Of Dark Things Waking (The Redemption Chronicle Book 3) Page 6

  Ben's hand stiffened. "By Akir," he breathed. "How do you know that?"

  "I saw it. Did it happen?"

  Ben sighed. His voice sounded heavier. "Every morning. Yes. Started while I was in the dungeon."

  Helix started at this. He hadn't seen it. "You were in the dungeon?" Ben would nod in response to this question.

  "Church threw me in there for reading scripture. I admitted in front of them that I'd done it—not my smartest moment, but I'd gotten an audience with King Isaic and I . . . well, truth be, I got a mite carried away."

  "An audience?" Ben's story was new, something Helix's onslaught of visions couldn't show him. He clung to it with the same fervency as his grasp on the elderman's hand.

  "They tried to take my land." He squeezed Helix's hand. "It's a long story. The King ruled against them, which, it pains me to say, I think is part of the reason they finally moved to kill him—accused him of consorting with witches and all that."

  He woke in a covered wagon, a thunderstorm whipping at the bonnet. Captain? a soldier said. Helix shoved the visions aside. They shoved back, crowding into his head with the certainty of natural sight.

  He was in the wagon, the soldier was talking to him.

  No. Here and now. Here and now. "I . . ." Helix stammered, fighting for purchase. "Is he all right? Did they kill him?" The question made him realize the urgency of the situation. "Where am I?"

  Another squeeze, grounding him. "He's all right. He's King now. You're in Basica Majesta."

  Helix's heart leapt into his throat. "Majesta? But Marcus―!"

  "Marcus is gone. Run off like a whipped dog. You don't remember?"

  Remember? Of course he remembered. He remembered everything that would ever happen; it was just that he couldn't remember anything at all.

  "Your friend, Lyseira. You know Lyseira?"

  "Lyseira. Yes."

  "Its hers now, or at least her church's. The King―"

  "Lyseira owns Basica Majesta?" He was hallucinating again; he had to be. It couldn't be real. Yet that weathered hand didn't lie.

  Ben laughed. "I know. I know. But Isaic gave it to her, after she coronated him."

  "She . . . what?"

  "I know, son. I wake up every morning thinking I dreamt the whole thing."

  "Can I see her?" Helix winced at the stupidity of the question. "I mean—can I talk to her?"

  "She's not here. She . . . left, with your cousin. It's some kind of secret."

  "The King gave her a temple, and she left?" Sounds just like Lyseira, he thought. Maybe it was real after all.

  "She did. No one knows where or why, except the King. And maybe Angbar."

  Angbar. He latched on to the name as if it were the old man's other hand. "Is he here?"

  "Yes. And he's been asking about you."

  "Can I talk to him?" he asked, and saw Angbar walk in, looking worried. "Did he just come in?" Ben would glance back at the door when Helix asked this question. A swarm of soldiers would storm through Keldale in the dead of night.

  "What? No, son—he's not here."

  "Can I talk to him?"

  "Of course. Should I go get him?"

  He would rest on an ocean beach, bones heavy with age, watching the waves roll in from Cowards' Bay. He let Ben's hand go and let the waves wash over him.

  "Yes. Please. I would like that very much."

  iii. Angbar

  Cort Rothshire, acting captain of the Crownwardens in Melakai's absence, stopped by just before highsun to check in on the new church's ability to feed people in the city. After that, Angbar took a quick lunch of manna himself, then wandered the halls making small talk and fending off requests for special attention. When he could justify that no longer, he tracked down Elthur to get another update on the blood fever victims.

  He had no solutions for any of these people. If anything, talking to them made him feel even more useless. But truth be, he would rather do nearly anything than visit Helix.

  Ben Ashandiel, the old man who had volunteered to keep an eye on him, had been pestering Angbar all week about it. This morning he'd come again, just after Angbar's meeting with Takra and Elthur, and Angbar had promised to find his way to Helix's room by the end of the day.

  Now he paused outside the door, hand poised to knock, hating himself.

  What if I just don't? he wondered. What if I just turn around and walk away? What if I told Ben that I tried, but Helix was sleeping—or better yet, that I was just too busy and couldn't make time? He squirmed like a worm on a hook, waiting its turn to be fed to the deep.

  Helix's voice came from inside. "Angbar? Angbar, is that . . . ?" He fell quiet, muttering.

  Finally, Angbar's shame overwhelmed his dread. He knocked twice. "Helix? Yeah, it's me."

  "Angbar!" He heard Helix lurching to his feet and shuffling across the room, so he opened the door to spare his friend the trouble.

  "Hey, careful there," he said, chuckling weakly as he entered. "Should you be up and walking like that?"

  But Helix plowed past his concerns and pulled him into a crushing hug. "Thank Akir," Helix muttered. "Oh, thank Akir, you're really here."

  Ah, sehk, Angbar thought. The tension in Helix's hug betrayed an ocean of need. Angbar hugged him back, awkwardly. "Of course. Yeah, of course—sorry I, ah . . . sorry I took so long."

  "You did?" Helix pulled back, but grabbed one of Angbar's hands with both of his own. "I can't tell. I can't tell . . . anything, I—I don't know what time it is, what day it is . . . everything's a jumble."

  Ben had tied a clean, white cloth over Helix's eyes, hiding the twin sucking holes that marred his face. Thank God for that. Angbar wouldn't be able to stomach the sight of them. It was sheer luck that he hadn't been treated to the same. In fact, several times in his nightmares every night, he was—losing not only his eyes, but his ears and his nose. Finger after deliberate finger. His manhood itself. The mere sight of his tortured friend threatened to send him screaming back into that black pit, that reeking cell, where he would hang, quivering and inhuman, like a slab of meat.

  "I . . ." Helix pulled back one of his hands, but kept the other tightly over Angbar's own. "I'm sorry. Ben tells me I grip too hard. I just . . . it's the only way to make sure you're real."

  Angbar winced. He hated hearing Helix talk like this. "You're still hallucinating?" He tried to keep the despair out of the words, and partially succeeded.

  But Helix shook his head. "Not hallucinations. Visions. Constantly, I'm seeing everything, but Lorna's teaching me. She's trying."

  "Lorna?" Matthew's widow, who ran an orphanage back in Keldale—literally a kingdom away. "Helix, Lorna's not here."

  "No, I know, I know, I just mean . . ." Helix gestured with his free hand, then something seemed to catch the corner of his sight. He glanced that way, grimacing blindly at the blank wall. Angbar waited. Eventually Helix squeezed his hand. "Here and now," he whispered. "Here and now."

  A hot well of grief flared in Angbar's chest. Tears surged like flames behind his eyes. What did he do to you? he wanted to cry. Ah, a'jhul, what did he do? And in his instant of weakness, that sniveling coward crawled out, took his tongue, and hoarsely said, "Should I come back? I think you could use some rest."

  "No!" Helix said. "No, please. Tell me . . . Ben said we're in Basica Majesta. In the King's city. Is that . . . that can't be right."

  Angbar released a shaky sigh. Helix's lips had mustered a coherent sentence. In his relief, one hot tear escaped his eye. He wiped it away. "No, that's right. The people overthrew the Church. Ran them out of town."

  Raspy disbelief: "What?"

  "The mob. The mob you saw. Do you remember?"

  Helix shook his head. "I don't . . . I can't remember what day it is."

  "It's Mountainday." Angbar knew how pointless that statement was, how irrelevant, even as he made it. He shook his head. "Look, it doesn't matter—you warned us. You saw a mob, but it didn't turn out the way you thought. The mob was against the C
hurch, not us. They ran them out, and now Lyseira . . ."

  Lyseira what? His own sudden vehemence caught him off guard. Lyseira nothing, Lyseira's gone, she dumped this on me while everyone started starving and dying of blood fever and ran off to Thakhan Dar with Syntal. They'd all left him here—Iggy, too—left him to deal with Helix's abominable torment and all the impossible, unbelievable burdens of a city full of the newly faithful with no one to guide them.

  "The King recognized her new church," he went on. "She has a church now. The Kesprey. Remember that book she was reading all the time?" Ah, he was cocking this up. Helix would end up even more confused than he'd been at the start. "Prince Isaic gave her leave to begin a new church. He even named her the head of it, so she could coronate him. She named him King. He's King Isaic now."

  Helix shook his head. It was a lot to swallow. Most mornings Angbar still couldn't believe it himself.

  But Helix surprised him by cutting to the heart of the matter. "Where is she now?"

  Again, Angbar tried to keep the emotion from his voice and failed miserably. "That's a damned good question. She went off to Thakhan Dar. Syntal, Iggy, and Seth went with her, and they left us here. You were in no condition to travel, and Lyseira asked me―"

  "Syntal," Helix said. "Thakhan Dar." His grip on Angbar's hand hadn't lessened. "A wardbook."

  Angbar released a weak laugh. "What else? It looks like they succeeded, at least. There was another Storm this morning."

  "There was? I didn't . . . see it."

  A joke? Angbar wondered. A complaint? He didn't know how to answer, so he didn't answer at all.

  Helix slowly turned his head, his eyes widening behind his blindfold. "How . . .?" he started, then shook his head and squeezed Angbar's hand.

  Here and now, Angbar thought.

  "This man, Ben," Helix said. "He's taking care of me?"

  "He's stuck here for the winter, like most of us," Angbar said. "I'm sorry," he lied, "I wanted to take care of you myself but I'm so busy with Lyseira gone—they're tearing me apart, you should see all the―"

  "He's sick," Helix said. "Blood, he wakes up with blood in his beard."

  Oh, no. Angbar's blood ran cold. Takra this morning, and now Ben, too?

  "I saw it," Helix said.

  "Oh, God," Angbar managed. "Blood fever, it's called, a lot of people have . . . ah, God."

  "Lyseira," Helix pressed. "Can she cure it? When she gets back?"

  "No. She tried. Her miracles don't do anything."

  "Wait," Helix said. "You can cure it."

  Angbar wilted. The visions are taking him again. "No, Helix." He squeezed his friend's hand. "I'm Angbar. Remember? I don't work miracles."

  "But you can cure it. You can, I see . . ." He slowly cocked his head, as if watching a spider climb the wall. "It's you. It's you."

  "M'sai." He led Helix back toward the bed. "I think it's time for a rest."

  "It's something . . . you know. It's something from you."

  "All right." He moved Helix's hand to the bed post, something solid to occupy him while Angbar made his escape. "I have to go, Helix. I'll visit again later."

  "Angbar?" Helix's head drifted as if scanning the room. "Not that one," he whispered. "The other one."

  And Angbar fled the room, chased by his own shame.

  3

  i. Lyseira

  They had come to Thakhan Dar from the south, docking off the shore of Longmorn and then cutting east through the foothills, so during their ascent up the mountain she had been spared the sight that now threatened to break her.

  A small hamlet splayed out on a frozen lake's edge, its houses little more than a smattering of black dots against the winter's glaring white: the village of Southlight.

  Home.

  That was why she'd really come, she'd told herself: not because she cared overmuch about Syntal's wardbook or anything they'd find on Thakhan Dar, but because she was long overdue to check on her mother. To find out who had survived the Tribunal's brutal search a year and a half ago, and who had paid for her choices with their lives.

  She'd told herself that she needed to know; that the time had finally come to return, to either find her mother or learn the truth. And so she'd come—leaving behind the dozens of fawning, grasping acolytes, the would-be Kesprey who thought she spoke for God, the city that somehow believed she had the authority to name the King. All of them looking to her as if she had the answers, as if she had some direct inspiration from Akir.

  None of them understood that she had left home seeking the same answers herself, that she was making it up as she went along.

  Their ill-placed faith weighed as much as Helix's ruined eyes; it was so heavy it crushed the breath from her lungs. At its worst it ignited a wild panic in her heart, the kind of blistering alarm typically reserved for scattering prey. She had fought through it again and again over the months, forcing herself to wake each morning and do what she could—to pass on what little of Ethaniel's wisdom she'd managed to glean from his History, to fill in the sizable gaps with what passed for her own wisdom, and most importantly, to try to replicate what she and Angbar had managed to do in Tal'aden's Red Quarter. Feed the hungry. Teach the illiterate. Transform the lives of the poor.

  The morning of the Dedication, last summer, she had been prepared to spend the rest of her life in the pursuit of that work, yet Akir had taken it from her. Only after she came to the edge of ending her own life did He see fit to restore that dream—but only in the most overwhelming way possible.

  She didn't run, she'd told herself. She'd had to check on her mother. But she realized now that it had been an excuse all along—of course she'd been running, and what's worse, she'd been running into something that terrified her.

  What if she got down there and found her mother was gone? What if she'd died trying to save her?

  The last time they'd seen each other had been just after Helix's trial. Lyseira had convinced Seth to help her save Helix, but they had tried to sneak out without talking to Mom. Thinking back on it now, Lyseira realized just how irresponsible that had been—she'd been scared to face her mother, to try and justify her decision, even though that decision threatened Mom only slightly less than it threatened Lyseira herself. In the end, though, when the soldiers had come to the door, Mom had sent Lyseira away and faced them.

  To this day, Lyseira had no idea if she had survived the night.

  "Almost there," Iggy said, joining her to take in the view. Somehow the two words captured everything she felt, every bit of dread and hope. I'm not the only one who risked my family, she reminded herself. Iggy had to be at least as worried as she was. Syntal even more so. Lyseira squeezed her friend's hand and did her best to put her complex emotions aside.

  Syntal's magic saw them down the last of the mountainside. Iggy took an afternoon and flew to the distant village as a pigeon, applying his enigmatic powers to the problem of scouting ahead.

  "The church is shuttered," he said when he returned. "Annish is gone."

  "Did you see my mother?" Lyseira asked, but he shook his head.

  "I did a pass over the village, but the only place I checked closely was the church."

  Over the next few days, they trudged through snow drifts and the treachery of the foothills until finally their little hometown lay before them. The legendary winter that now blanketed all of Darnoth had come to Southlight as well, freezing Pinewood Lake and burying it in snow, so they hiked across the frozen lake to enter the village from the southeast.

  Lyseira spared a glance backward at Syntal. This was where she found it, she remembered. The first wardbook, with Lar'atul's corpse in the grotto under the lake. They'd been playing hide and sneak, and Seth had run off, and they'd all chased him here. It felt now like a story from another life. You can't even see the lake today, she thought. Or recognize the kids that played in it.

  As they drew closer to town, they found a single path beaten through the snow, the product of horse hooves and hardy vil
lagers—but the log stacks outside the houses were running low, and many of them had no smoke curling from their chimneys. Abandoned. The word crept into Lyseira's thoughts like a thief. She did her best to ignore it, but when they stopped to check on Angbar's parents and found the house empty, it curled around her heart like a fist.

  It doesn't mean they're dead, she tried to convince herself. They could have cleared out before the winter got too bad, or right away after Marcus left. And even if something did happen to them, it doesn't mean anything happened to Mom. But Angbar would be devastated, and it wasn't a good sign for her own mother, no matter how she tried to convince herself otherwise. She tried to quiet her own thoughts as they returned to the path to town.

  "I'll meet you back here," Iggy said when they reached a crook in the road. He had to part with them here; the Ardenfell ranch would be farther south.

  "Good luck," Lyseira said.

  "You, too."

  The rest of them turned north. The Fletchins house was in a bad way, part of its roof sagging under the weight of the snow. Helix's sweetheart, she remembered. I wonder where she is now. Maid Betsy's house looked even worse: its door hung open, revealing the snow drifted high into the living room.

  "They must have left," Seth said, but his voice didn't hold much conviction.

  Sure, Lyseira thought. Left . . . or frozen to death. Even that was her responsibility. Even the weather, now, could be laid at her feet—because this hadn't been any mere blizzard, it had been Stormsign, and Lyseira's endorsement of Syntal's quest was as responsible for it as the girl herself.

  Around one final bend, and there it was: her childhood home, the rickety house she'd grown up in. The doors, at least, were closed, and the ceiling intact—but there was no log stack outside. And the chimney was cold.

  Her heart quickened, a sudden hiccup of grief stealing into her chest. No. She broke into a clumsy run through the snow. Mom! she wanted to shout. Mom? But winter's silence suffocated her. She needed every breath in her lungs for running.

  She slipped on the porch step, caught herself, and burst toward the front door. As she pounded on it, her voice finally came loose. "Mom?" she cried. "Mom?"