The Splintered Eye (The War of Memory Cycle) (48 page)

Lark raised a brow but shrugged and handed over the deck.

Cob thumbed through the cards quickly, trying to find the one he remembered.  They were black and white woodcut prints with a few flecks of red ink, familiar enough.  The old lady back in Bahlaer had read his Six Gates from a similar deck, and while it all seemed like hog-crap at the time, it now bothered him.  Her words were ghosts in his head.

Long road, thorned gift, bound to a dead hope.

Too loved.

That card was easy to pick out.  The man and woman on the white shore, dark sea stretching beyond them, their hands intertwined around the stem of a goblet.  He had not noticed before, but neither of them was smiling.

He set it aside and kept going.  Found the Soldier easily, kneeling in his battlefield, then the Wayfarer in the endless wilderness.  Then the Queen of Staves, the bark-skinned woman reaching out to the old traveler.

Four of six.  He could not remember the others.

He went through the deck several times, staring hard at each picture, but they all blurred together.  He did not know if the old woman was right or if he was just matching a random card to a rough moment in his life.  Still, it felt like something was there—something just beyond his perception that could explain this chaos he had fallen into.

When he finally threw down the cards, he was alone at the table, Arik in wolf-form snoozing at his feet.

Not tired but knowing he should sleep anyway, he rose, and the wolf opened an eye then heaved up to join him.  He rearranged the cards in a neat stack, blew out the remaining lantern then headed up the stairs, eyes adjusting smoothly to the darkness.  At the top, he looked down the short hall to the other doors—the Damiels and the room where the three women should be.  Not a proper time to intrude.

He pushed his door open, then stopped on the threshold.

A shadow dropped out the open window into the darkness beyond.

She was here
, he thought, stiffening. 
Waiting for me.  Why?

And why flee?

A few quick strides took him to the window but when he looked out into the cold night, there was no one to see.  Just other houses, narrow streets, ice, snow.  Not a single shape moving in the dim gold moonlight.

He gritted his teeth, but there was no use shouting after her.  That would just wake people up.  Instead he pulled the bubbly window closed and latched it, then latched the shutters too.

Then he sat in the dark and waited, too angry to sleep.

*****

In an alley below, Dasira exhaled her relief.  She had half-expected him to leap out the window and chase her through the streets, and some small part of her was sorry he had not.  A good exhausting run might have been what he needed.

But it might have sent him into Guardian form, and she knew she had no chance against that.  Not with daggers, not with words.

Coward
, she thought at herself. 
Shouldn’t have fled.

Not that she had intended to.  For more than a mark she had sat in his room, agonizing over what to say, while the voices of the others drifted up to her—comfortable, secure, innocent.  She had waited tensely as one by one they came up the stairs.  But each had passed her by, left her marinating in her moral compromises and weak excuses, and by the time the last steps approached, her nerve was gone.

She touched the stud in her right ear.  Such a small thing to be such a great source of trouble.

Tomorrow.  I’ll do it tomorrow.

Light give me strength.

The next morning, Cob was tired and no less cranky.  He ate breakfast in silence, all too aware of Dasira’s absence from the table, and let the others hand him clothes and rucksack and nag him about being careful without comment.  By the time they set out for the barrier, he had barely spoken ten words, and the faces of all the women were creased in concern.  He pretended not to notice.

They walked up the road, past the guard-post, into the cold fields.  Ilshenrir emerged from the trees to join them, carrying the wooden staff Cob had left there.  Briefly Cob considered taking it, then shook his head; he did not need the temptation of a weapon right now.  His mission in Haaraka was one of supplication, not demand, and he had to hold his temper.

The Mother Matriarch led them through the crusted snow toward a low stone wall that divided one field from another.  She was garbed formally yet still quite plainly in the brown dress that seemed to be the Brigyddians’ vestments; no bells hemmed her sleeves like Aglavyn, but she wore a stole under her weather-cloak, heavily embroidered with stylized flames.  Sogan ambled beside her, dark eyes constantly scanning their surroundings, but the whiteness stretched unbroken all around them.  There was no place to hide.

Vriene paused at the wall and Cob halted at her heels, waiting for her to climb over.  Instead, she turned to him and reached up to draw a medallion from around her neck.

“
This is the barrier,” she said, offering it to him.  “Would that we could accompany you, but we have our duties here.”

His brows crinkled, and he eyed the wall.  It was barely knee-high and cut across the landscape at a slight curve, a few berry-brambles growing wild along this side.  The other side was bare, and when he squinted at the hills beyond it, somehow his gaze slid away.  Stepping closer, he reached out cautiously.  The empty air turned his hand aside so gently that he might not have noticed had he not been staring at it.

“A veil as well as a ward,” said Ilshenrir.  “It must require a tremendous amount of energy.”

Cob looked back to the medallion, having second thoughts.  It was a simple bronze oblong etched and lacquered with the image of a blooming red rose, and for a moment he saw the scene at the shore—the wraith bound to the sand, the Ravager’s spear in its chest as it devolved into thorny vines.

He grimaced and beckoned for it.  When Vriene pressed it into his palm, a strange warm tingle ran through him.

“
I guess this is it,” he said, looking around at the others.  Fiora stood ready; Lark gave him an encouraging smile; off to the side, Ilshenrir inclined his head reverently.  Arik loomed in the background, pale eyes mournful; Cob supposed he wanted to get no closer to the barrier.

Something moved beyond them, and he peered past to see Dasira stalking up their trail, hands jammed in the pockets of her borrowed coat.  His stomach roiled and his mouth went dry as everything he wanted to say flooded his mind.

Abruptly she halted, her attention snapping to the woods.  A pause, then she turned that way and broke into a run.

“
Hoi!” he called after her, but she never looked back.  In moments she had vanished among the trees.

He stared after her, baffled, and started to follow.  Lark snagged his sleeve before he could pass.  “You should probably give her some time,” she said.

Cob glared at Lark, and realized from her apologetic expression that she knew.  Of course she did; she and Darilan had been together on the plan to rescue him from the Golds, and evidently their alliance had continued even after Darilan’s death.

He wanted to grab her by the throat and shake the answers from her. 
Why?  How?  Have you always known?
  He saw her gulp, and knew she could read that urge on his face.

So he closed his eyes, pushed the anger down.  It took effort, and even when he felt capable of looking at her again without hurting her, his hands still shook slightly.  The edge of the medallion dug into his palm.

“Fine,” he said in a low voice.  “She has ‘til we get back.  You better keep her outta trouble.”

“
Yeah.  Don’t worry,” said Lark, and patted his shoulder cautiously.  He jerked away and she winced.

The others were watching them quizzically—except for Ilshenrir, who had half-turned to stare into the woods where Dasira had gone.  Cob met their gazes with a stiff smile and a shrug.  “So, we ready?” he asked Fiora.

The Trifolder girl shifted her rucksack across her shoulders and nodded.  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“
All right, then we—“

His air cut off as Arik crushed him in a hug.  He patted the skinchanger awkwardly with the hand that had not been pinned, and for a moment Arik pushed back to stare down at him, strong face crumpled with worry.  Then those brawny arms wrapped around again and nearly squished him to death.

“Arik!” he wheezed.  “Arik, pike it, this won’t work if y’break my ribs!”

“
That’s right, give him ideas,” said Lark.

The skinchanger sniffled, then released him.  “You take good care,” he said solemnly.  “And remember what I taught you about trousers.”

Fiora rolled her eyes.

“
Uh…right,” Cob said, straightening his gear.  “So.  Vriene, anythin’ you want me to tell the folks in there?”

“
No, thank you,” said the Mother Matriarch, shaking her head.  “But if you permit, I will bless you for the trip.”

At Cob’s nod, she reached up to press two fingers to his brow.  An aura of vitality flowed from her, so different from that of the dying Mother Matriarch of Cantorin.  “Blessings be upon you, Cobrin, bearer of the Guardian,” she said.  “In the name of Brigydde Ecaeline. 
Uvadha ahranxanat
.”

Warmth spread through him from ear-tips to toes, banishing the chill of the air.  With it came a soothing feeling—hearth-fire and sunlight and wind, the vista from the cave-mouth of his childhood.

He blinked rapidly, the remnants of his anger falling away.  The Mother Matriarch’s touch trailed down his cheek, then left him, and he heard her murmur a similar benediction over Fiora.

Once more he looked to the woods where Dasira had vanished, then to the medallion in his hand.  The barrier stood ahead, and beyond it the unknown future.

With a last nod to the others, he clasped Fiora’s hand and stepped forward, over the wall.

*****

Dasira had planned to be there.  All night she had wandered the streets of Turo, teeth chattering, only avoiding frostbite by the agitation the Trifold aura caused in her.  By dawn, she had run through the arguments a thousand times, and she was sure she could face him.  Face her fate, whatever it might be.

But then had come the voice in her ear.

‘Vedaceirra.’

When it first spoke, she was halfway up their trail, the aura of the Trifold warding finally behind her.  Already her heart was racing; just seeing them gathered together, allies and spiritual enemies, made her nerves sing with tension.  The words swarmed in her head, so many she feared they would spill from her lips even at this distance.

Then the voice.  That horrible anchor on her soul.

She stopped in her tracks and looked away, knowing that he could see through her eyes if he so chose.  “Stop calling me that,” she murmured.

‘Not likely.  Where are you?  You’ve been out of contact for days.’

The Trifold ward.  For the first time, she felt grateful for that awful thing.

“Nowhere,” she said.

‘
I don’t have the patience for games today.’

“
Too bad.”  The scrubby woods lay ahead, and without thought she ran for it.  A voice called out behind her but she pretended not to hear.  She felt the muscles in the right side of her neck tense, as if the ear-stud was expanding its influence, but when it made her head turn, it turned the wrong way.  She nearly ran into a tree and cursed under her breath.

‘
Stop resisting,’
said Enkhaelen.

“
Pike you.”

‘
You think you can hide from me?’

She gritted her teeth as a spasm rolled down her right side and froze her leg.  Stumbling, she clipped another tree with her shoulder and just caught herself from sprawling into the briars.  Her right hand grasped the bark, her right side started to turn her.

With her left hand, she slid Serindas from his sheath.

“
Stop, or I’ll make it stop,” she hissed.

‘
I’m already in you.  Removing the stud won’t help.’

“
Not the stud,” she growled, and lifted Serindas’ tip toward her eye.

Her right arm shot up to grip her left, but she grinned viciously as her threads moved against Enkhaelen’s efforts.  The blade’s tip hovered before her, burning crimson, and she knew that at the slightest contact, Serindas’ hunger would drive him into her even without her help.

‘Vedaceirra,’
said Enkhaelen, exasperated,
‘I’m not trying to harm him.  Believe me, this is for his own good.’

“
Like converting me was for my own good?”

‘
You’ve lived this long because I—‘

“
Forty-five years of servitude isn’t a life,” she snarled.  “I watched my family age and die—my parents, my brothers—and you try to pretend this was a gift?”

‘
I didn’t say that.’

“
If you think I’ll let you hunt the only friend I have left—“

‘
He’s your charge, not your friend.  You’re his keeper and that’s all you’ve ever been.  I sent you to watch him, to guard him.  Now where is he?’

“
Dead in a spire.”

A sigh. 
‘Vedaceirra, please.  I’m not a fool.  There are strong caiohene emanations around you but no resonance—not a spire.  Some kind of deific aura nearby, probably Trifold.  Some spirit interference.  It’s familiar…  Just tell me where and we can consider this conversation closed.’

She said nothing.  The akarriden blade shivered in her hand.

‘Or stand there like a martyr.  Fine by me.’

Her mouth flattened in anger.  What did her monstrous maker know of martyrdom, of sacrifice?  He was the one at the end of the puppet strings, sending thousands to dance for him, to die for him, all to some unknowable end.  Forty-five years since she had lost her original body and been condemned to this bracer, to serving the Emperor and his son but obeying only Enkhaelen.

She was done.  Finally, she was done.

She steeled her will to finish it.

‘Stab the bracer if you’re serious,’
said the voice in her ear. 
‘But tell me, do you really want to leave Cob to me?’

The blade wavered.  That was a good point.  She had no power over Enkhaelen, no strikes that could break his shields, but she did have knowledge.  Things she should have shared with Cob long ago.  If he was to kill ‘Morshoc’, then he needed what she knew.  More than anything, she had to make him aware of what he was up against.

She lowered the blade, took a deep breath.  Perhaps he was still on this side of the barrier.  Perhaps there was time…

'Oh by the Scouring Light,’
said Enkhaelen, interrupting her thoughts.  For once there was no mockery in his voice, only incredulous anger. 
‘I knew it.  You're near Haaraka.  What is wrong with you people?  You escape the haelhene only to run there?  Of all the masochistic plans you could have made, you chose to flee to the place infested with reembodied wraiths?  I swear, I am going to come over there and kill you all just to save you from your idiocy!

‘
No.  I won’t kill you,’
he amended immediately. 
‘That would be too good for you.  No, no, I’ll haul you out of the fire and we’ll have a nice long chat.  Won’t that be lovely.  Tea and biscuits and complete piking annihilation.’

An exhale. 
‘You are seriously…  I’m on my last nerve right now.  I have enough to handle without this.  And you, Vedaceirra, you should have known better.  How could you take him out of one set of wraith hands only to put him in another?’

She kept her mouth shut, though his words needled at her fears.

‘Fine.  If this is how you want to play it…fine.  I am going to have a screaming fit, and then I’ll come deal with this.  You had better thank me when I’m done.’

And with that, the stud went silent.

It took Dasira several tries to sheathe Serindas, her hands shaking so badly she nearly stabbed herself twice.  By the time she made her way to the edge of the trees, the group by the wall had broken up.  Cob and Fiora were gone.

She wiped cold sweat from her face and turned up the collar of her coat.  Most of the others had moved toward the town, but Ilshenrir was drifting toward her, though she knew she was still mostly hidden.  She swallowed thickly, but if anyone would understand her problem, it was him.