Of Dark Things Waking (The Redemption Chronicle Book 3) Page 10

  "Akir wants better for His children! He wants better for you!"

  Then prove it. For some it was a demand, for others a plea, but Cort could see the words simmering in every face in the crowd.

  "He has a plan!" she cried. "He will feed us, I swear it, but we will not stand by while the strong steal from the weak." She pointed an accusing finger at the young men who had attacked the old woman. "Do that again—any of you!—and we will turn our backs on you. We will watch you starve. Akir's generosity is not for the wicked. It's for the patient and the faithful—and you cannot steal it, you cannot command it. You can make no demands of God. None of us can. I can't. I can only do the same as you: wait, and pray, and keep faith. And every time I have, Akir has provided. Every. Time.

  "When I rode into the fire in Keldale, He provided. When I was dying of thirst in the Waste, He provided. When I came to the Keswick square prepared to die, He provided."

  Incredibly, some in the crowd murmured their agreement. They had heard these stories: not as dusty old sermons delivered from a pulpit on Dawnday, but from firsthand accounts from those in Keldale and Twosides who had seen the girl and her friends emerge alive from tribulation.

  The tension lessened, inching almost imperceptibly back toward civility. Cort heaved a sigh, easing his grip on his sword.

  "I stand here before you as living proof that He will provide!" Lyseira drew a deep breath. Some unknowable emotion, some daring recklessness, flickered behind her eyes. "And tomorrow morning, I will tell you how."

  A new murmur seized the crowd: one of anticipation and faith. "You swear it?" someone shouted.

  "I swear it," she called back, "or we will watch this whole temple burn."

  Behind her Angbar ran a trembling hand through his hair, his dark skin suddenly tinged with green.

  "Bless you, Grey Girl!"

  "Thank you, Mother Lyseira!"

  Cort fought back a snort. "Mother Lyseira"? The girl's younger than I am.

  And Kai's voice, immediately reprimanding him: Whatever keeps them calm, Loyalman.

  The crowd started to break up and drift away. Some broke out blankets or laid down in the filthy slush, prepared to wait until morning. Cort took the opportunity to urge his mount forward once more. At the temple steps, he dismounted and raced to catch the Grey Girl before she vanished into the temple.

  "Mother Lyseira!" he called, imagining Kai's cackle of mockery for using the term he'd just disparaged. "The King requires you at the palace at once." He held out Isaic's summons, sealed with the griffon and the lance.

  Lyseira glanced at him as if he had just asked her to do a juggling headstand. "Well, I need to pray," she snapped before turning away. "Tell the King to wait."

  5

  i. Lyseira

  She had never told so many lies in her life.

  Akir had a plan? God would never let them starve? Were those jokes?

  They were ready to kill each other, she told herself. I said what I had to say.

  And tomorrow morning, when I still have no answers? she demanded. What then? When they fall to murdering each other for blood-soaked bread? What then, Lyseira?

  The questions whipped her as she stalked through the chapel, gasps of Lyseira! and The Grey Girl! chasing at her heels.

  "It's not that I'm not glad to see you," Angbar said carefully, hurrying to catch up, "but—'burn down the temple'?" She wouldn't meet his eyes, refused to answer his accusation. "Are you sure―?"

  "It won't happen," she lied, then compounded it with another: "Akir will have an answer for them."

  "Lyseira," Elthur said, emerging from the chapel's rear exit. "Thank Akir, we've all been―"

  She shoved past him, through the door and into the temple's administrative and living area. He called after her, and she ignored him—ignored all of them, all their hopeful looks and betrayed stares, all their clamoring, infinite need. She stalked past the door to the late Keeper's ridiculous, excessive office, along the curving hall to the simple storage room she had cleared out and made her own. Her modest accommodations were still here, untouched: a simple cot, a few odds and ends that had survived the journey from home. She tossed her travel pack into the corner and slammed the door behind her.

  They're all dying, she snarled. All the people You had me save. Again. Just like in Tal'aden. Just like in Red. If He were here, she would scream at Him—but He wasn't here, because He only spoke when He felt like it. And I can't do it again. I can't watch them all die again. I can't, do You hear me, I can't, I won't, I refuse.

  Her mother was safe in a Royal district inn now, or as safe as she was likely to get—but a vision of her face swam into Lyseira's thoughts. "I don't know what you expected," Lyseira hissed at her, "but here I am. 'Don't lie,' that's what you always told me—but what did you expect me to tell them? 'You're going to starve, so make your peace?' 'Once enough of you die, we'll be able to make enough manna for the survivors?' What? You made me come back here, but you don't have any sehking answers!" The curse gleamed like a barb on her tongue, vicious and forbidden. "Sehk," she said again, just to taste it. "God sehking―!" Her old taboos arrested her, froze the words before they could finish.

  They're going to die! she screamed at Him. Where in Hel are You?

  And He threw His arms around her, pulled her to His chest. Here, He promised. I'm here.

  His presence knocked the wind out of her. She sank to her knees, weeping. No, You're not. You never are. You never stay.

  I am, He swore. Right now. I hear you. He tightened His embrace, pulled her head to His shoulder as the sobs wracked her. He had never felt so real, so close—and still, how could she trust Him? How could she believe anything He said? How could she know it wasn't just a trick of her own head—some desperate hallucination, like Marcus had claimed?

  Only through faith, He said. I wish it were otherwise.

  Then make it otherwise! she threw back. If You are God, act like it!

  He had no answer. Of course, He had no answer. Were You even there? In the square, when the mob attacked Majesta, was that You?

  It was Me.

  The rain in the Waste, when I felt You crying?

  It was Me. A memory of anguish flooded her, a mere glimpse of His ocean of pain. I was devastated.

  She knew He had been. She had felt it then, echoed in her own suffering. She sucked at the air like a newborn, forced one raw, desperate question: Then why?

  She pictured all the death in Red, Angbar's days of torture at the hands of sadists, Helix shrieking as they burned out his eyes. She accosted Him with visions of clerics murdering in His name, working the same miracles He granted her. The question scraped at her soul like a thorn.

  Why?

  His silence was deeper than any Storm's.

  I'm talking to myself, she thought, breathless, even if I'm not.

  No. Daughter, hear Me.

  She blinked the tears from her eyes, wiped her nose with one ragged sleeve.

  I have this answer for you, and this answer only. Hear Me.

  She waited, wondering if she had gone mad.

  I love you.

  The words struck her like a blow to the stomach. She melted to the floor, prone.

  I love you.

  She shook her head, limply. That's no answer, that's nothing, it—

  I love you. That deep embrace, that powerful heat.

  I love all my children, yes, you spoke the truth when you told them that. But you are My most precious daughter. You have asked the questions no others would. You have kept faith where all others would fail. You have returned to Me despite every reason to hate Me.

  My most precious daughter. She marveled at the words like a lover with a diamond ring. Then help me, she begged. I need an answer. I can't let them starve.

  They won't starve, He said, if they sow the fields.

  Her breath caught in her chest. Sow the fields? she whispered. It could be figurative or literal, could mean anything. Do You mean―?

  Take
the last of the grain seed. Plant it in the frozen soil. And keep faith.

  And she felt Him leave, departing from her mind like the forgotten muse of a madwoman.

  ii. Melakai

  He finished his report and waited, hands clasped behind his back, as Isaic turned steadily paler.

  "Well," the young King finally sighed, "it's worse than I'd feared."

  "I do think you can trust them," Kai reiterated. "They're powerful, sure, but they're also young. They don't have a lot of world experience. And none of them are interested in political power."

  Isaic grunted. "Perhaps not yet." He scowled at Kai. "Oh, at ease. Sit down."

  Kai sat, but held his tongue.

  "We're starving here, Kai. A less loyal soldier would've done well not to return—you may have come back just to starve. The whole city's depending on the silos, and they're nearly empty. We've sent birds to Twosides, Colmon—even the Old Kingdom, but no one has anything to spare. This winter, it . . ." He trailed off, shaking his head. "The only reason more people haven't died yet is this new church. The Grey Girl's manna."

  "They won't have that in Tal'aden," Kai mentioned, "which means the winter will be even harder on them, which can only be good for us come spring."

  "Assuming there are any of us left come spring." Isaic stared past him, eyes hard. "The people's trust in their new king was shaky to begin with. Not everyone was happy to see the old Church go, and even those who were . . . once you overthrow one authority, it's easy enough to overthrow the next, isn't it?" He shook his head. "I have no power, Kai. All I do have, that Rulano girl gave me. She's the one they're looking to for answers. She could walk in here with her brother and a band of clerics to end me, and I could hardly raise a finger to stop her."

  "She'd have to go through me," Kai said.

  Isaic scoffed. "She can call fire and Bindings; if she brought her chanter friends, too, they could tear the very building down around us. What could you do?"

  Kai glanced at Lar'atul's sword, still hanging from his hip; remembered the ghostly blue light it shed when he gripped it, and the lightning bolt that had torn from his sword during the riots, killing a Preserver instantly. More than you might think, he thought—but didn't say, because he had no idea what he actually meant by it.

  "I resented the Church for their stranglehold on the throne," the King said grimly, "but I traded a scorpion for a pair of rattlesnakes."

  Kai suppressed an irritated sigh. Would you just calm down? he wanted to say. You're making this worse than it actually is. But while Isaic might have trusted Kai, and even granted him freer permission to voice his thoughts than most, there was a line it was best not to cross. He wrestled his tongue under control before he spoke. "Your Highness, is a rattlesnake still a rattlesnake if it doesn't know it has fangs?"

  That got Isaic's attention. Finally, Kai thought, and went on. "Listen. These friends of Harth's—none of 'em's seen twenty summers. They grew up in a little village down in the valley; place is like a wart on the kingdom's butt cheek. They were raised as peasants and they're peasants still. They don't have any designs on your throne—they can't even imagine sitting the throne."

  But Isaic was shaking his head. "Kai, you said one of them levitated the whole lot of you most of the way up the mountainside. The same one that blasted lightning into my execution stage."

  "Sure. That's Syntal. She spent the entire journey with her nose in her book. She has no idea what's happening six inches from her face. She's powerful, yes, but . . . she doesn't care, Your Highness. She's grateful to you for letting her stay in Keswick, for finally giving her a place to call home. They all are. They'd been running for almost a year before they came here. And they're all like that—the shapeshifter, Ignatius, doesn't even like to stay inside the walls. It makes him uncomfortable. He doesn't want your throne. Seth is the same; he might boss his friends around, but I traveled with the kid for almost three months, and I can tell you, he isn't interested in power." Kai sighed. "Lyseira's . . . a bit trickier, but I can at least say that she's constantly trying to wriggle out of authority. She doesn't want it. She didn't ask for it. Hel, I think she went on that trip to try and get away from it, and she almost didn't come back. This is all being foisted on her, and there's never any telling how that will affect a person, but as of now, she's staying humble."

  A knock came at the door. Kai cracked it open to find Cort waiting in the hall, looking pensive—but his eyes lit up as they saw each other. "Kai!"

  "Loyalman," Kai said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "Had enough of king's congress?"

  Cort rolled his eyes. "Oh, I could tell you―" He snaked his head past Kai. "Is His Highness―?"

  "I'm here," Isaic said. "Come in, Loyalman. Report."

  Kai closed the door behind him as Cort bowed. "Lyseira's returned, Your Highness. I saw her at Majesta."

  "Good. Is she on her way here, then? Or has she already arrived?"

  "She, ah—they . . . well, things were going badly at the temple. The people almost revolted when they heard the church was out of manna. When she arrived she spoke to them and calmed them down, and promised an answer by tomorrow morning."

  "What?" Isaic straightened. "Tomorrow? What kind of answer?"

  "I don't know, Your Highness. She didn't say."

  "Well, she can explain it to me herself. Did she come back with you?"

  "She . . . I gave her the message, but she . . ."

  Oh no. A quiet dread settled into Kai's gut. "Out with it," he grunted.

  "She declined."

  An icy silence descended. 'Staying humble,' indeed, Kai thought. Stuck my foot in that one.

  Isaic delivered his words carefully. "What exactly did she say?"

  "She said, ah . . . well, she said—'The king can wait.'"

  Sehk. Kai's thoughts spun, wondering how bad this was going to get. "Your Highness―" he started, but Isaic ran over him.

  "The King does not wait," he said, "and if she thinks he does, it is your responsibility to disabuse her of this notion."

  Cort bowed and scraped. "Of course, Your Highness. I was so surprised to see her, I―" Isaic's glare ground his excuses to silence. "I'll return right now."

  "No. She's not worth a man of your station; I'll not spare you twice. Did you deliver the message to the others I mentioned?"

  "I . . . saw her first, Your Highness, and thought it best to let you know as soon as possible."

  Isaic nodded sharply. "Fine. Don't. Send another message, this one delivered by page just to her. She will report to the palace immediately or there will be consequences." Cort nodded and backed toward the door. "And send one to Harth, as well. He can answer for her if she doesn't show."

  "Your Highness," Kai said again. Isaic fixed him with a steely glare.

  "Yes, Captain. You were saying something about how humble the girl is?"

  "I know. I know. But—we've been traveling for nearly three months. We literally just returned. Give the girl one night to recover." Kai winced inwardly. Stop bossing him around, Thorn, it'll just get his back up.

  "You just returned. You reported straight away, and you're what? Forty summers her senior?"

  "Yes, Your Highness, but―" You're both hotheads, he wanted to snarl, and the wrong word said in the heat of the moment right now could bring it all down. You both need some time to breathe. He swallowed his tone, forced a note of ingratiation into his speech that galled him. "I'm exhausted, and so is she. You sent me to observe—well, I observed. She's no threat to you. She's just young and stupid, and doesn't understand decorum."

  Isaic's temple pulsed as he ground his jaw. "Fine," he said to Cort. "Tomorrow at highsun—both of them." He pointed a finger at Kai. "But if she doesn't learn some decorum soon, I'll see to it that this church goes the same way as the last one."

  iii. Helix

  Cool ceramic in his hands. The taste of brisk water still fresh on his tongue. He kept a firm grip on these realities; they were the eye of the hurricane. />
  Seven steps back to the door. Through that, and around to the left. One foot in front of the other, as he slogged through a slurry of futures: bloody battles and casual conversations, earth-shaking revelations and nights he would spend on the chamber pot. It all melted together, each indistinguishable from the next.

  Breathe. I'm in the hallway, now. Hand on the right wall. Five steps to the first doorway.

  He steeled himself against the churn, fighting to hear his own thoughts—but also fishing, delicately, for that single thread of the nearest future. The glimpses of the things that were nearly immediate. Those immediate instants were the most important, Lorna had told him—no, would tell him. Next time he saw her. But he could hear her now, could somehow benefit from the wisdom she had yet to impart.

  Twelve more steps past that first doorway. The cool cup in his left hand, the smooth stone of the wall against the fingertips of his right. Then a second door. This one would be open. Syntal would be inside.

  There. The thread slithered through his hands and vanished in the churn, but not before he saw it: the marble walls of the hallway, a glass window glaring with cold winter sunlight, a single young cleric standing with his back to the wall to give Helix space. Of course, Mister Smith, the cleric would say, with a smile and a shallow nod.

  "Thank you," Helix said.

  "Of course, Mister Smith."

  He rounded the corner, back to his room at last, before remembering that he'd seen his cousin. Was it real? Was it now, or just another glimpse of the churn? "Syn?" he said.

  She would smile. "You're walking," she said.

  He set down the cup on the end table—just inside the room, immediately to the left—and pushed toward her through the nothingness, arms wide: a leap of faith. She would catch him, pull him into a hug, but he trusted none of it until he actually felt the brush of her hair on his cheek and the grip of her arms.