The Grimjinx Rebellion (22 page)

36

Message Received

“Rich coats oft mask poor hearts.”

—Ancient par-Goblin proverb

W
hen we returned to the mill hours later, we were met with cheers as hundreds of tinderjack pods—bound safely with magic so they wouldn't detonate—fell through the quickjump ring, increasing the power of our arsenal tenfold.

The cheering stopped, however, when we brought Talian and the other mages through. The restless rebels started shouting. Swords were brandished. Ma raised her voice, trying to keep everyone cool, but it did no good. The mages huddled together as curse words flew in their direction. My blood ran cold as a voice from the back yelled, “Kill the mages!” and the rebels surged forward.

The mages pulled out their spellspheres, ready for a fight. But Ma threw herself in front of Talian.

“Stop!” she shouted. Remarkably, everyone did. She straightened her tunic and pointed to the mages. “They're allies. This is Talian. He's the one who told us about the caravan in the first place. They've been working against the Palatinate to help us.”

Kendil stepped forward. The few Sarosans who'd survived the battle stood behind him. Reena and Holm stood at their father's side.

“We will not work with mages,” Kendil declared. The Sarosans shouted in agreement.

“Oh, yes, you will.”

The Dowager's voice cut through the din. She stepped through the crowd and walked right up to Kendil. She looked up at the much taller man and didn't bat an eye.

“The Scourge is comprised of creatures of great magical power. I understand the Sarosans' hatred of magic. But it will take an equally powerful magic to defeat the monsters. If you disagree, you and your people are free to leave. Right now.”

The room erupted in more arguments, some saying we should work with the mages, others demanding their removal. As the shouting grew louder, I threw back my head and shouted.

“The Palatinate is in Vengekeep!”

Silence. With that one statement, we were united again. If only for that moment. I nudged Talian.

“Once the control medallion was destroyed,” the young mage said, “the Palatinate lost control of the monsters. They knew they had no hope of regaining control without the Sourcefire. So every last mage gathered and went south.”

“Why Vengekeep?” Mr. Oxter asked.

“When the Lordcourt realized that the Scourge had started the destruction in the north, they went to the farthest southern town-state. They've used magic to enhance the Vengekeep's existing defenses. The hope is that the Scourge will weaken by the time it gets that far south and it will be easier for the Palatinate to destroy.”

“But it's not getting weaker,” the Dowager said. “From everything we've heard, the Scourge is stronger than ever.”

Talian nodded. “I know. We”—he pointed to the other mages—“have been looking for a way to weaken it. But the monsters have destroyed every magical stronghold they find.”

“Aubrin,” Da said. He moved across the room and took Ma's hands. “Is Aubrin in Vengekeep?”

“Most likely,” Ma said.

“She's the only one who can warn the Palatinate before the Scourge attacks,” Talian said. “They'll be keeping her safe.”

I knew my sister. She wouldn't do anything to help the Palatinate. Even if warning them meant they could protect her.

Magical strongholds
. Talian had said that's what the Scourge was destroying. That's why they spared some towns and destroyed others. But what did that accomplish? Why attack only where magic was present . . . ?

As the discussion continued, I plunged through the crowd and examined the Dowager's map again. I ran my finger down the line I'd drawn through the last three attacks. I continued moving northwest to southeast across the Provinces until . . .

“The Scourge is going to Vengekeep,” I said.

The Dowager examined where my finger had come to rest. It was at the very end of the line I'd drawn.

“Well, now we know what the Scourge is looking for,” Mr. Oxter said. “They're seeking revenge on the Palatinate for enslaving them.”

No,
I thought. These creatures were driven by instinct. Revenge didn't feel right.

“If they're going to Vengekeep to destroy the Palatinate,” Kendil said, “then I say we let them.” A grumble of support echoed throughout the crowd.

“The zoc you will!” Ma said. “If the Scourge is headed there, I'll warn the Palatinate myself if it means they'll protect my daughter.”

The arguing resumed, louder than ever. And there it was again: the feeling I was overlooking
something.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the furor. No, there was another reason the Scourge was headed to Vengekeep. I just couldn't grasp it. I needed to think.

As everyone shouted, I crept from the room and walked out the front door of the mill. A cool fall breeze chilled my bare arms. I strolled past the field where Uncle Garax had parked the Ghostfire house and down to the stream, following it south. With silence at last, I focused my thoughts on what we knew.

The Scourge had destroyed magical strongholds.
That's
what they all had in common. And the Scourge was
made
of magical energy. They must have been able to sense magic.

So maybe they
were
on their way to Vengekeep because they sensed that's where all the mages had gone. That or they sensed something else . . .

I probably would have figured it out right there and then if I hadn't been distracted by a hand that clamped around my mouth from behind. I'd walked so far that the mill was no longer in sight. Before I could react, an arm gripped me tightly around the chest and dragged me into the forest.

I struggled and screamed but my captor held tight. We went deeper into the darkness of the woods until I saw a distant campfire.

When we arrived at a small clearing, I found a hooded figure kneeling next to the fire. Suddenly, my captor let go. I whirled around to find Bennock standing over me. I looked into the acolyte's eyes. They were fierce but sad. Like he knew this was wrong but he had no choice. His firm stance told me I'd never succeed if I tried to get away.

“Have a seat, Jaxter,” the hooded figure said.

“I'd heard you were dead, Edilman,” I said. “At least, that's what I hoped.”

“Give me a chance to explain,” Edilman said. His voice sounded pinched and weak. “You owe me that much.”

“I owe
you
?” I stepped toward him. “You're the reason the Provinces are burning!”

Edilman reached out, holding Aubrin's journal. “Read it.”

“What?”

“I told you before the battle that Sister Andris had finished translating the message. The message you were so sure would turn the tide of the war. Read what it says.”

We glared at each other, the only sound coming from the crackling fire. Finally, I opened the journal and scanned the text. Sister Andris had made small notations in the margins. A translation appeared under the message, written in a shaky hand. With each word, I grew more and more disbelieving. And by the time I got to the end—the signature—I knew something was wrong.

“How gullible do you think I am?” I said, glaring up at Edilman. “You wrote this translation yourself.”

Edilman shook his head. “Sister Andris would be very angry to hear you say that. She slaved over it. I'd ask her to verify that but . . . she's dead.”

“It's not possible,” I said. “That message—”

“—is in a language that predates all known languages,” Edilman said. “Very few people living today could craft a message using it. But there it is. And it answers your question very neatly.”

Edilman bound up, closed the distance between us in a single, giant step, and stabbed the message with his finger. “Yes. You owe me. I stole the Sourcefire, Jaxter,” he said, his mouth so close I could feel his breath, “because
you
told me to.”

37

The Abbot's Story

“Welcome a bitter enemy when a false friend comes knocking.”

—Corenus Grimjinx, clan father

I
couldn't take my eyes off the rows of unfamiliar symbols. Below each squiggle sat the corresponding translation in Sister Andris's handwriting. As hard as I tried to deny it, I knew that Edilman was telling the truth. The message read:

 

Edilman,

I don't have time to explain. When the rebels attack the Palatinate caravan, you must get to the Sourcefire first and steal it. Take the Vanguard from me, destroy the master medallion, and then leave. Once you're safely away, hide the Sourcefire in the Keep at Vengekeep. Under no circumstances are you to mention this message to me until after you've hidden the Sourcefire. You're looking for redemption, Edilman. This is how you earn it.

 

It was signed with my name.

“I
couldn't
have written this,” I argued. “I don't know this language.”

Edilman leaned against a tree and sighed. “You're very bright, Jaxter. Don't start being stupid now.”

No. I wasn't stupid. I knew exactly how this was possible.

“She saw it,” I said, opening to the message and reading it again. “Aubrin said she saw a hand write this. It was
my
hand. She copied down the message she saw in the vision.”

Edilman tapped the journal. “At some point—maybe tomorrow, or next month, or in ten years—you're going to write that message. At the same time, your sister will sneak a peek from the past and see it.”

He leaned forward and pointed to a single word under my name. “What's this bit?”

Sister Andris's translation read, “Guddlesark.” I smiled. “When I was little, I had an imaginary friend named Guddlesark. I never told anyone about him. I think I put that there to . . .”

Edilman leaned back. “To convince yourself you wrote it?”

“But what was all that ‘Eaj' nonsense?” I asked.

Edilman poked himself in the chest. “Edilman Archalon Jaxter. E-A-J.”

My stomach burbled. Why would I tell him to do this? The Sourcefire theft made everything fall apart. We could have ended this after the attack on the caravan if we'd stuck with the plan and used the Sourcefire to bargain with the Palatinate.

I felt suffocated. If this was all true, everything was
my
fault. I couldn't hold it in anymore and, as Edilman jumped back, I threw up all over the ground.

Bennock put his arm around my shoulders and handed me a flagon of water. I drank the whole thing in three mighty gulps as I sank to my knees.

“If it means anything,” Edilman said softly, “I have a theory that you will write that message once life is back to normal. You tell me to steal the Sourcefire because you know for sure that it's the
only
way to make things right. You know that if you don't write that message, things will turn out much, much worse.”

Worse? The Scourge was tearing the Provinces apart. There was no clear way to stop them. How could things get worse?

“I'll have you know,” Edilman went on, “this wasn't easy. I had to sneak into Vengekeep in the middle of the night, carrying a box filled with glowing magical fire. Not the best way to stay inconspicuous. And your note didn't mention how to get into the Keep.”

I pictured the Keep. The entrance was marked by a stone dome in the very center of the town-state. A stone warrior guarded the dome's door, his arm outstretched as if ready to strike. To open the door, you had to place a magic dagger in the warrior's hand. A dagger that was kept by the Castellan.

“So I got a chance to work on my burglary skills,” Edilman said. “I was a mite out of practice. But I broke into the Castellan's house, stole the dagger, placed the Sourcefire in the Keep, returned the dagger so no one would be any the wiser, and left town before the Palatinate showed up and took over.”

I'd barely heard anything he'd said. I still couldn't quite fathom that I was responsible for all this. I peered at the translation again. “What does this mean? About redemption?”

Edilman pulled his knees into his chest. “After the balanx attack a year ago, I fled Vengekeep. Got lost in the woods for days. I nearly starved to death. Then the Abbey appeared out of nowhere. It knew where it was needed.

“The monks took me in and nursed me back to health. They saw I bore the brand of the High Laird. They
knew
I was marked for death. But they didn't care. You see, their abbot had just died. And when that happens, the Abbey leads them to a new abbot.”

He laughed. “They thought it was me. They thought
I
was meant to be their new abbot. And I was willing to play the part. It was going to be my greatest con yet. Imagine the heists I could pull with a legion of assassin-monks at my command. So I donned the abbot's mask and threw myself into my best disguise yet.”

His voice cracked and he fell quiet.

“And then?” I prompted.

“And then,” he said, “I got caught up in my own lie. I learned everything I could about the order, hoping to strengthen their allegiance to me. But the more I learned . . . the more I saw how reverent they were, how strongly they believed in their cause. . . . It stopped being an act. The Abbey brought the monks to me because I was in need. I just didn't understand what it was I needed.”

As his story ended, I understood what Edilman had needed. A lifetime of treachery had caught up with him. He needed redemption.

“So, you took the Sourcefire to Vengekeep and hid it in the Keep like I told you to,” I said. “Then what? We heard the Abbey was destroyed.”

“In the end, the Abbey's desire to help those in need was our undoing. After Vengekeep, the Abbey went to where it sensed it was needed. We ended up in Merriton just as the Scourge descended on the city. The beasts tore the Abbey to pieces as soon as we appeared.” Edilman placed a hand on his acolyte's arm. “Bennock pulled me from the rubble. The other monks weren't as lucky. Bennock and I barely escaped with our lives.”

I looked at Bennock. The acolyte added a log to the fire. I couldn't be angry with him anymore. He'd been following his abbot's orders . . . who'd been following my orders.

“Come back with me to the mill,” I said. “We have to tell everyone about the Sourcefire.”

Edilman laughed gravely. “I set one foot into that mill and my head will be removed from my body. Besides, the Sourcefire won't do you any good. You can't use it to bargain with the Palatinate anymore. Your new enemy is the Scourge.”

The Sourcefire won't do you any good
. . . No, the Sourcefire wouldn't do
us
any good. But the Scourge . . .

“I have to go,” I said, rising.

Edilman grunted. “Go with him, Bennock. You've been a good acolyte to an order that doesn't exist anymore. No one in the mill will hurt you.”

“Yes,” I said. “Come with me.”

I hated the idea of both of them alone in the wilderness. I'd feel a bit better if I knew Bennock was safe.

But Bennock crossed the campsite and knelt near Edilman. “I'm staying with you, Abbot.”

Bennock's honesty might have prevented him from ever becoming an honorary Grimjinx. But his unshakable loyalty would have made it hard to deny him the privilege.

I made to leave when Edilman's voice stopped me. “So do I have it?”

I looked back. “What?”

“Redemption,” he said.

I swallowed. “I think you're the only one who knows the answer to that.”

Edilman sighed. He clapped Bennock on the back and nodded.

“You always were too smart, Jaxter. Guess I just have to keep looking.”

I hurried through the forest. If my theory was right, we could end all this madness fairly easily. But only one person could tell me if that was true.

I had to find Gobek.