Storm

by Lauren L. Garcia

  Give her a few more moments, he thought, holding Rook’s gaze and nodding to Kali. The petite sentinel frowned but resumed her watchful glances.

  The thrall was quieter now, though she panted and writhed. But her movements lacked their initial frenzy. Was she better?

  Before Stonewall could ask, the priestess shrieked again, making all the sentinels start. She jerked out of their grips as if she were made of stone, and leaped to her feet, eyes blazing, body aimed like a dagger – at Kali. “Sweet blood,” the thrall hissed. “Give it to us. Now!”

  The thrall moved before she’d finished speaking. She lunged at Kali, who only stared up, mouth agape, defeat written on her face. No time for hesitation. Stonewall stepped in front of Kali and grabbed the thrall, and dragged his dagger across the poor woman’s throat.

  I’m sorry, he thought as the thrall fell to the new snow, unmoving.

  Two

  As Milo stared at the dead Cipher, disbelief shrank his guts like a rotting vine. The priestess was gone. Magic had done nothing for her. What good was it, then?

  He looked at Mage Halcyon, who sat frozen, one hand to her bandaged throat. Mage Sadira knelt beside her, looping one arm around the dark-haired mage’s shoulders, though her gaze, too, was on the dead priestess.

  A sob escaped Rook. She tried and failed to choke it back, and pointed toward the dark forest. “Flint and I will try and find the horses.”

  “It’s only the first snowfall of the year, but it still shouldn’t be too hard to track them,” Flint added. Only because Milo knew his twin so well did he recognize the haunted look in her blue eyes as she glanced his way before she and Rook slipped off.

  The sergeant clenched his dagger, crimson clear in the still-blazing mage-fire from their campsite about twenty yards away. He looked at the blade, then at Beacon. “Will you…see to her?”

  Beacon nodded. “Aye, and the…villagers. We ought to…I don’t know, perform rites or something. We can’t just leave them here.”

  “We can’t take them all back with us,” Stonewall replied, eyes flickering to the mages. “We’ll say rites when the others return and do whatever else we can.”

  “Someone from the Circle can come for the…bodies,” Milo heard himself say. “Right?” Please don’t let that task fall to us, he added silently. After we killed them.

  “I hope so,” the sergeant replied.

  Mage Sadira glanced at the mender. “Do you need our help?”

  “No,” Beacon replied. “Maybe get some food together?”

  The Zhee mage helped Mage Halcyon to her feet, and the two women went slowly back to their camp. What warmth had filled the air retreated with the mages and Milo couldn’t help but watch them go. Would they try to run? But neither one seemed interested in doing anything other than rummaging through the rations.

  As Beacon leaned over the dead priestess, Stonewall nodded to mage-carriage, which lay on its side in the powdery snow and churned earth. “Come on, Mi. Let’s see if we can salvage anything.”

  The front axle and one of the rear wheels were broken. The side where the thrall had shoved was splintered in places. While the sarge poked around the carriage’s underside, Milo examined the trail in the patchy snowfall that the vehicle had left. Sweet Mara’s mercy… The thrall had shoved the carriage well over a horse’s length across the ground.

  As Milo knelt in the snow, tracing the priestess’ footprints, Stonewall came to stand beside him. “It can probably be salvaged, but not right now. Hopefully Rook and Flint will find the horses. Otherwise, it’s going to be a long walk back to Whitewater City.”

  “How is this possible?” Milo asked, pointing to the footprints. “She is—was—such a bitty thing. How did she move the entire carriage?”

  Stonewall knelt beside him, frowning down at the tracks in the snow. “She wasn’t herself, Mi. She was…something else.”

  A bitter wind blew and Milo shivered. “What?”

  “Kali has…an idea,” the sergeant said slowly. “But I’m not sure I understand.” At Milo’s confused look, he shook his head. “It’s best if I let her explain.” He began to rise, but paused halfway up, shuddering hard enough to make his teeth chatter.

  Milo rose as well. “You all right?”

  He grimaced the instant the words left his mouth, for he had not added a deferential “ser” at the end, and the One knew he’d made enough mistakes in the past day. Forgetting an honorific wasn’t nearly the same as abandoning his post and allowing a mage to get harmed, but it could be considered insubordination. And even though Mage Halcyon was fine after Mage Sadira had healed her, Stonewall obviously had a…connection to the dark-haired woman.

  Thank the One and all the gods, Stonewall didn’t seem to notice—or care—about the informal address. “Aye,” the sergeant said. “Just got a chill.”

  “Nox’s kiss?” Milo offered.

  Stonewall gave a humorless laugh. “I suppose.” He swiped off the snow from his close-cropped dark hair and replaced his helmet. “Anyway, it’s passed. Let’s go help Beacon.”

  Heartfire. It was fitting, in a grim way, that Milo should spend the longest night of the year in such a fashion. At least the snowfall wasn’t heavy or persistent. As the men collected the bodies of the Parsan villagers, Milo searched the shadowed forest for a sign of his twin. Just when he couldn’t bear waiting any longer, the sound of hooves crunching on dried leaves reached him through the darkness. Relief swelled in his chest as he rushed forward to help Flint and Rook, who led only five horses.

  Milo’s stomach fell. “Where’s Clove?”

  “I’m sorry, Mi,” Flint said, gripping his forearm. “We think the thralls found him.”

  Another loss. The carriage horses were his responsibility, too, and he’d failed to keep them safe. Numbness filled him and all he could do was nod mutely as Rook and Flint tethered their mounts and joined in the sentinels’ task.

  *

  By the time Stonewall laid the last Parsan villager beside her neighbors, the first stirrings of dawn crept though the forest.

  Men and women of all ages; they had been monsters briefly, but now lay silent beneath the intermittent snowfall and the branches gathered to protect the dead from scavengers. Stonewall’s heart was leaden; he was responsible for their deaths. Yes, he and the others had acted in self-defense, but such action had been simpler when he had believed that thralls destroyed these people’s humanity.

  None of the sentinels spoke as they returned to their camp, where the Zhee mage knelt by the fire. At their approach, the flames sprang to new life, snapping eagerly at the darkness. A warmth like the sweetest summer day surrounded the group and Stonewall sighed with relief as he settled on his bedroll.

  “Here.”

  He looked up to see Kali holding out some rations and some of the ptarmigan that Rook had caught for their supper. “Thanks,” he said as he accepted the cloth bundle, though he was too worn to eat.

  She glanced around and then laid her hand against his cheek. She said nothing—what could either of them say, right now?—but her touch comforted him enough to take a bite.

  When everyone had food, Kali settled down across the fire from Stonewall, dark eyes fixed on the flames.

  “We should say…something,” Milo said, looking up. “Right? Or will the Circle do that when they come?”

  Beacon cleared his throat before murmuring the words that all sentinels knew by heart. “Nox bring your spirit safely over the river. Tor guide your steps into the next life. The One keep you in all your days.”

  Stonewall and the rest of the squad joined in; even the mages bowed their heads. Stonewall could not say whether Sadira believed in the gods, but Kali did not, so it heartened him to hear her voice in cadence with the others. Outside the bubble of light and warmth cast by mage fire, snow fell in soft drifts and a bitter wind still blew.

  Rook’s face was wet. “I wish we could have saved even one.”

  “We had to protect ourselves first,�
�� Flint said gruffly. “They would have killed us. Right?”

  She looked at Stonewall, but he had no answer for her. Milo toyed with his own rations and regarded Kali with uncertainty. “Do you know what’s going on? Does it have something to do with magic?”

  Kali clasped her hands and did not look at anyone. “I did some investigating at Parsa, and now I have…an idea of what’s causing the thralls. And I don’t think it has anything to do with mages.”

  “If you know anything,” Beacon said. “You must tell us. We have to stop this.”

  She gave the mender a wan smile. “I’ll tell you, but you probably won’t believe me.”

  “Try us,” Flint said.

  All the sentinels stared at Kali, waiting, but she only looked at Stonewall, her thoughts plain: Can I trust them?

  He answered without hesitation. “Please share what you’ve learned, Kali.”

  “Very well.” She seemed to consider. “To the best of my knowledge, thralls are people who have been…taken over, somehow, by the Fata.”

  No one spoke until Flint exhaled. “Glimmer stories. She’s raving mad.”

  “She’s not,” Stonewall replied with more force than he meant to. “She knows more than all of us, combined. Her magic…helps her see things we can’t. Right?” He shot Kali a look he hoped wasn’t too desperate.

  She regarded him with fondness before nodding to Flint. “Yes, mages can…examine someone up close, much closer than with the naked eye. I did so to a woman at Parsa, and I saw…something else within her. Something foreign. And I’ve done…research on the Fata, which leads me to believe they’re not only real, but they’re controlling these thralls, somehow. With their own magic, if I had to guess, though it’s dangerous to speculate too much at this stage–”

  Sadira cleared her throat and Kali’s cheeks colored as she continued. “I wanted to try and keep them,” she gestured to the villagers, “alive, because I thought—I hoped—I could figure out a way to cure them.”

  “Great job,” Flint muttered, poking her dagger against one of the burning logs.

  Stonewall glared at the burnie, but Kali spread her hands as if acquiescing. “I failed – twice. I would try a third time, but we’d have to find another thrall.”

  “What was the…” Sadira tilted her head in thought. “Constable?”

  Kali’s brows knit. “Constable? I don’t…”

  “Why could you not cure the thralls?” Sadira clarified.

  “Do you mean obstacle?” Kali asked, and Sadira nodded. “Their particles were…wild, frenzied. I couldn’t get a good enough look to even see what the problem was, let alone do anything about it. All I knew is that there was something inside them that shouldn’t be there.”

  “Particles?” Flint said, frowning. “What are those?”

  “The place where magic lives,” Stonewall and Rook said in unison. He glanced at the freckle-faced sentinel in surprise, but she only shrugged.

  Kali nodded. “Particles are how we mages interact with magic. We can sense and manipulate them to achieve a desired end. We can also examine them to figure out what’s going on with the body in which they reside.”

  “But particles are found everywhere, in all things,” Sadira added. “Not just people. Fire, for example…” She pressed one fingertip to the end of the nearest log, and flames licked up anew.

  Beacon’s eyes were round as he looked between the mages. “Fascinating. I’ve always wondered how mages heal.”

  “Magic is extraordinary.” Kali sighed. “When it works.”

  “Dunno anything about the Fata,” Milo said, sitting upright. “But if we can find another thrall, could you try again? Maybe we could drug one. Beacon? What do you think?”

  The mender ran a hand through his coppery hair. “I…suppose so, though we’d have to convince Talon to let us try.”

  Stonewall’s heart sank at the truth in Beacon’s words. Would Talon be willing to let him take Kali out of the bastion again? Before Heartfire, she’d made it clear that he was to keep his distance from his dark-haired mage, lest his squad suffer the consequences. But now, perhaps the emergency of a new thrall attack would set aside all other restrictions.

  “Sarge?”

  He glanced up to see all of them—even Kali—watching him. “It’s worth trying,” he said. “Though I’d not stake any hope of gaining the commander’s permission.” Before anyone could inquire further, he got to his feet. “It’s light enough to travel. We’d best get underway.”

  But the trip back to Whitewater City led to a dilemma, one Stonewall found he was almost too eager to solve. Without the carriage and both its horses, they had five mounts and seven passengers. Rook could have easily accommodated another, but Stonewall wanted the scout to ride in her customary place ahead of the group, keeping an eye out for danger. Beacon was too tall; his horse couldn’t reasonably carry the weight of another passenger and what supplies they’d salvaged from the carriage. Milo was also too large to warrant taking another rider.

  Stonewall made certain not to look at Kali as the others began to mount up. “Flint, would you take Sadira? If that’s all right,” he added to the Zhee mage.

  Sadira nodded and Flint brightened. “At least I’ll be warm.”

  Only one more passenger to see to. Stonewall glanced at Kali, a flush creeping up his neck. Ea’s tits, he thought, trying to fight back the feeling. They’ll know about us soon, if they haven’t figured it out already. But after nearly losing her—twice—last night, he found he didn’t care so much any longer.

  But even so, it would not do to flaunt anything, so he kept his voice professional. “Mage Halcyon, are you up to riding with me?”

  “With you?” Kali replied, just as politely, though he could read the merriment in her eyes. “I suppose so. For old time’s sake, if nothing else. We had to share a horse on our trip to Whitewater City,” she explained to Sadira. “This horse, actually.”

  Frost, the dapple-gray mare who had accompanied Stonewall and Kali on their first journey together, twitched her ears toward the mage. Kali smiled as Stonewall helped her into the saddle. “I think she remembers me.”

  “How could anyone forget you?” he said quietly. Pink bloomed upon her cheeks and her smile widened, and when their eyes met his other troubles seemed far away.

  Together.

  Beacon offered to assist Sadira, but the Zhee mage swung easily into the saddle behind Flint. The group moved out, Rook taking point. Stonewall cast one final look at the carriage, and at the bodies of the Parsan villagers before mounting. Kali leaned into him; he slid his hands a little too close to her hips as he gathered Frost’s reins.

  “Careful, Sergeant,” Kali murmured, pressing into to his armored chest.

  Stonewall fought the urge to wrap his arm around her and instead nudged Frost into a quick walk. When they caught up with the others, Flint twisted around to give Stonewall and Kali a pointed look from behind her helmet. “So, how long have you two been fucking?”

  Kali burst out laughing, startling a group of birds from their roost in a nearby pine.

  Stonewall gritted his teeth and swore inwardly. “We’re not–”

  “It’s wrong to lie, you know,” Flint broke in. “Especially when you’re terrible at it.”

  Kali’s body shook with mirth but Stonewall could find nothing amusing about this conversation. “Drop it, Flint.”

  Beacon snorted. “I think you already have, ser.”

  Flint guffawed; Sadira shot Kali a somewhat startled look and Kali shook her head, still laughing. However, Rook rode ahead, back straight as the pines surrounding them, not looking back. No doubt she wasn’t as amused as the others. Well, she and Stonewall had that in common, although he didn’t blame anyone for wanting to blow off some steam after last night. He glanced over to see Milo gaping at him.

  He had to dam this problem before it had a chance to flood. But how?

  To his surprise, it was Kali who replied to Flint. “Does it matter
?”

  No one spoke, although many confused, thoughtful glances were exchanged. A flash of fear ran through Stonewall, hot as any hematite burn. Would any of them report him and Kali to Talon? Stupid sod, he scolded himself. He’d tried to prevent such a thing from happening before, and broken off their relationship, but he’d gotten carried away with Kali – again, for she had that effect on him. Now she would pay the price

  At last Flint said, “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

  “It’s against protocol,” Rook shot back. “With good reason, I might add.”

  “A lot of things we do are against protocol.” Flint shrugged. “Besides, it’s not wrong to care about someone. You can’t control who you love.”

  The others gave Flint astonished looks, but her gaze was distant.

  Love? Was it so obvious to them? Stonewall glanced down at Kali, still laughing even as she tugged her cloak over her dark hair.

  “No, I can’t,” he said.

  Beacon offered Stonewall a rueful look. “We thought there was…someone.”

  “You thought it was Commander Talon,” Milo replied.

  “Talon?” Stonewall sputtered. Kali’s laughter died and she looked back at him, one brow raised. But he had no answer for her and instead glanced between his squad-mates. “Talon?” he asked again. “She threatened to send the lot of you to the mines if I disobeyed her. I’d sooner kiss a dung beetle.”

  “The mines?” Rook said, incredulous.

  Stonewall nodded and the others exchanged disturbed looks.

  “Well, you being with Talon seemed like the most logical…err, option,” Beacon said at last. “At the time, I mean.”

  Flint snickered. “Well, we thought you were too pious to plow a mage. Looks like we were wrong.”

  “Thank the stars,” Kali said, sending both Flint and herself into laughter again.

  Stonewall tightened his grip on the reins and tried to keep his voice calm. “Keep your heads on straight. Remember, not all of those thralls have been accounted for.”