenty.”
Arrow thanked him and walked in a slow circle while eating the food provided. Travel rations of some sort, but from the Palace’s kitchens, flavours filling her senses.
By the time she had finished the food, the light was better and she realised that it was dawn, and they were among widely-spaced trees.
She also realised there was no mirror nearby. There was an odd depression in the ground, and a trail that looked like narrow wheels.
“The mirror was taken away by cart,” Kester told her, before she could ask. “A half dozen mages and a full cadre.”
She lifted her brows, but could not really argue about the measures taken. Mirrorglass was precious, and there were very few pieces big enough to permit so large a group to move through.
Still, having a cart, mages and a cadre here spoke of considerable effort and organisation. She wondered how long ago Ferdith had been given his assignment for the heartland. And where they were going to now.
More alert, she could smell the faint trace of salt in the air, and hear, at the very edges of her hearing, a sound she had only come across a few times.
“We are at the coast? Near the ocean?”
“Indeed.” Kester smiled, eyes bright. They had planned to spend time near the ocean in the human world, on the holiday that had not happened. Arrow had wanted to know what the ocean was like, what it was like to walk on sand. Her feet twitched, the memory of warm sand underfoot so strong she could almost believe herself there. Except that she had never walked on sand, or been next to the vast reaches of water that made up the ocean.
She came back to the here and now to find Kester nearby, eyes full of amber. “Come, I think you will like this.”
She followed him the short distance to join the others, a large group almost all Erith. Apart from the Prime. And, of course, her and Orlis. The oddities among the group. Everyone else was already on the move, walking out of the trees into the first true light of the day, sunrise casting brilliant shafts of light across the landscape ahead of them.
Arrow’s breath caught.
They were indeed at the ocean’s edge.
The ground sloped away ahead of them, grass underfoot turning to a rocky shore, waves casting bits of froth across smooth pebbles. Not far off shore, large enough to dominate the view, was an island, formed of gentle slopes of green grass and trees, with a higher hill to one side on which sat a stone structure. Elegant columns rose, supporting a roof that gleamed in the growing light. Even with her senses dulled by mirror travel, Arrow could sense the power in the structure.
“The temple,” Kester said. “And the Garden.”
Arrow could not see any buildings apart from the temple on the island, or any people. Impossible to judge precisely how large the temple was from here, but even at this distance she had the impression it was huge. Almost as large as the Palace or Taellaneth main building.
“How do we get there?”
“The tide is going out,” Orlis answered her. His eyes were brilliant, and he was having difficulty staying still. She could almost see his feet twitching. “There is a walkway under the sea. Imagine that.”
“It is the only way on and off the island,” Undurat added. “It clears at low tide enough to walk on. And there is only one low tide today.”
“So we cannot miss it,” Arrow finished for him.
Even as they spoke, she saw a dark-robed figure come to the shore of the island, a tiny speck beside the expanse of green. The figure stepped out, apparently straight into the sea, walking with steady strides towards them.
“The tide does not stay low for long,” Undurat added.
Arrow forced her body to move with the others down to the shore. As she moved forward she realised that Ferdith and his cadre were not following them. She turned back, lifting a brow.
The cadre leader was looking at the island with an intent, almost hungry expression. The heartland’s temple. The Garden. And staying where he was.
“My orders are to remain here. On watch,” he told her, voice clipped. For once she did not think it was aimed at her. He had been given the most important assignment of his life, working for the heartland, displaying her symbol on his uniform, and this close to most mysterious site the Erith had, he was denied entry.
“I am sorry,” she said. His expression slipped into astonishment and he met her eyes, amber sparks in his flaring for a moment. Not powerful in magic.
He was silent a moment, then inclined his head. A gesture of acknowledgement and respect. A rare concession.
She tilted her head in turn, then followed the others to the shore, leaving the warrior and his cadre on watch on the slope above.
CHAPTER 11
By the time they reached the shoreline, the lone figure was most of the way across the distance to them, and the sea had receded, showing a narrow walkway of flat rocks, waves still lapping across the rough surfaces from time to time. She could see that the figure’s robes were soaked around the hem.
“Greetings,” he said when he was
nearly at the shore. “The head Gardener has asked me to meet you and lead you across.”
There was more to his words than that simple greeting, words layered with meaning that Arrow did not catch. She was too busy being astonished again.
“Oliver Anderson.”
She had not realised she had spoken until the figure stiffened and turned his attention to her, finding her in the crowd without apparent difficulty.
“Once, perhaps. I am Revan now.” It was a plain, unadorned Erith name.
Even though he did not want the name, his face was unmistakable, as was the coil of his power as Arrow opened her second sight a fraction. One of the founders of Sanctuary. A part-Erith, despite his human-looking face, who had lived as human, hiding his heritage. The one responsible for the stones, an artist and magician both who had carved the stones and built a strong spell of protection into them.
She had a hundred questions. More, probably. All caught behind her teeth, jaw clamped shut. She saw his glance around the group, taking them all in with the same dispassionate stare. Even Serran. His father.
Serran was not dispassionate. There was a high colour in his face, eyes snapping amber.
“How long have you been here?” he demanded.
“We do not have time to discuss that now. Come, the tide turns quickly.”
Arrow had to bite her lip to hide a smile at Serran’s expression. It seemed that he found his son as difficult as his granddaughter.
The group moved forward at Revan’s urging. She was towards the rear of the long line. They had to walk single file as the stone pathway was narrow. Miach and his cadre led the way, Revan behind them. Arrow found herself with Kallish ahead of her and Kester behind. Zachary was ahead of Kallish, and only Undurat was behind Kester.
“This is the only way?” Arrow asked, turning to direct her question to Undurat.
“Yes. And the path needs attention,” he answered her.
She felt her ears burn at the rebuke, stung. It was not like him. Endlessly patient, and calm even faced with his brother’s death.
She turned back to the path and found that, naturally, he was right. It did need attention. The flat rocks they needed to walk on were placed at odd intervals, so no two strides were the same, and her body was still clumsy and heavy with the after-effects of mirror travel.
She was breathing hard and sweating under her clothes by the time they made it to the other side, legs trembling with effort.
The first touch of her foot on the island and a sense of wrongness held her in place. This was the temple. The Garden. The place where the heartland was tended to by the Gardeners.
And there was barely any magic under her foot.
She stumbled, moving out of Kester and Undurat’s path so they could come onto the land, and was held up by Zachary, one hand under her elbow.
“Are you alright?”
It was an odd question from him. She glanced across and found a subtle tension in his body. The Prime did not have magic the same way as the Erith did. Shifkin had a better sense of the world around them than the Erith would ever have, though, and trusted their instincts a great deal more. He may not sense it in the same way, but he had picked up something wrong with the land as well.
Arrow opened her mouth to answer, cut off when Revan directed them onward.
Zachary stayed beside her, Kester on her other side, as they followed Revan’s dark robes along a barely defined path across the grass, past what looked like an orchard, and on up the first of many slopes.
The island’s hills had seemed gentle and serene from a distance. Up close, her body still heavy with fatigue and the after effects of travel, they were brutal. Arrow had to pause more than once, catching her breath, taking bits and pieces of food from Kallish’s cadre and a potion from Orlis at one point. And Revan did not pause, continuing to walk on at a steady pace. Serran glanced back once or twice, lip curling in what looked like a sneer. He was too far ahead for her to be certain.
The only other one who seemed to be struggling as much was Evellan. The shadows were tightly curled around him and he was pale around his mouth, face beaded with sweat. Not fully healed, if Arrow had to guess, which explained why he had not held any of the mirrors open. But it made her wonder. The Preceptor had been seriously injured, almost to death, by his brother, Nuallan, when the rogue had tried to defeat the Erith. That had been months before. The highest authority in magic among the Erith would have had access to the best healers available. He should be fully recovered.
~
The climb was over. At last. Arrow’s legs ached, her back ached, her lungs ached, her feet ached. And every part of her was drenched in sweat. There had been no hiding from the summer sun as it rose during their climb.
It was now nearing midday, or thereabouts. Possibly later. She did not much care.
Revan had stopped, finally.
She was too busy catching her breath for the first few moments to hear what he said, or to realise why he had stopped, only looking up properly as the murmurs from the group finally caught her attention.
They were at the temple.
Columns of pale stone rose high above them. As high as the ceiling in the Palace library. Impossibly slender, the columns stretched towards the sky, holding a roof that looked, from here, to be made of gold. That seemed unlikely.
Underneath the roof, shadows were gathered between the columns, blocking a view of whatever was inside.
The columns sat on huge flagstones, as wide as Undurat was tall, shallow stone steps leading from the ground up to the flagstones. Arrow had the impression of a few Erith gathered to one side. Two or three, all clad in similar robes, with Revan moving to join them. She had no time to look properly, curiosity spiking, as someone spoke, requiring her attention.
“Greetings, travellers. Be welcome.”
It was not a traditional Erith welcome, spoken in a voice used to being heard.
The speaker was a tall Erith, dressed the same as the others. He was very different, though, silver hair which should signal age framing an unlined face that belonged to an Erith in their prime. He also carried an air of authority and something else that made Arrow’s skin prickle with unease. She wished her mind was not so foggy from travel, or her body so worn from the walking they had done. She was sure she smelled bad after the long climb up the hills, too, but could not muster the focus for a simple cleansing spell let alone a proper examination of the Erith standing before them on the steps of the temple, with something wrong about him. He seemed to have power. A lot of power. And yet it barely registered in second sight.
As though sensing her attention, he looked around the crowd and his eyes seemed to meet hers for a moment. Difficult to achieve in so large a group.
The sword at her back stirred.
Reacting to its enemy.
Surjusi.
Even as she opened her mouth to give warning, Zachary moved, smoothly and hidden by Kester’s shoulder, and grasped her arm, squeezing gently. No.
So she stayed quiet, listening as the Erith went on.
“I am the Gardener, and you are welcome to the lady’s temple. You have all been chosen for a solemn task.”
The Gardener. Revan had styled him as the head Gardener. Clearly there was a disagreement somewhere.
Whatever his title, it was apparent he was another garrulous male. Arrow wanted to roll her eyes. Or lie down. She was sure she could manage to roll her eyes while lying down. Neither seemed appropriate.
So, she listened instead, along with the others, as the Gardener set out, in flowery language and using far too many words, that they had all been gathered for the sacred task of selecting the new monarch to rule the Erith. The heartland, he explained, required a monarch to thrive. She was fading, he said, without one.
Arrow frowned, attention caught. That made sense. The power she sensed from the land around them was far too weak to be the heartland’s full strength. If the heartland needed a monarch, that might be an explanation. M
ight be. Perhaps.
The Gardener radiated authority and conviction and she trusted none of it. Even without the sword stirring at her back, something about this Erith made her skin prickle and made her wish for full access to her magic. The well of power was inside her, but despite the long lie down in the trees, her senses and mind were still shaken from travel.
The sun had moved by the time the Gardener was finished and he invited them inside to begin their solemn task. Arrow found that she still was not entirely clear on what was expected of them. She suspected that was deliberate.
“He goes on a bit,” Zachary muttered as they moved forward. Arrow choked on a laugh. She saw then that he had a spark of amber on his shoulder, a translation spell that she thought was Gilean’s work. Probably unnecessary.
“He’s dangerous,” the Prime added, tone quite different, voice almost inaudible.
Arrow did not think that his voice had carried far. Just to those immediately around him. Kallish’s cadre and Kester. And only them. Zachary was no fool.
“Be ready,” Kallish told her cadre, speaking softly, her voice calm. Arrow found it interesting that no one disagreed with Zachary’s assessment.
“The sword does not like him,” she told them, trying to match their quiet.
She received a few uneasy glances from the cadre. They knew the implications of that. Undurat’s jaw tightened, and she saw a flare of amber in his eyes. His brother had been tainted. She wondered if he had found time to perform the funeral rites and suspected not. So his brother’s body still lay somewhere. Probably at the Palace, waiting for the family to be ready to release his soul.
As she took the last step up to the flagstone floor, the columns rising above her to a shadowed ceiling, the echo of a scream rang through her head.
Inside her head, she was quite sure of that. No one else had reacted.
But she was awake. The screams only happened in her sleep. Until now.
She hesitated, almost missing her last step, and turned to look at the island. The summer sun shone in a cloudless sky overhead. The land was green and fertile. There were fields of crops just visible on one of the slopes. A few low buildings that looked like modest residences. It was the picture of tranquillity. A paradise, some humans might say.
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