Skies (34 page)

He pulled on the storm and the rain became snow. He pulled harder and the snow became a blizzard.

Samsin smiled as the snow settled around him and covered him in a blanket of the purest white.

“Does our reincarnation prevent us from attaining true understanding?”

—From the Discourses on Knowledge, Volume 17, Year 1171

Gavin came awake and instantly reached for his sword. His hands met immediate resistance and he realized his hands had been bound behind his back. For a moment, he thought it was still night, then realized when he tried to blink that a blindfold covered his eyes.

“Brisson?” Gavin remembered seeing the man’s face, though the rest of his memories were vague. Had there been a storm? He shook his head and instantly regretted it as pain flared up behind his eyes. He swallowed, tasting something bitter in his mouth. Had he been drugged?

“He’s not here,” Evrouin’s voice said from somewhere close. “The sands-cursed traitor left just before you woke up. Sun-blinded, ignorant pile of genesauri leavings.”

Gavin groaned, struggling to focus. “Are you blindfolded too?” Blood pounded in his ears and he felt lopsided, as if part of him weighed more than the other. He tried to move his legs, but found them bound as well. He felt so weak.

“No, just you,” Evrouin said. His voice sounded oddly muffled. “They seem afraid of you.”

Gavin didn’t respond. He remembered what he’d done, calling the energy of a storm down around him and channeling lightning through his arms.
How many have I killed? What did I do?

“This thing is natural after what you did,” another voice added.

For a moment, Gavin wondered if he were hearing things. Had the drug they’d used on him made him crazy? Was he hearing things? It couldn’t be Tadeo, could it?

“Tadeo?”

“I am here.”

“How—what? Did they capture you too? How’d they even find you? I don’t . . .” Gavin trailed off, not wanting to say too much in case they were being watched or had a guard outside listening to every word. Still, his confusion was obvious despite that.

“This thing is hard to explain.”

“He and Darryn were jumped by a scout patrol before they even left the ground,” Evrouin said, his voice bitter and hard as stone. “Brisson betrayed us.”

“Darryn’s here too, then?”

A long silence. Gavin felt his dread grow into horror.

“He made it through. Tadeo distracted them for a bit before your little display stole everyone’s attention. It hasn’t stopped raining since.”

Gavin blew out a long breath. Darryn had gotten out. He’d made it. Gavin started laughing, deep, throaty chuckles that made his lungs and chest burn and his head throb.

“What’s gotten into you, Gavin?”

Gavin kept laughing, tears forming in his eyes and soaking the blindfold that kept him in darkness. After a long moment, the laughter died out, leaving only tears behind.

“We failed,” Gavin said, his voice hoarse and ragged. “After everything, we still failed. Darryn has no idea where he’s going and, even if he did, the Orinai army will have found the valley by then, if they haven’t already.”

He cursed himself, feeling despair and depression claw up his throat and try and strangle him. He’d pushed, pulled, and fought his way through every bad situation that had ever arisen in his life. It was what his grandmother had taught him to do. What sense was there in letting the darkness win when all it took was simple choice to react differently?

What did it matter anymore? He’d failed again. He thought he’d done something worthy of note when he’d climbed the Oasis walls and retrieved the greatsword there. It had proved completely useless, a vain effort only leading him to nearly being killed. Only Lhaurel’s intervention had saved him. Then in the Oasis itself, he’d rallied the Rahuli, unifying them for the brief time it took to save themselves. Then it had fallen apart again. It was a vicious cycle in which Gavin found himself more often than he could remember. Try and fail, try, succeed, and then be made a failure later. No matter how much time passed between the attempt and the failure, eventually it always came back. Success and failure came together, for Gavin at least.

He slumped down against the bonds, shutting out the world.

“Oh, you failed alright,” Brisson’s voice said, the crunch of boots on rock announcing his arrival. “You very nearly ruined everything.”

Gavin strained against his bonds, strength lent by flaring anger giving him the capacity to renew his efforts. Pain flared at his wrists where his bonds dug into flesh.

“Traitor!” Gavin shouted. He pulled against his bonds, but only succeeded in digging the ropes even further into his skin.

Evrouin yelled several far more colorful expletives. Gavin heard the sound of someone spitting and then the sharp crack of someone getting hit by an open palm. A moment later, Gavin felt some else’s presence and a hand touched him on the side of the face. Gavin pulled away, but the hands grabbed him again and tore the blindfold free.

Gavin blinked rapidly against the sudden flaring light. His vision was blurry at first, but cleared after a few moments. Brisson crouched before him, haggard face studying his own. They were in a small tent of some sort, Tadeo and Evrouin bound to poles that had been thrust into the ground. Evrouin had an angry red welt on his face. Two other men stood in the tent as well, though they were clearly Orinai. One of them had the distinctive stance of a man used to command, though his armor was of a burnished yellow metal and his clothes were brown instead of the red Gavin had expected. Gavin’s greatsword hung at his waist. Either that, or it was an exact replica.

“What possessed you to do something so utterly foolish,” Brisson said, reaching out and cupping a hand under Gavin’s chin and forcing Gavin to meet his eyes. “Did you really think you could fool an entire army into believing a bunch of
lanterns
would lead them to you? You can’t be
that
naive, can you?”

Gavin pulled away and strained at his ropes. “Untie me,” Gavin said, “and we’ll see which one of us is the fool.”

Brisson shook his head. “I learned a long time ago that there was no fighting the Orinai. When Nikanor appointed me steward and then left on his holy crusade to find you, I knew it would turn badly. I started to prepare even then. I had access to whatever I needed. It was only a matter of time.”

“You betrayed your own people,” Evrouin growled from behind him, drawing Gavin’s gaze though Brisson kept his eyes locked on Gavin. “You’re a worthless traitor, worse than a murderer.”

Brisson reached up and moved Gavin’s head back to meet his eyes. “Then you came along and messed it all up. My people would never have had to deal with any of this if you had simply done as I’d asked in the first place. I had things well under control. They were never in any real danger.”

Gavin narrowed his eyes. What was Brisson talking about? Of course they were in danger.

“There’s a reason they haven’t attacked yet,” Brisson continued. “They only reason that matters to an Orinai. They were paid to wait. I almost had Shaw kill you that day you burst into my study and saw the bribery money on my desk. No one else knew about it, or what I was using it for. I panicked, then came to a shocking realization when you didn’t even ask about it. You have no idea what money is. You Rahuli never used it.” Brisson shook his head. “You really are barbarians.”

The two Orinai behind Brisson chuckled, the one in command shaking his head in obvious disbelief. Gavin remembered seeing the chest of metal disks on Brisson’s desk, the “money” Brisson mentioned. He remembered the look of shock and surprise on the man’s face and the odd way he’d moved it under the desk and out of Gavin’s direct sight instead of leaving it on top of the desk.

Silently, Gavin cursed himself. Once again, his ignorance was his downfall. He struggled against the bonds, pain flaring through his wrists, and felt warm blood drip down over the ropes and onto the ground. The air around him was so cold, the warmth against his freezing skin was almost more of a shock than the pain itself.

“Still, after what you just did, the money wouldn’t have been enough to keep them away, especially with the storm turning to snow. That’s all changed now.” Brisson got to his feet and nodded to the two Orinai before turning back to Gavin. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.” The Orinai in command gestured to his subordinate, who drew a long, curved dagger and passed it over to him. He pulled out a whetstone and began sharpening the blade against in in long strokes that rasped with each pass. Brisson turned and walked toward the tent’s canvas door.

“Wait,” Tadeo said, speaking for the first time since Brisson had arrived. “You would do this thing? You would leave us here to be killed by these?”

Brisson turned and looked at him, his face in profile from Gavin’s vantage point. Gavin stared daggers at the man and was stunned to see a tear drip from the corner of the eye he could see. Why was
he
crying?

“To save my people?” he said, voice resolute and without quaver. “Without question or hesitation. If you had simply listened to me in the first place, the decision would never have had to be made.”

“There is no honor in you,” Tadeo said, then looked away.

Brisson only paused for a moment, then spun and pushed out into the night. For half an instant, Gavin caught a glimpse of the world beyond, the light from inside the tent illuminating the flurry of white flakes in the air. The snows had come. A small voice in Gavin’s mind told him he’d caused it. The snows were here. For some reason, that only afforded him a small comfort.

The tent flap was only back in place for the space of two deep breaths when the Orinai commander stowed the whetstone in a pocket and stepped forward. The man was tall, almost as tall as Samsin’s seven feet, but more broad at the shoulder. He was muscular and fit, with dark brown eyes, brown hair and beard cropped short, and a thick nose that looked to have been broken at least twice in the past. In short, he had the face of a man used to battle.

He studied the three of them, eyes coming to rest on Evrouin, who was glaring with open hatred at the tent flap where Brisson had just exited. He stopped and tapped the dagger against the back of his other hand, lips pursed as if concentrating.

“The three of you are not going to enjoy this night,” he said, voice so thick with accent that Gavin, in his still-addled state, barely understood him. “Now, tell me how to find the rest of your people in the mountains and I will make this night a lot shorter for one of you. If you do not talk, it will be long for all three.”

Gavin looked over at Evrouin, whose glare had shifted from the tent flap to this new threat.

“You can go travel the seven hells,” Evrouin said, sitting up as straight as he could with his hands bound to the pole behind him. Gavin admired his courage, though he worried that Evrouin’s attitude would get them all killed. Gavin still had time to figure out a way to get the others out of this, if luck was on his side.

He was doing it again, looking for solutions even in the worst situations. How could he help Evrouin when they were all bound, defenseless, and weaponless—Gavin more so than either of his companions.
If Evrouin were in charge, this never would have happened.

What harm is there in trying?

It was his grandmother’s voice, echoing in memory.

“Let the two of them go, and I’ll tell you what you want to know,” Gavin found himself saying.

The dagger wielder looked over at Gavin. He tapped the side of the dagger against his chin.

“You’re the one who killed my men,” he said, eyes hard as stone. “I’m afraid it will be a hard night for you either way.”

“You never had any intention of honoring Brisson’s deal, did you?” Gavin said, suppressing a small shiver at the look in the man’s eyes.

The man smiled a humorless smile and, without answering, reached out with the dagger and sliced a cut deep into Evrouin’s cheek with a motion so quick Gavin almost missed it. Evrouin barely flinched, though blood started pouring from the wound almost immediately.

“I think,” the man said, studying Evrouin’s defiant face. “It will be a long night for you all.”

“Does the power of the Seven Sisters consume them as it consumes the lives of others?”

—From the Discourses on Knowledge, Volume 17, Year 1171

Estrelar made everything else Lhaurel had seen in the Empire pale by comparison. She stood up on deck with Talha, Mhenna, and the other Sister she hadn’t met yet, watching as the massive city grew even larger on the horizon. Josi, her priestess, was still down in the room where they’d spoken, though she seemed rattled and emotionally subdued.

“Is it really that big?” Lhaurel breathed.

Though it was still an indistinct shape on the horizon, the city of Estrelar looked to be two or three times as large as anything Lhaurel had seen up to this point.

“It is,” said the Sister Lhaurel did not yet know. “The heart of the religion, center of the arts, and home of many Great Houses and High Families, Estrelar is the jewel glittering brightly at the Empire’s throat. In a moment, you’ll see the Red Hills behind the city. They contained much of the stone used to construct our temple.”

Lhaurel only vaguely knew what a temple was, even after accessing Elyana’s memories. Lhaurel kept her silence, however, as the woman continued.

“I do wish we had more than just red all the time. Other colors would work so much better sometimes. Like purple, for instance,” the Sister turned to look at Lhaurel, her face pensive. Lhaurel started, shocked by how stunningly beautiful this Sister was. Though she wore her hair in a simple braid down her back, this Sister’s face was ovular, with perfect features. No one feature was out of place. It was like looking at one of the sculptures on the bridges in Anichka. The only flaw, if it could even be called such, was the pointed teeth. Lhaurel shuddered, hoping beyond hope that she didn’t have to file down her own to match. She’d much rather just paint them, as Talha did.

“Purple is a perfectly
wonderful
color. The tone and hue would work so well against the backdrop of the Red Hills. All this monochromatic red on red on red gets tiring after the first few centuries. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Hush, Alcine,” Talha said, voice uncharacteristically harsh. “I’ve spent months free from your incessant grumblings about how this color or that color would be better than this other color, or commenting on my hair. I’ve rather enjoyed the silence.”

The other Sister, Alcine, sniffed. “Your hair
is
rather atrocious. We’re the Seven Sisters, after all, not a bunch of old, bed-ridden crones.”

Talha patted her blood-red bun. “You’re right. We are the Seven Sisters – it would do well for all of us to remember it.”

Alcine’s lips formed into a thin line and her eyes narrowed around the edges, as if she were trying to decide if she were being insulted or not.

Lhaurel hid a smile. She’d been around Talha for long enough to know a barb when she heard one, even if the context didn’t give her much clue as to the meaning behind it.

“Now, now, you two,” Mhenna said, flexing her pudgy fingers. “Don’t start up again already. The rest of us have enjoyed the silence caused by the absence of your bickering.”

“She started it.” Alcine stretched languidly and leaned forward against the railing in a clearly seductive pose. Lhaurel flushed and looked pointedly away, back toward the approaching city.

Talha didn’t dignify any of it with a response.

Lhaurel made a show of watching the approaching city of Estrelar. It had been, after all, the final destination that had been looming over the entire journey. But, at the same time, Lhaurel found herself oddly disappointed. The Seven Sisters were nothing like she’d imagined. Though they were each possessed of awesome, terrible power, they were each so vastly different from one another. The only real similarity they had to one another was the red hair and nails. Why had the writings from the grottoes held them in such terrible fear? Sure, Sellia was incredibly terrifying and the pointed teeth certainly made Lhaurel uncomfortable, but they weren’t the vicious monsters the authors of those scrolls had made them out to be. They weren’t, after all, even that intimidating. It was as if she’d lived in fear of the genesauri for her entire life only to discover they were wooden toys propped up on sticks and used to scare the gullible and innocent. An empty reputation.

Lhaurel sighed, rubbing the back of her left hand with her right. She listened to the sound of the ship moving through the water, the steady splashing of water dripping down from dozens of oars and being tossed about by the ship’s prow. She missed her powers. She knew, deep down inside, there was good reason for the fear and anger in the writings she’d found. It rested in their magic. The ability to heal practically any ailment, or drain the life out of a soul, was a power almost too great for any one person to wield. But Lhaurel longed for it, despite what she knew it did to her. And because of it.

“That tower on the left will be yours,” Talha said softly, pulling Lhaurel out of her thoughts.

Lhaurel looked over, realizing she hadn’t been paying any attention. “What was that?”

“For the Progression’s sake, Talha,” Alcine said airily. “Let the girl enjoy the experience of coming here for the first time as a full Sister.”

“She’s been here before,” Talha snapped.

Alcine shrugged. “Not in this current Incarnation.”

“As if that makes any difference.”

“It may not to you,” Alcine said, leaning forward again and exposing an enormous amount of bosom, “but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t to the rest of us. Leave her be.”

“It’s alright.” Lhaurel held up a hand. “What did you say, Talha?”

Talha turned to Lhaurel, shifting her entire body so her back was to Alcine. Alcine, for her part, smirked and turned to chat with Mhenna.

“That tower on the left there,” Talha said, pointing, “is the Tower of Honor. It’s yours.”

Lhaurel frowned, but looked where Talha was pointing. A massive structure the size of the entire Oasis sat in the middle of several other buildings that looked tiny by comparison, though they were themselves far grander than anything Lhaurel had ever seen. The canal they were in cut through the center of these smaller buildings and toward the massive central structure in an undeviating line.

The building rose into the air with seven towers arranged around a central building with a domed roof. It was almost large enough to be considered a small mountain. Each of the towers were slightly different from each other, though they shared the dark red stone of which they were built. Lhaurel felt suddenly small in the face of it.

“How does someone even build something that large?”

“Through the strength of an Empire,” a gruff voice Lhaurel recognized as the blocky Sister said. Lhaurel didn’t take her eyes away from the towers and building before her, but heard the other woman walk forward, booted feet thumping hard against the wood. “On the backs of tens of thousands of slaves over the course of a hundred years. Earth Wards and their lesser counterparts tore free the stone of the Red Hills and brought it down to us. Strength of arm built the walls, and blood made the mortar.”

“How many slaves?”

“Too many for me to care about. One or two hundred dead slaves isn’t much of a concern.”

“I think she was asking how many slaves overall, dearie,” Alcine said, tone disinterested. The Sister yawned and covered her mouth with one hand.
Wait, are her nails painted yellow?

“Some of the provincial Dominions don’t have any scope of the numbers of slaves it takes to keep a city running.”

“Forty-seven thousand, two hundred and twelve,” Talha said.

“Of course you would know that,” Mhenna said. “Despite it happening five hundred years ago. And don’t pay any attention to Celiana. Any blood in the mortar was there by accident, not by design.”

Lhaurel licked her lips, tasting some salty spray or sweat there.

“But there may actually be blood in the mortar anyway?” she asked.

“It’s a statistical likelihood,” Talha said. “Despite Mhenna’s unwarranted optimism, thousands of slaves did actually die in the making of this edifice. Many probably bled into the stone. Some may have even remained in the walls.”

Lhaurel felt sick.

“What a truly ghastly thought,” Alcine said. “See, some purple or green in the walls would keep such thoughts from troubling my sleep. I mean, really, who wants to sleep knowing there may be a slave’s skeleton only a few feet away from you. How unclean is
that?
”

Celiana, the blocky Sister, chuckled, a low, grating sound as harsh and guttural as any man’s. The sound reminded Lhaurel of Jenthro’s laughter on the day of her mock wedding when Taren had asked to be cut free.

“Are you a Sister or a slave?” she said. “Show your strength, woman, not your gatherian spine.”

Alcine put her hands on her curvaceous hip and made a wry face, one eyebrow cocked and hip thrust to one side. “Not all of us are as barbarous as you, my dear.”

Celiana only chuckled again.

Nausea rose within Lhaurel, though, at the same time, Elyana’s voice echoed in the hidden, empty hallways in her mind. It was an overlapping note of joy at renewed sisterhood.

Home
, Elyana’s voice repeated within Lhaurel’s mind.