Children of a Broken Sky (Redemption Chronicle Book 1) Read online

  He kept one eye on the common room throughout the day, hoping to catch a glimpse of Iggy or Angbar so he could ask them if they'd heard the news. Better still would be Lyseira—if anyone would know what was happening, she would. But the day dragged past without any of his friends showing their faces. Finally, an hour before sundown, Mellerson paid him and sent him home.

  Outside, he stole a glance toward the temple. A jail wagon stood near the road, a stark reminder of the bishop's threats that morning. Nearby, Lyseira and Seth were grooming mounts.

  It was strange, seeing Seth around town like that. Helix still wasn't used to it. The quiet young man pouring oats into a bucket was nothing like the boy Helix remembered. He wanted to go over and say hello, to pick Lyseira's brain about the village's visitors, but he was in a hurry to reach Syntal. And besides, a Preserver was standing on the steps—not the same one Helix had seen at the inn, which meant Marcus had at least two with him. This thought was all Helix needed to turn toward home.

  He stole down a side road and cut through Old Maid Betsy's yard. A few quick turns later and he was nearly home. That was when he saw Matthew coming up the road.

  His heart leapt into his throat, and his muscles froze.

  I've got to warn him.

  I can't get involved.

  I can't just let him stumble into this; he doesn't even know they're here.

  I need to get home and talk to Syntal.

  He threw a furtive glance around him. It was dinnertime, and the road was nearly empty; Sam Mockling was puttering in his garden, but the old man's hearing wasn't what it used to be. Helix jogged over to Matthew, his brain still warring with itself, expecting at any minute to hear a sudden shout of accusation from the Justicar.

  "Matthew," he hissed.

  Matthew cocked his head. "Helix! Old Mellers let you out early tonight?"

  "Listen to me," Helix pressed, trying to keep his voice low. He threw another glance behind him. He felt like he was trying to steal across the road naked. "You can't go back. There's some priest here from the Tribunal. He's a bishop, Matthew. They're looking for you."

  "Marcus is here?"

  "Marcus, yeah, that was it—and he has a Justicar with him, and Preservers. They came in and asked for you. Mellers gave them a key to your room. You've got to get out of here."

  Matthew sobered. A sudden wind came up, making his robe suck against his legs; something about it made him look impossibly frail. He said nothing.

  "Matthew?" Helix finally prompted.

  "Did you give that letter to your dad?" Matthew asked.

  Helix blinked. "What? The letter?" Helix shook his head. "Did you hear what I said?"

  "Yes, Helix, I heard you. Did you hear me?"

  "I—" The truth was, he'd completely forgotten about Matthew's letter, but that had nothing to do with anything. "My dad isn't heading up to Keldale any time soon. I was wrong about that." He looked around again. If they catch me talking to him... "Look, I'll handle the letter, m'sai? But you—"

  "I can take care of myself. I need you to take care of that letter."

  "M'sai," Helix agreed, annoyed.

  Matthew grabbed his shoulder. "No. Not 'm'sai.' Promise me." His voice trembled with need.

  "M'sai," Helix breathed. "I promise."

  Matthew's grip on his shoulder was unrelenting. Finally, he let him go and pushed past, into the gathering wind. "Get home," he said, feeling his way forward.

  "And stay inside tonight."

  ~ ~

  He took the porch steps in two quick jumps and burst through the front door like a gale. Mom started, nearly dropping the pot of stew she was pulling from the wood stove.

  "Sweet Akir," she accused. "What rev'naas got into you?"

  "Sorry. I just—here." He dug into his pockets and set his pay on the table. "Is Syn here?"

  "Should be, I just heard her," Mom said. "Are you well?"

  "Yeah," Helix said. He forced himself to slow, to give his mother a grin and a kiss on the cheek. "Yeah, sorry. Just excited about something."

  Mom rolled her eyes. "Dinner's almost ready."

  "M'sai." Helix hurried past her and rapped on Syntal's door. "Coz," he said.

  No answer. He knocked again. "Syn!"

  "What?" She sounded sleepy. Lately, she always sounded sleepy.

  "Let me in," he said, irritated.

  "I'm trying to nap," she answered.

  "It's almost dinner. Mom'll get you up anyway. C'mon."

  She opened the door. Her hair, jet black and gleaming when it was clean, was a rat's nest on her shoulders. She glanced away, but not before he caught a glimpse of her eyes, brilliant as emeralds.

  His heart clenched.

  "Syn," he breathed. "Damn it." He slipped in, shutting the door behind him. That's it, he wanted to demand. Tell me what in Hel is going on. Instead, he took a breath and decided on another tack.

  "There's a bishop from the Tribunal here. He's looking for a warlock." She whirled toward him, her eyes wide. Oh, do I finally have your attention? "He has two Preservers and a Justicar with him. If any of them see you like that..."

  "It's not that noticeable," Syn protested. "Mom and Dad have never said anything."

  "Mom and Dad are idiots," Helix threw back. "They wouldn't see it if it bit them—"

  He stopped. This was an old song and dance. It had never gotten them anywhere. "Syn, please. The Tribunal is here." The words echoed in the room like a thunderclap.

  She covered her mouth and sank onto her bed. Her right hand lurched to her ring, twisting it like a compulsion. "Sehk," she breathed.

  "Will you please tell me what's going on?" When she didn't answer, he went on: "It's the book, isn't it? Are you still keeping it under the porch?"

  She shook her head.

  "How did you even get it open? It busted one of Dad's best shears."

  She was staring at the floor, her hand still over her mouth. Her face had gone white.

  "Syntal, damn it, c'mon. You have to talk to me."

  "It's a book of spells," she said. "Like in the stories. M'sai?" She drew a shuddering breath; her thin frame shook with it. "They're real. They work."

  The room could've lurched to the side, threatening to spill him to the floor. He put a hand to the wall, trying to keep his feet.

  He'd suspected for months now, but that didn't make the news land any softer.

  "How...?" The word tumbled off his tongue and fell to its death. "Well, we have to get rid of it. Is it still under the porch?"

  "No." She still wasn't looking at him. "It's hidden. They won't find it."

  "They can work miracles, Syntal. Hunting witches is all they do. They can find it. We have to... I don't know, burn it, or something. We can't let them—"

  Then, finally, she looked at him. "What are you gonna do?"

  "That's what I'm talking about right now. The book—"

  "No," she snapped. "You. Are you gonna tell them? Are you gonna tell Mom and Dad?"

  There was fear in her eyes, boiling behind that brilliant emerald like a volcano. Panic pulsed in a vein at her neck.

  He could feel his jaw working uselessly. He closed it, drew a deep breath through his nose.

  "Sehk, Syntal," he finally managed. "No. M'sai? I won't tell anyone. Mom and Dad will figure it out on their own, and the bishop..." He shook his head. "Look, I'm sorry I scared you, but he's not here looking for you. He's after Brother Matthew. You just... you have to stop this. Mom and Dad might be able to pretend nothing's wrong, but this Bishop Marcus... you didn't see him. He's sharp. He won't miss it."

  Syntal was nodding. "M'sai."

  "Where is the book?"

  She shook her head again and made for the door. Mom was calling them for dinner.

  ~ ~

  Night fell clear and cold. Moonlight streamed in through his bedroom window, pooling softly on his floor. He lay still on his bed, but his mind was churning.

  Syntal had avoided him after dinner. His parents, as usual, h
ad either not noticed her eyes or chosen not to say anything. Fine. She could try to keep away from him, but he still didn't think she truly understood the danger she was in.

  Witchcraft? He shook his head. Father Forthin told them about new witches every year, always caught by the Tribunal and put to death. How could she be so stupid?

  If the book had her spells in it, and she wouldn't get rid of it herself, then he'd take care of it for her.

  He threw off the covers and got out of bed. There were only a few places she could be keeping the thing. She'd said it wasn't under the porch, but that had been their secret hiding place since they were little. He'd check there first. He lit the lantern perched atop his dresser, then dug through the top drawer for a warmer shirt.

  The lantern's wavering light fell across the letter Matthew had given him three weeks ago.

  Helix stopped, still clutching the new shirt, as he stared at the letter. Matthew's words echoed in his thoughts. Promise me.

  Why had Matthew been so obsessed with it? Helix had just told him the Tribunal was here, that there was a bishop looking for him, and his first reaction had been to ask about the letter.

  Had he heeded Helix's warning, and gotten out of the village? Or had he gone back to the inn? And if he had, where was he now?

  His stomach suddenly twisted like he was going to be sick. Normally, he'd not spare a second thought for the Church or its witch hunters, but Matthew was not a bad person. He didn't deserve mistreatment. And if even half of what he'd said about the Church in the last three weeks was true...

  "I did everything I could," he muttered to the empty room. I warned him, which could've gotten me killed. I could've just crossed the road and ignored him.

  I did everything I could.

  He pulled on the new shirt and started for the door. Then, before he could think better of it, he turned back and ripped the letter open.

  The script was crisp and brief.

  Lorna, my love -

  You were right. I won't be able to get back this time. Akir is bringing me home. I miss you. You have no idea how much, but there is no other way. Give the children kisses for me.

  I love you.

  I'm sorry.

  He read it again, then a third time. It was a farewell, but why? Did Matthew think he was going to die? Did he know the Tribunal was coming? If so, why wouldn't he run?

  Helix dug at his temples. There was too much going on, too many confusing things happening at once. He couldn't make sense of it. But if the Tribunal wanted Matthew, then Helix was sure he didn't want them finding this note.

  He wrapped it carefully in one of his seldom-worn shirts, and shoved it as far back in the drawer as he could. He grabbed the lantern, but as he turned for the door, his eye caught on the window.

  There was someone running through his backyard.

  Helix's breath froze. He sneaked to the window and crouched, his heart racing.

  The figure was nearly amorphous in the dim moonlight, flitting through the night like a shadow. Helix squinted into the dark. Robes. His pulse quickened further. And a walking staff.

  His eyes widened. Brother Matthew. He was sure of it now: the man was running west, toward the road.

  Helix felt a flood of relief. He listened. I don't know why he's only leaving now, but at least he listened. He pressed his face to the cold window, craning to either direction, looking for anyone else who might've seen him.

  Then a horse and rider burst around the corner of the house, streaking toward the blind man like a javelin.

  Helix clutched the window frame. Matthew couldn't see his pursuer. He might not even know he was there.

  I have to warn him.

  I can't get involved!

  He's going to get run down!

  "Matthew!" Helix screamed. "Behind you!"

  Matthew stumbled to a halt and turned around. The rider hurtled toward him, bent low to his horse's neck.

  Helix hurled his bedroom door open and dashed through the house, the lantern spraying wild light across the walls. Somewhere behind him Syntal called his name, her voice thick with sleep.

  He burst out the front door like a racehorse, felt the cold air shatter over him as if he'd dived into a lake. He ran to the back of his house in a silence broken only by the mad pumping of his feet and the thunder of his breath.

  As he rounded the corner he saw the horse's silhouette come down from a rearing stand, its hooves thrashing. Beneath it, the robed figure crumpled to the ground.

  "Matthew!" Helix screamed again, his throat raw from the cold. He kept running, hoping to reach them in time, but the two figures were well across the field. He would never make it.

  The horseman's shadow leapt to the ground. A weapon appeared in his hand; in the near darkness, it seemed summoned by magic. The figure crossed the distance to the fallen cripple in two long strides, the weapon twirling easily in his hands. Matthew scrambled to his hands and knees, sweeping the ground for his staff.

  The figure impaled him.

  The blind man pitched forward, collapsing like a gutted fish. A thick, liquid cry gurgled out of him.

  His murderer might have glanced at Helix; in the darkness it was impossible to tell. Then he climbed onto his horse, his sword still jutting from the blind man's body.

  Numb with horror, the smith's son kept running. Finally, he crashed to a frantic kneel.

  "Matthew," Helix wheezed. The man was facedown in the dirt, his bloody fingers fumbling at the blade buried halfway into his back. He tried to say something, but produced only a thin whistle.

  Helix tore the sword from Matthew's body, dropping it into the bloody grass. He rolled the man over to find blood welling from his chest like a spring.

  "Oh God," Helix heard himself whimper. He was in someone else's body, watching their hands fall to Matthew's chest, slipping through the bloody mess of robes and flesh, struggling impotently to hold in the man's blood. "Oh God. Oh Akir, oh God." Suddenly, one of Matthew's hands grabbed Helix's wrist, latching onto it like a claw.

  "I'm sorry." The words were garbled and wet, burbling through the blood on his lips.

  "No," Helix whimpered, but he didn't know why.

  A horse neighed overhead and Helix looked up dumbly, half expecting to see a second sword flash down for him. It was the rider, its horse rearing as he turned it away. In the perfect frame of the full moon, its silhouette had horns, like some demon made flesh. Then the animal's front hooves dropped to the ground, and it bore its rider into the shadows.

  Distantly, Helix heard Syntal call his name.

  The smith's son bent back to Matthew. He spread his fingers and pushed his palms hard against the fallen man's gushing chest, trying to stem the river of blood. Prayers babbled from his mouth like nonsense.

  "Helix!" Syntal's voice again, closer this time.

  The Abbot can heal him, he thought.

  The Abbot is dead.

  "Get a cleric," Helix said. His voice had become a wet rag. "He's dying." His voice caught on the last word and he coughed. His hands slipped away from Matthew's wound, sliding across his bloody chest, and he was mortified to see the furious pumping of blood from the wound already abating.

  "Hurry!" he shrieked. As his cousin ran back toward the house, he turned again to Matthew and whispered another prayer.

  Blood spattered from Matthew's mouth as his breathing slowed. Once more, he tried to speak.

  "Yours now," he murmured wetly.

  "Shhh," Helix said. "Help is coming. Help is coming."

  The man's head flopped weakly to one side. His mouth made a black, gurgling noise that may have been his wife's name.

  ~ ~

  When Helix heard the horses approaching, he was still staring at Matthew's body.

  "He's gone," he said without turning. "You're too late."

  He heard people swinging off of horses and jumping to the ground. Someone spoke in a tongue Helix had heard only a handful of times in his life, from Abbot Forthin, and the air flared
with light. Suddenly, the shadow of Matthew's broken body was thrown into stark contrast: the blackness on his chest transformed into a savage mess of blood, the cold lump of his head an alabaster ruin.

  Bishop Marcus knelt easily, looking at the body. His eyes flicked over the wound and the weapon, still lying in the grass. Then he pulled back Matthew's blindfold, glancing cursorily at the white eyes beneath.

  "What are you doing?" Helix said, numb.

  The bishop leveled his gaze at Helix, his eyes inscrutable.

  Suddenly, Syntal and Helix's parents were there, Lyseira and Seth running up behind them. Lyseira stood back, her hand over her mouth and her eyes locked on Matthew in horror.

  "Helix!" Mother shouted. Her voice was a pane of glass, shot through with cracks. "Are you well?" She stumbled into a kneel next to him. "What happened?"

  "I would ask the same," Bishop Marcus interrupted. "Why have you done this? Matthew was a heretic, but he deserved to be judged fairly. None should make this decision but Akir."

  Helix looked at the bishop, uncomprehending. The words might have been gibberish. "What?"

  "Seschar! Eldon!" Marcus snapped out the names as if calling dogs to heel. As he rose to his feet, his Preservers flowed into the light.

  Marcus gestured at Helix. "Take him to the temple and see that he doesn't leave. I will pray on this, and decide how to proceed in the morning."

  The two men nodded curtly and turned to Helix.

  "What?" Helix said again, dumbly. Matthew's lips were covered in blood; it was dried in his beard like a frozen waterfall.

  "What are you doing with him?" Mother demanded.

  Marcus glanced at her. "This is not your concern," he said.

  "He is my son!" she snapped. "He didn't do anything!"

  "Don't test me," Marcus said. "Akir will decide this. Now leave it be."

  Helix felt the Preservers grip him under the arms, heaving him roughly to his feet. A glimmer of panic crept into his mind at last. "Wait," he heard his voice say.

  They think I did it?

  Matthew's hands were curled like claws, dug into the cold dirt.

  "Wait!" Helix shouted.