Division of the Marked (The Marked Series) (52 page)

It seemed impossible that a person so real and solid, a person he could remember holding in his arms, could be hypothetical. Either way, he knew he could not give her up. She was vital, to both him and Bray. How could he have possibly considered making such a sacrifice? No. He would not.
 

Footfall sounded on the stair and Bray returned, her face pale and eyes wild.

“Yarrow!” Her hands gestured frantically. “Why did you move?”
 

“I’m fine.”

Her eyes trained on the wetness upon his cheeks. “Does it hurt so bad?”

It did, rather. He made a noncommittal nod.
 

“Ko-Jin reckons we’re out far enough now to throw the thing overboard,” Bray said, catching the sphere as it made to roll by her.

“Can you help me up?” Yarrow asked.

Bray’s lips pursed, but she did not protest. Rather, she pulled Yarrow up, allowing him to rest his weight against her. Together, they made their way up the stairs.

It was full morning, but the sun had hidden behind a veil of clouds. Yarrow crossed the deck, though every step pained him. He located the cruiser immediately. By comparison, every other vessel looked small as toy boats. It was still a short ways off, but at the speed it progressed it would be upon them soon enough. Would they know that this was the correct ship? How long would it take for them to discover the truth?

Bray eased Yarrow down onto an overturned barrel.
 

“So, we just drop it overboard?” Bray asked.

“Yes,” Ko-Jin said. He leaned against the rail for support, as his deformed foot taken with the swaying of the boat clearly made it difficult for him to stand. “Do you mind if I do the honors?”
 

Bray handed the sphere over. Ko-Jin looked down at the thing for a moment, it illuminated the sharp planes of his face in blue light. He then held it out over the railing.
 

“Good riddance.” He turned the palm of his hand and let the sphere roll from his grasp and fall. Yarrow heard the plunk it made as it hit the water. In his mind’s eye, he watched it sink beneath the depths, puzzling fish with its light, until it finally found its home in the seabed, far far below. Its effect winked out and Yarrow’s mind filled with the feelings of others. Ko-Jin transformed before their eyes, his back and leg straightening, his muscles expanding.

The fisherman whistled. “Well there’s a thing I never thought I’d see.”

Ko-Jin exhaled in relief.

“Do you think they’ll be able to find it again?” Bray asked.

“No,” Yarrow said with utter confidence. It would rest there for five hundred years—the modern-day Fifth had predicted it.
 

“Now what?” Bray asked.

“We’ll have to surrender,” Ko-Jin said. “What else is there to do? We couldn’t outrun them and we owe it to these people not to try. Besides, they won’t be able to contain you, Bray. Not without the sphere. You can go back, tell our brothers and sisters what is happening here.”

The cruiser had halved its distance. It passed a fishing ship without halting and continued toward their own vessel.
 

They know
.

“Do you have a spy-glass?” Bray asked the fisherman.

“Aye,” the bearded man said, handing over a brass object. Bray took it and peered through the long, gleaming object.

“Vendra,” she said, handing the spy-glass to Ko-Jin.

Yarrow’s stomach clenched. Vendra—Adearre’s murderer. She would kill without remorse.

“You should head back to shore after this. You’ll make fast time on the train,” Ko-Jin said to Bray.

She glared at him. “If you think I’m leaving you, you do not know me. I will stay and I will fight.”

Yarrow knew she meant what she said, and dread filled his gut. After watching Vendra shoot Adearre, and feeling her utter lack of concern, he could not imagine this confrontation ending without further death. As little as he wanted to think it, the rational voice within him whispered:
Is it really worth risking their lives to save a spirit that does not, may not ever, exist?
His gaze lingered on Ko-Jin, his dearest friend. He appeared barely able to stand.

“Bray?” Yarrow asked. “Could you help me below again?”
 

“That would probably be for the best,” Ko-Jin said. “If things go badly, you won’t be much use in a fight. Henril and Molla, you’d better go below as well.”

“I won’t be ordered about on me own ship,” the bearded man said. His wife crossed her arms, the hard lines of her face equally mutinous.
 

Bray nodded absently at Yarrow and chewed on her lip. Her feelings thrummed with tension, worry. He leaned against her and she aided him down the stairway again.
 

“I have a plan,” Yarrow said to her, when he was once again deposited in the chair.

Bray’s eyebrows rose.

“I will need time though. Stall as long as you can, and keep the others away.”

“Yarrow, what is—”

He cut her off. “No time to explain. Just trust me.”

Then Yarrow took her hand and pulled her down, pressed his lips to hers with force.
 

She broke away, anger flashing in her eyes. “Don’t you kiss me goodbye, Yarrow Lamhart.”

“That wasn’t goodbye,” he said, letting her go. “It was for luck.”

She offered him one last uncertain glance, then pounded back up the steps, leaving him alone.

He heaved a great breath. It had to be done. Involuntarily, Arella’s face sprung into Yarrow’s mind. He wanted to rumple her hair, hear her laugh, hold her close. But he could not—he never would. The shards of his heart ached, a hard lump formed in his throat.
 

When the thing you must lose is too great to bear, when the thought of it makes you weep like a child, beat your breast like a madman, and rip your hair like a widow, only then may it be sacrificed.

He understood that quote now in a way he never had before.

Yarrow closed his eyes; he needed to go to the
Aeght a Seve
. It was more easily done by bodily practice of the
Ada Chae
, but he knew that to be a physical impossibility. He would have to do the exercise mentally.

Yarrow took a deep breath and, in his mind’s eye, began the form.
Warm Hands over Fire
yielded smoothly into
Brush the Dragonfly
. The forms helped to ease some of his frazzled, desperate feelings. But the peace, the relaxation, would not come.
Slow Lash
made way to
Wafting Arms
, and still his mind would not settle.
 

It’s the drugs
. They still pumped in his veins. That was why he could not sleep. They had been given to him just for this reason—if his mind could not find peace, he could not enter the
Aeght a Seve
. And if he could not enter that place, he could receive no additional gifts.

He heard the scuffle of boots on wood above him and raised voices.
Were the enemy upon them already?
He formed
To and Fro
then
Floating Down Stream
, but, if anything, his success was lessening.
 

More footsteps—too many footsteps—sounded above him. They had been boarded.

Yarrow tried to fight down his panic, his mind frayed.
 

And then it occurred to him: if Bray could enter the Place of Five though the
Ada Chae
, he must be able to do so through the
Tearre
.

Again, Yarrow closed his eyes. There was a yell followed by the thud of a body hitting the deck. He shoved it aside. Instead, he imagined his
Mearra
standing across from him. He lent his mirror-self detail, imagined what he would be feeling. That was easy enough; he would be panicked, concerned, distraught, just as Yarrow was.
 

His alternate self popped into existence with uncommon alacrity. Yarrow lacked the physical ability to fight. He would have to perform the
Tearre
mentally. He hadn’t done this with any success before, but there was nothing for it.

He imagined himself taking a swing. His
Mearra
dodged. Almost instantly, Yarrow felt a kind of frenzy stir within him. The stimulants, the fear, the desperation coming together, making him sweat, making him breathe heavily, making his mind vibrate. His
Mearra
kicked but he stepped fluidly out of harm’s way.
 

He became aware of the
Aeght a Seve
, but rather than relaxing into it, he grabbed hold of it. Yanked it towards himself. Thrust himself into it.
 

The boat disappeared, as did his pain. The
Aeght a Seve
appeared as it ever did, peaceful and warm. A soft breeze cooled his skin. It was a place indifferent to the plights of the living.

I did it
, Yarrow realized, but he could not summon any pleasure at the thought. To have succeeded was to bring himself one step closer to making the first sacrifice. To unmaking his daughter.
 

Yarrow crossed the dry grass and came to the sheer edge of the place, shooting up into the sky like a monstrous stair. He knew he would have to climb it to attain his second gift, though it appeared impossibly high.

Yarrow took a breath and backed away several steps. He ran and jumped, but thudded into the wall and fell back to the ground, scuffing his elbow.

He picked himself up and dusted his robes clean, then backed up to try again. He charged, leapt, and crashed.

Yarrow looked up at the ledge, at its impossible height, and recalled what he had learned long ago. The
Aeght a Seve
is not a physical place, though it seems physical once inside it. It is a place that tests strength of will. He would not make this jump by leaping higher, but by proving his willingness to give up what must be lost.

Reluctantly, Yarrow called to mind what he had seen in the sphere. He made himself experience it again—holding his daughter in his arms, smelling her hair, laughing at her jokes, feeling that comfort she would give him as he died. He cherished her, touched at her memory with soft, fatherly fingertips. His chest ached and tears spilled forth once again.
 

“I’m sorry, my baby girl,” he said softly. Then he ran, jumped, and, this time, his fingers found the edge. His other hand took hold as well, and slowly, with a great deal of effort, he pulled himself up. He rolled onto the second tier and lay there, flat on his back, panting and staring up at the clear blue sky.

And he felt the loss. She was gone—utterly, irrevocably gone. But he also felt a gain, pathetic and small though it seemed by comparison. He could get them out.
 

Bray watched the enemy board with a growing sense of alarm. There were perhaps sixty of them in total. They seemed to be the elite, the older. Though varied in nationality, and a mix of Chiona and Cosanta, they all bore a stunning resemblance in expression. They were cold-eyed, grim-lipped.

Vendra stepped aboard with the air of a queen descending from her throne. Her features were haughty, her almond-shaped brown eyes triumphant.
 

“Search the vessel,” she said, and several black-clad figures dispersed themselves about the boat. Three pounded down the stairs, where they would find Yarrow, helplessly wounded. Bray held her breath.

They returned after several long moments, carrying Yarrow between them. For a moment she thought him unconscious, or worse. They carried him as if he were a dead weight. But after he had been thrown to the deck she saw the rise and fall of his chest. He rolled onto his back, his expression pained and his face tear streaked.

There was something odd about his face, she thought. Something different—as if he had aged, somehow, in the minutes since she last saw him. She could still feel his lips pressed against hers, but looking at him, he seemed not to be the same man who had kissed her.
 

“The sphere?” Vendra asked.

“It’s not there, mistress,” a young man said.
 

“Impossible. It must be hidden, is all.”

Yarrow laughed, a strangled, desperate sound. She looked down at him, her mouth drawn thin in anger.
 

“Where is it?” she asked.

“It went for a swim,” Yarrow said, still laughing.

Vendra’s eyes widened. “You lie.”

“How big is this boat, Vendra?” he asked her. “Look at Ko-Jin. Can the sphere truly be here?”
 

Vendra did look at Ko-Jin then, taking in his whole form, and her eyes narrowed. She dealt a swift, hard kick to Yarrows side, and he hissed in pain. Fresh blood began to soak his shirt.
 

“You must have hidden it somewhere before boarding.”

“No,” Ko-Jin responded coolly. His gaze darted to the railing, where he had dropped the sphere. “Go fish.”

Vendra crossed the space between herself and Ko-Jin in an instant and struck him full across the face. He would have collapsed if he were not being held around the armpits by two large men.
 

“You will board the ship,” Vendra said between clenched teeth, “and if you believed yourself mistreated before, you are about to discover the meaning of the word.”