The Keeper's Shadow (21 page)

—PROCLAMATION OF MASTER QUERIN

W
ILLUM RIDES AT THE REAR OF THE
A
PSARA COMPANY,
some of the best and the brightest Ende has. Three talented young men, brought to continue training with Wolf, are positioned in a semi-circle around her. No more than fifteen years old, all showed potential far above what Willum had expected—younger versions of himself, all eager to take part in what is to come. A few weeks with them and he might have made a difference, increased their chances of survival. They do not deserve to die in this war.

The six young women of varying ages, hand-picked by Ende to conceal but also to protect Stowe, are bursting with pride; it makes him smile to feel it. Stowe, he knows, must feel it too. It has been years since she's been with girls of her own age. It was hard for her to leave the security of her parents' love and return to the world; perhaps they will help ease the way.

Last night, just as he was leaving his meeting with Ende, news had come that Stowe was awake and in distress. The instant the words escaped Petra's lips, he had known that the healing was not complete.

He had found Stowe curled into herself like an infant, shaking and sobbing, and though she allowed him to take her into his arms, he had known his care alone would not be enough to mend her sorrow. The Apsara would be leaving at dawn to see Roan, he had whispered, wiping her tears, knowing that her brother might provide her with some relief. But if she wanted to leave with them, she would need to eat and meditate.

It had taken her only moments to regain her composure—at what cost, though, Willum could only guess. It would have been better for her to empty herself of grief, but Darius was walking an unforeseen path and Willum knew they could not delay their return any longer.

Though his instincts cried out against being far from Stowe's side, it was imperative to remain invisible to any spies Darius might have along the road. And so he had donned an Apsara cloak and positioned himself between Dai, Petra, and Veet at the rear of the company. These three women were Kira's most trusted lieutenants. Warriors alone, they had refused to be paired with men of power and would not be induced into political intrigue of any kind. All three glow with strength. Confident in their abilities, they carry themselves with dignity and poise, and adopting the language of their bodies is a balm. It harnesses a little of the turmoil he himself is submerged in.

Letting his horse drift easily amongst his Apsara camouflage, he turns onto the trail into the Brothers' camp. He blends perfectly with the horsewomen, and observes from the rear as Roan formally greets Ende, flanked by an honor guard of Brethren.

“Welcome, Ende of the Apsara. We are honored to share our home with you.”

“It is our pleasure to visit the Brothers of the Friend. We have brought three of our sons to train with Brother Wolf should he find them worthy.”

Willum searches Wolf's face as he steps forward and says, “I am, as always, your student, and am honored to be chosen as their teacher.” There is only awe and respect in the man's voice. Whatever else he may be, he owes a great deal of his skill as a warrior to Ende, and it is admirable that he does not try to hide this debt. But the man has a great weight on him; doubt and loyalty are at war inside that powerful frame. “The council convenes at sunset. Come, we will show you to your quarters.”

Willum's gaze shifts to Roan. But the young man is preoccupied with something other than the Brothers' commander. He's sensed Stowe, and Willum can hear the current of their silent conversation.

I was so worried about you.

Yes, I know. I nearly died.

You should have stayed with the Apsara. You'd be safer—

I am with the Apsara. And you are here. What could be safer?

Stowe—

Roan. We stand together against Darius or we run. There is no middle ground.

Willum can see the twinge over Roan's eyebrow; the distress he feels for his sister is an anxiety they both share. Ende nods to her people and they begin to dismount. And as Willum passes Roan, he opens his mind to him, offering what small comfort he can.
She is alive, Roan, but wounded. She needs you.

The Apsara are guided to a group of long, low tents that have been erected on the east side of the camp. Without consultation, the Apsara leave the tent beside Stowe's for Willum. He enters and sits, waiting for her to send for him. He empties himself of all thought and allows his mind the freedom of nothingness. He knows that this is the last time he will be able to do so for a long while.

After spending a frustrating few hours seeing to the final arrangements for that evening's Council, Roan puts the old map of the Dreamfield under his arm and sets off briskly across the frosted ground to the opposite side of the camp. He does not need to be told which tent his sister is in; her presence is like a beacon, shining in his inner eye.

The several Apsara lounging around her tent smile at him in greeting. Roan knows that their casual stance is all show, masking their role—anyone attempting to force his way through to the secret visitors would find himself very quickly compromised and, if he fought back, very likely dead.

The tent's small and unassuming, but standing before it, Willum, even concealed beneath an Apsara cloak, is an imposing presence. “She is waiting for you,” he whispers.

“Thank you for finding her,” Roan says, grasping Willum's arm.

“That, Roan of Longlight, is my purpose. I can do nothing else,” replies Willum, echoing Roan's gesture.

“We found this in the Foresight Academy,” Roan says, handing him the cylinder with the map.

“You've secured the Academy?” asks Willum, elated.

“We're making it our base of operations. That's a map of the Dreamfield.”

“If you found it there, it will need updating.”

“I was hoping—”

“I will start at once,” says Willum, and true to his word he turns and slips silently into the adjacent tent.

Sensing his sister's impatience, Roan pushes through the fabric threshold. Seeing her, he breathes deeply, trying to steady his racing heart. She's such a little girl—no more than twelve, and yet the power she radiates seems ancient and dangerous.

I was raised to be a sophisticated aristocrat, Brother. By my adopted father, the Archbishop of the Conurbation.

The sadness welling up in Stowe's chest almost brings tears to Roan's eyes. She'd been happy once, a girl who played hide-and-go-seek and climbed trees. But no more.

“I was with our parents,” she says softly. “They gave me my life back. I would have stayed forever if they'd let me.”

“I saw them too, not so long ago, in that place,” Roan says. “But I had so little time, and so many questions. I wanted to ask—”

“Why they sacrificed themselves?” Stowe finishes.

Roan nods. “Did they tell you?”

“No, of course not.” Roan can hear the anger and frustration curling dangerously beneath the statement. “They're very sorry about it all, but not sorry enough to answer questions. I've decided to give up on that front and concentrate on the next. Willum and I will return to the City immediately. There's work to do.”

Darius will kill you.

Mother says no. They knew I'd have to go back. They accepted it. You should too.

Why are you being this way?

“This is the way I am.”

Her voice is so devoid of warmth, her eyes so cold. If only he had gripped her hand tighter, she'd never have left his side. Two years with the Turned and her ordeal with Ferrell have made her hard. Very hard. “You want revenge.”

“Shouldn't I?” Her smile is almost cruel. “Don't you?”

Seeing her fierce passion reminds him all too clearly of his own rage. But it barely offsets the slyness of her question. “Once,” he says, carefully, “but vengeance is a dull knife.”

“Well spoken, Brother,” Stowe smiles, her cheeks dimpling with sweet, little girl innocence. “But I take care to tend the sharpness of my blade.”

Please, Stowe. We've just found each other again.

Partings are our fate, Roan.
“It's in the prophecies, The Book of Longlight: ‘Though the destiny of the son and daughter of Longlight be joined, it shall never be shared.'”

There is no escaping her resolve. In the end he knows she's right; he's the one whose motives are questionable. He'd failed to protect her once and doesn't want to make that mistake again. But maybe she doesn't need his protection. If she wants to go back and play Our Stowe, win Darius's trust and help destroy him, who is he to deny her? She suffered more at Darius's hands than he and she's earned the right to play the part she chooses. Still, he knows she's hiding something. He sees his sister but also…something else, something he's not sure he can trust.
Who are you?

“Do you think you haven't changed too?” she asks impatiently.

Whatever Roan had hoped to recover in this meeting is lost forever. He should have known. History cannot be reversed. He hears her mind call out,
Willum
, and in a moment her guardian joins them.

“I have marked the locations of the more recent constructions. Shall I…?” says Willum, looking curiously from one to the other.

Roan nods, smiling weakly. “Please.”

Arranging the map on the floor, Willum begins, “This is the Whorl, it sits atop the Well of Oblivion.”

“I've been through it,” adds Stowe. “Spirits are trapped inside. They try to tempt you to stay in there with them.”

“The Spiracal,” continues Willum. “Darius uses it for executions.”

“But it's in the Dreamfield. Who…?” Roan looks quizzically at Willum.

“The Masters who do not agree with him,” Willum states matter-of-factly.

“What is this thing with the tentacles?” Roan asks.

“The Antlia. Its purpose is kept secret to all but the Masters of the Inner Circle. The Gyre, here, is a mystery as well. I suspect these constructions feed the Masters' powers and help sustain them, though I am not sure how it is done. That is the Ocellus. It is made up of disks that can be used to fold space in the Dreamfield, so that long distances can be traveled with the speed of thought.”

“But isn't that—”

“—what we can do, Brother, without any help,” says Stowe. “But not so the Masters. They have many limitations.”

“This is intriguing,” Willum says as if the thought has just occurred to him. “All the Constructions seem to radiate around a central point.”

Roan joins Stowe as they both try to view the three-dimensional map from Willum's perspective.

Stowe gasps. “The Spiracal!” Then she points at a conspicuously undeveloped area. “Look down here, there's nothing.”

“Where's Darius's Throne?” asks Roan.

Stowe and Willum exchange glances. “Throne,” she says, musing. “He was talking about a new Construction, maybe that's where he's building it.”

“The summation of his architecture,” Willum concludes.

Turning back to Roan, Stowe asks, “What do you know about it?”

“It looks like a giant hand. The base of its arm sits in a pool, a silver pool. Darius told Saint that Stowe and I and the Novakin were meant to fuel it. But it wasn't just us. In the hand there were shapes flowing up from the pool. Hundreds of them.”

“Willum, remember when we went to Cooperation Unlimited? There was something Fortin said about enablers that got me thinking. I could sense he knew something, something secret. Later, it occurred to me that it might have something to do with Darius's new Construction.”

“Yes. Fortin spoke of their tremendous potential…” Willum pauses for a moment then, turning to Roan, asks, “Kira told you of the new enablers those Clerics were equipped with?”

“Yes. But what do you think they have to do with Darius's Throne?”

“You've seen the enabled?”

“Clerics. Yes. And people in the City.”

“How did they seem to you?”

“Listless…soulless. Do you mean…those shapes I saw floating into the hand. Are you saying Darius is using enablers to steal people's life force so that he can power his Throne?”

“It is certainly a possibility.”

“Mabatan said his new weapon—the Apogee—took the lives of the Hhroxhi without wounding them. Do you think—”

“We'll have to go back to the factory, Willum,” Stowe says purposefully, “and find out.”

“Yes,” agrees Willum. “It would at least partially explain how Darius continues to advance despite the loss of both the Novakin and the son and daughter of Longlight.”

“Pardon me for interrupting,” Kira says, slipping into the tent, “but everyone is gathering for Council.”

As Stowe rises to follow Roan, Kira stands between them. “You'll have to wear the cloak. Grandmother's conferred with Wolf. It seems he's a little jumpy about the possibility of spies in our midst and so she's decided that it is unsafe for you to stand openly in Council.”

Though Kira towers over Stowe, it is clear that his sister does not fear her. She listens not out of obligation but respect and picks up her cloak without hesitation.

“Ende requests that we join her after Council. She would like to share some thoughts with us.”

They all nod their assent and Stowe lifts her hood.
I don't think I'll be able to wait till after to share my thoughts with you, Brother. I hope you don't mind
.

I could use your help, actually. I've never done anything like this before.

You asked for it
, she says mischievously as she follows Kira through the open canvas flap.

As the three “Apsara” go to join Ende, Roan starts walking back to Saint's tent and the dreaded council. There were so many things he'd wanted to discuss with Stowe and Willum to prepare for the meeting and he'd only scratched the surface. Maybe there'll be time when they met with Ende tonight. Would Stowe agree to meet with the Hhroxhi? There'd been moments in the tent when he almost felt he had his sister back again, but mostly she'd seemed distant, so much a stranger that he wondered if she still cared for him at all.