Arrival (26 page)

Though it had only taken a few days, it seemed like the journey back to Amalia had gone on forever. “So what now?” Luca asked, sitting down on the window seat in Jane’s room before she’d even had a chance to wake properly.

“What do you mean ‘what now’?” she asked grumpily, rubbing her eyes.

“Well, you seem deliriously happy that Fern is alive, which we all are, and should be. I just wonder, Jane, what happens the next time something happens to make him disappear from your life? Like the fact that he’s promised to marry someone else. Does that bother you at all?”

“What?” She stared at him.

“Why can’t you see what’s really going on?” Luca pressed. His voice was rough and there were dark hollows under his eyes. “You know it can’t work. You’re from different worlds, on top of everything else.”

“Why are you saying this?”

“That time on the beach ... I never, ever want to see you broken like that. It’s not like you, Jane. You’ve always been so strong. And yet I held you in my arms and listened to you cry. Forgive me for wanting to get you the hell away from something that can crush you like that.”

Jane didn’t know how to respond. “He was dead,” she whispered finally. “That’s the worst thing that would ever happen.”

“So you think now, Jane. You have to admit, the man has a lifestyle and an attitude that will keep you on the edge—”

“How dare you.” Jane couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You have no idea what I’ve been going through! Why don’t you just mind your own business?”

Luca nodded and stood up. “Okay. I’m sorry. I won’t bring it up again. But I’ll be here for you, whatever happens.”

She looked at her hands where they lay in her lap. Without looking up, she murmured, “And I’ll do the same for you.”

Jane sat quietly and listened to the commotion around her. Everyone was arguing and trying to speak over one another. Some were upset to discover that Elixia was a necromancer, but Jane was glad, and didn’t understand why it should be any other way. She waited for a moment then stood up. Everyone fell silent and looked at her.

“We don’t have time for this,” she said. “I don’t know why you are all so upset. It’s pretty clear Elixia isn’t evil.” Jane gestured to the queen. “She might be what saves us. We have to open the book. Elixia, help us understand what’s actually going on here.”

“It was my mother,” Elixia replied softly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Fern asked.

“I’m sorry, Fern, but I don’t think now is the time for that,” Elixia replied softly.

Jane slid the book along the table to Elixia. “Maybe you should just open the book.”

Elixia looked at it for a long moment. It was very large, and extremely heavy, bound in black leather, its pages yellow and tattered at the edges. She looked back up at them.

“You’ll have to be quiet for a minute so I can concentrate.”

The silence around the table deepened.

Elixia fell still for a moment, and then her head slumped onto her chest and her eyes rolled back in their sockets. Suddenly she lifted her head again and stared sightlessly ahead. She raised a hand and placed it on the book, her eyes showing only white. Then, very slowly, her lips moving silently, she opened the book. She sat there a moment longer, rigidly still, and then her eyes shut and her body relaxed. When she finally opened her eyes she looked normal once more.

“Thank the gods,” Fern sighed.

“The book’s open,” she said, her voice calm.

“Are you all right?” Fern asked.

“I’m going to read from the book and call the gods. It will take me a few hours. Leave me and go to the tournament.”

It took some persuading to get Fern to leave his sister, but eventually he did, and they all made their way to the stadium. Still exhausted from the journey, none of them had elected to enter the tournament. They took seats in the shade of the royal pavillion and sat back to watch.

The tournament was an entertaining diversion. As she watched the endless series of mock battles and fights, Jane couldn’t help thinking about how life on Paragor was based completely around war. The final battle, though, was something entirely different.

It was custom for the winner of the previous year’s tournament to fight a band of men who had been sentenced to death. It was a chance for them to fight for their lives. Accolon had won the games for the past four years, and he was determined to follow the custom.

There were six prisoners—armed with wooden swords and shields and running barefoot on the hot sand. The king was allowed his horse and any weapon of his choice. Accolon had chosen a long straight sword. He wore his laurel wreath crown; Jane thought he looked exactly like a Roman king from her world might.

If he could, the king would kill all six competitors. According to common banter, he would. He was one of the best fighters in Paragor, it was said.

Jane sat up in her seat when she realised what was going on.

“Are you serious?” she asked Fern, who was seated awkwardly next to her, his wounds still causing discomfort. “He’s just going to kill them?”

“The prisoners have already been sentenced to death,” he said. “At least now they have a fighting chance.”

She shook her head. “This is horrifying. Everyone just watches this for sport?”

Fern reached out a laid a hand gently on her shoulder. In a heavy voice he murmured, “It’s a harsh world. The people are used to violence.”

Jane closed her eyes. “I can’t watch.”

Just the idea was bad enough, but as soon as the fight started, they all knew that something was about to go terribly wrong.

Terret was shivering with fear and a sick kind of anticipation. The gates were about to open for him to run out onto the hot red sands of the stadium. He was decked out in the tattered rags they had given him for the stocks. It was, in fact, a rather pathetic way to die—to be caught for sneaking into a nobleman’s house and trying to steal his riches. He was too young for execution, or even to compete, but he was being offered a deal. Fight—involve himself in the spectacle because there was no one else—and the king would spare him his life. He would be the first competitor not to die in many years.

He was just fourteen. His mother had wept when they told her that he had been chosen to play against the king himself. He could remember the taste of her salty tears and the feel of them on his cheek as she hugged him, one last time.

He could not figure out why this particular memory was locked in his mind at that very point. It was quite a silly thing to think about—not something a warrior would dwell on in the face of battle.

No, he was not a real competitor. He was just there to make up numbers. But there was no reason he could not try to fight.

Standing next to him was an older man who looked as though he was hard and ready for battle. An ugly scar ran from one side of his face to the other. Terret leant over to him and asked, “Do they go away? The nerves, I mean.”

The man looked down at him with scorn. “You won’t be here long enough for them to go away.” Then he moved a step away and looked at Terret as though he were a bug in need of squashing.

Just then the gates swung open and the small dark room was bathed in blinding light.

The six prisoners ran out into the stadium and looked around at the screaming crowd. Terret had never seen anything like it, and fear engulfed him.

The crowd were watching, waiting for him to do something. It was all about Terret for that short moment.

And then the king came out and it was no longer about Terret at all.

The six prisoners bowed and waited for his wave of approval.

The final game started and Terret narrowed his eyes in concentration. Holding his sword in front of him, he stood on the outside of the fight for a moment, watching each fighter in turn to see how he moved. You had to understand your allies as well as your enemies. Someone had told him that once.

The man he had spoken to in the holding room was doing the same as Terret, circling the play and watching eagerly. The four other men were competent enough, but they weren’t fighting as a team. One of them was obviously a weak fighter and was already in danger of being killed.

The weak man had his back turned to the king and was bending to pick up his fallen sword. Accolon saw him and turned his horse. The man turned around too late, and his life would have been forfeit had Terret not shoved him out of the way and parried the sword blow with his own measly chunk of wood. The king’s sword sliced straight through Terret’s own, and the top half of it flung away into the air. The young boy froze for a moment as he realised what had happened, and then he threw the other half of it up at Accolon’s head. The king moved his head slightly and watched as the sword flew straight past him.

The other man was looking at him gratefully, so Terret called out, “Fall back!”

The men looked at him in surprise until he yelled, “We have a better chance if we work together. Fall back!”

But they didn’t listen, not yet. Terret had to swing his shield hard at the king and dodge a return blow before they realised that he could fight. He was a tanner’s son, forced to steal in order to eat. He had practised with his friends, had dreamed he might compete in the tournament, had been told he was quick, but this was ... so much more.

The king pulled his horse to a halt and watched as Terret gave out his orders.

“Form a tight circle, face your shields outwards. Don’t split up. He will charge at us, but if we move together and use our shields he will have a much harder time getting us down.” He had no more time though, because Accolon had begun his charge.

One of the men obviously thought that Terret was a fool, for he had run from the circle and was facing the king alone. His head was severed with one blow, and Accolon didn’t even falter in his charge. Terret tried to swallow the bile that had risen in his throat.

Terret looked up at the last minute directly into the king’s eyes, right before he rode into their circle. Terret had thought his plan a good one, but was proven wrong in seconds. The king laid two men flat on the ground. How had he thought he could beat this man?

There were now only three of them left and they were scattered around the stadium. Scar man and another short stocky man both looked at him with disappointment. Accolon was in the middle rearing his horse and looking at each of them in turn. He then charged off in the direction of the short man.

It was then that Terret noticed something very wrong. A glint of steel reflected by the sun. The king was the only one allowed steel, and he was at the other side of the ring. Terret looked at the scar man standing opposite him. He could see the tiny piece of metal still glinting in his hand.

Scar man started running towards the king, so Terret broke into a sprint himself. He saw the man lunge, and all Terret could think to do was to stop that knife. So he dived forward, taking the blade in his shoulder.

The two thieves lay sprawled on the ground together. The king turned from knocking the other man flat to look at the mess of blood. He took the situation in at a glance and slid his sword into scar man’s heart.

Terret saw it from a long way off. There was blood all over him that reminded him of his mother’s salty tears on his cheek.

Terret would never be sure how the king knew what to do next. Accolon rode his horse quickly to the centre of the ring and jumped off. He leant to the ground and picked up a bow and one arrow that had been hidden under the sand.

Then three things happened at once. Three arrows were shot.

Accolon shot his single arrow high up into the crowd and watched it land in the chest of a man. Then, to the king’s obvious shock, another arrow landed in the ground at his feet, fired from a completely different spot in the stadium. One more arrow was let loose amongst the crowd of now panicked onlookers, but Terret had no idea who had shot it, or who had been shot, so dazed was he by his wound.

He was known for his stealth and his secrecy, and that was why he died. He was an assassin, a good one, but he had had nothing to do with the assassination attempt. And yet, Blaise lay on the ground with an arrow deep in his chest.

He could not hold his thoughts in place. Fern bent over him with an expression of such calm that it brought peace to him before he died.

“My prince, my cousin,” Blaise whispered, “I left the Elf country and my true life as an Elf prince, for I believed in something. I tried to make you understand.” He stopped, trying to suck air into his lungs. He knew Fern would have heard the story, but he needed to speak it out loud. “My wife and my baby girl were attacked by sabre-tooths, but because they were in human territory, Liensenn refused to send aid. So riddled with bitterness over King Cornelius was she that my family were killed. I left my throne empty and despite everything, this was the wrong thing to do. I betrayed you all—and I dearly wish for forgiveness. But there is one thing I truly need you to understand.”

“What is it, cousin?”

“Please, I need you to understand why I left—there must be an alliance between Elves and humans. We will not survive if there isn’t. There will only be more bloodshed, more mistakes. You must...”

Fern leant down and placed a tender kiss on Blaise’s brow, and then looking deep into his eyes, the prince said, “I understand. I will do everything in my power to make it so. You have never needed to be forgiven. Go in peace, Balyseren, lost prince of the Elves.”

And, having heard his prince offer love to his true name, Blaise left the land of the living, knowing there was beauty and pleasure in the world, and that finally, at this last, he could be with his wife and daughter again.

“No!” The cry was torn from her lips before Jane could stop it and she rushed towards Blaise. Fern was there before her, and crouched at Blaise’s side. The stadium was in confusion, but all Jane could see was the endless blood seeping out of his chest; it pooled on the ground around them.

“What’s going on?” she yelled over the hundreds of screaming people. Everyone was trying desperately to scramble towards the exits. No one heard.

Jane stared at Blaise’s lifeless body. She was frozen still, unable to move. Fern put his arms around her, and Jane saw tears in his eyes.

Accolon had come into the stands and was standing over the body of the other man with an arrow in his chest.

“What is going on, Accolon? Why is Blaise dead? And who is that?” Jane asked as they reached the body. Accolon ordered everybody to keep away from the body, but not to leave the stadium—the gates were blocked by soldiers.

“There has been an attempt on my life,” he said gesturing to the dead competitor on the sand. The younger boy had been carried away.

“After the first attempt failed, I assumed there would be another,” Accolon went on. “I buried an arrow in the sand just before the last game, and fired it at Blaise. I thought he was the assassin.” He paused to look down at the body of the young man in front of him. “I was wrong. This was the man that tried to kill me. His arrow missed me, landing in the sand at my feet instead.

“If it had been Blaise doing the job, I would probably be dead,” Accolon said quietly.

“So ... Blaise is dead because you made a mistake?” Jane stammered

Accolon looked regretful, but he said, “He was destined to die—he assassinated Gaddemar, my father.” Perhaps the order in which he said that was important, but it was lost on them in that moment.

“There were two arrows in your father’s chest when he was assassinated,” Fern said quietly.

Accolon looked him straight in the eye and said, “What would you have me do, prince? I have a land to rule. You will one day too. Paid assassins must be executed.”

“When I am king, I will not allow needless killing.”

Accolon said, “You may find making decisions as king will not be as simple as you think. I am sorry you lost someone dear to you, but we have no time to grieve. We must put our minds to what is ahead, or we will lose more than one.” He let his eyes sweep briefly to Jane. Fern saw his gaze and nodded his head.

“Now will you help me find who did this?” Accolon asked, gesturing to the unknown body below them.

“Of course,” Fern said.

No sooner had he spoken than another voice rang out.

“I shot the arrow and killed this man.”

“Emperor Liam!” Accolon exclaimed in surprise, as both he and Fern bowed to the warlord.

“I saw him aim his arrow at you and thought I might try to stop him. Unfortunately, my clumsy hands were too slow to let loose my arrow in time. It was good fortune that he missed,” Liam said.

“Where were you sitting?” Accolon asked.

“In the second stand,” he replied.

“An impossible shot,” Fern muttered.

“We must go back to the castle and speak of how and why you are here,” Accolon said and turned to leave.

“Wait!” Jane cried. “There are three men dead—you cannot leave them here.”

“Burying men is a mark of honour. These three were men who killed others for a living, no matter the reason. Do you think that deserves honour?” Accolon asked her and his resolve was strong against her anger.

“But...” Jane stared at them, her voice failing her. She looked down at Blaise, his skin already pale and clammy like wax.

“They will be buried properly,” Fern said softly, his tone forbidding argument. “They were men of this kingdom. We should be setting our sights to finding who ordered this assassination. Clearly, it was meant to be foolproof, as there were two assassins employed to do the one job.”

“I already know who ordered this,” Accolon said quietly. He turned and walked away before any of them could ask.

Jane, Fern and Liam followed the king out of the stadium. A litter carried them up the cobbled streets to the castle where they found Accolon hunched in a deep chair in the entrance hall. The two chancellors entered and Accolon silently motioned for them to sit by him. Fern and Liam also sat down, but Jane chose to stand and wait for an answer. Accolon looked up at her and sighed. But he didn’t speak.

“Why aren’t you doing something?” she asked desperately.

“I need time to think,” he replied.

“What is to think about? Arrest whoever is responsible!” she said.

“The penalty for treason is execution,” he said quietly.

Jane shook her head and rubbed her eyes.

“I must do it,” Accolon said, looking at the floor.

“Then why aren’t you?” Jane asked exasperated.

He looked up then, and stared straight into her eyes. “Because the traitor is my mother.”

Silence reigned in the huge hall. Vezzet moved uncomfortably in his seat.

“I’m sorry—I did not realise,” she whispered, a hand to her mouth. “Why would she want to have her own son killed?”

“She is in league with Leostrial.”

Then he stood and addressed the guards at the door. “Arrest Columba for her treason. Prepare for the execution outside the city. The people need know nothing except that the traitor is caught. I shall be the only one to witness it.” He paused and then said, “Although maybe I do not deserve to be spared the shame.”

Liam shook his head. “Accolon, you must know that none of us will blame you. Your mother made this terrible choice; nothing you could have done would have prevented it.”

“Then she was the one responsible for poisoning our ship captain!” Jane exclaimed.

Fern nodded. “It’s most likely.”

Tomasso and Vezzet stood to leave. Accolon raised a hand. “Oh no, my friend,” he whispered. “I have not even started with you.”

The two men turned around slowly, neither one sure whom the king was addressing.

More El~ariah guards had silently moved to stand in front of the door. Accolon turned back to the others in the room. “Columba did not act alone when she betrayed us.” A strange grin came upon the king’s face. “Our second traitor is none other than our head chancellor, Tomasso.”

The colour drained from Tomasso’s face. His expression did not change, but he was so white he looked as though he might collapse. “These are lies, my lord.”

“Your assistant has proof that you are in contact with Leostrial. You shall be beheaded on the morrow,” said Accolon flatly.

Jane warmed herself in front of the fire, watching as the flames burned and crackled. A cool breeze drifted in from the open window and blew the hair off her face. Moving from the fire, she stood in front of the window and stared at the two moons; one pale blue, the other a red-orange colour. A peace moon and a war moon.

Her door opened and she turned to see Fern enter. Jane turned back to the window.

“Is she dead yet?” Jane asked without looking up.

“Tomorrow,” he spoke quietly.

After a long silence, she asked, “Why does the red moon not shine more brightly than the blue? We’re about to go to war.”

“They are only symbolic. They are too far away to take notice of our dealings.” He paused and then murmured sadly, “It may yet be all right, Jane.”

“What are their names?” she whispered, and started to cry. Jane wept for Blaise, and for the others who had died that day. She wept for the boy who had tried to save his king, and she wept for those who had died in the battle in the valley. She wept for her family, for Elixia, and the burden that she would have to carry, and for Satine who was all alone in a dangerous place. She wept for Mia and Jack, still lost. She wept for the weight of her task, but most of all she wept because she did not know the names of the two moons in the sky.

Fern saw the tears, and he moved forward to wrap his arms around Jane and whispered the names of the two moons into her hair. “Lindel and Jael.”

Her brown eyes were huge, and looked golden in the candlelight. Somehow, he thought, she looked more beautiful than she ever had, a sad, sorrowful beauty that almost hurt him to look upon.

“I’ve made your shirt all wet” Jane sniffed.

“It will dry. Are you all right?”

“I don’t know.”

“I love you.”

She looked up at him again then. “Does that matter now? Will it save everybody?”

“Maybe not,” he replied slowly, “but it can save us.”

“And why do we deserve to be saved?” she asked.

“Some are more fortunate than others. Some people never find love. Some die and some live. We must not give up yet, Jane.”

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. “I have no idea.” Jane’s voice was raw and Fern hugged her close so she wouldn’t see his face darken.

He knew what she meant. But there was more. Someone had died that day. Kin of his, and blood calls for blood.

Blood calls for blood.