Authors: Kristen Britain

Tags: #General, #Fiction, #fantasy, #Epic

Blackveil (68 page)

BOOK: Blackveil

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Gubba wiggled her fingers. The bones vibrated, then lifted from the mat to float between them. Grandmother reassessed her opinion. This was the art. Gubba had some command of etherea after all.

Gubba chittered, her gaze intently following the bones. Then with a distinct, “Oooh,” she watched for a few more intense moments before allowing the bones to gently settle on the mat. She turned her eye on Grandmother, then pointed at the yarn basket.

Grandmother took it to mean Gubba desired some similar show of power. She picked through her yarn. She had no way to replenish her diminishing skeins and had taken to being very careful with what she had left. Some minor demonstration with a small knot would have to suffice. She would create a flower from flame.

She gestured if it was all right for her to borrow the lamp, and Gubba gave her a very human nod. Grandmother rapidly tied a simple knot, one of the first she had learned at her mother’s knee, and dropped it into the flame.

A flower did not bloom as she expected, but the trunk of a tree sprouted from the cup and grew and grew and grew until it was immense, followed by more and more until she and Gubba sat in the illusion of a vast forest of ancient trees.

“The grove,” Grandmother murmured in awe. “It must be.” With the perversity that was Blackveil, the etherea had once again warped her intention, but this time with a magnificent result. Gubba’s eye was wide as she took in the trees.

Then a voice thundered, “FIND THE GROVE.” Gubba’s den vibrated with the voice of God. Crawlies fell out of the ceiling.

Gubba shrieked and Grandmother bowed her head. “Yes, my lord,” she whispered.

“FIND THE GROVE BEFORE THE OTHERS.”

“The others?”

“AWAKEN THE SLEEPERS!”

The illusion faded and all was as before. Gubba reached a shaking hand over to Grandmother. “Gubba
scurrit
Grrrnmudda. Gubba
scurrit
Grrrnmudda
ock
Sleeprrrs.” She walked her fingers on the mat.

Grandmother emerged from Gubba’s den elated. God had not forsaken them, and if she interpreted Gubba’s gibberish correctly, the old groundmite was going to lead them to the grove of the Sleepers. Absently she plucked a twitchy insect out of her hair. Her people came to her, touching and patting her to ensure she was all right, their anxious expressions relaxing to relief.

“All is well,” she told them. “Gubba is going to take us to the Sleepers, and they shall be awakened as God wills.”

But doubt niggled at her. Who were these “others” who also sought the Sleepers? They must be the disturbance that she’d sensed in the forest. Then there was that music that had become an undercurrent in the etherea, like an itch she could not scratch. It could destroy everything she was working for by strengthening the wall, closing off Blackveil once again.

As if trying to survive the forest wasn’t difficult enough, she now faced dangers on two additional fronts.

She hugged Lala and held her close. She would do whatever it took, sacrifice whatever she must, to accomplish her task. Second Empire depended on it.

RETURN TO TOWER OF THE EARTH

“W
e should have told her right away,” Estral said.

Alton sat at the table in Tower of the Heavens staring morosely at the books piled atop it. Estral stood at the other end, hands on hips. If he didn’t feel bad enough about how things had gone with Karigan, he’d done the one thing he surely wished to avoid: upset Karigan’s best friend. They’d been having this same discussion since the morning of the company’s departure.

“I was waiting for the right moment.”

“There is no right moment for that sort of thing,” Estral retorted. “You—”

Dale suddenly emerged through the tower wall. She took one look at the two of them and backed right out.

“Oh, forget it,” Estral said, fresh tears dampening her cheeks. “That may be the last time we ever see Karigan, and she left angry and feeling betrayed. Because of us.” She turned on her heel and left the tower.

“I tried . . .” he mumbled. He supposed he ought to run after her to comfort her, but the last time he’d made an attempt she’d pushed him away. Perhaps he needed to try harder? He just didn’t know the right thing to do.

“Tried what?”

Alton squawked and jumped out of his chair.
Merdigen.
It was Merdigen standing silently behind him. He placed his hand over his thudding heart.

“Can’t you give a man some warning?” he demanded.

“You mean you want me to knock before entering my own domicile?”

“Yes.”

“Not very likely.” Merdigen conjured a chair for himself and settled down arranging his robes just so. “What did I miss while I was away? Anything new?”

Relieved to have an excuse not to run after Estral, Alton sank back into his own chair and told Merdigen all about the arrival and departure of the expedition.

“I should have dearly liked to have spoken with the Eletians,” Merdigen said. “And seen Sir Karigan again. It’s bad luck I missed them.” He brightened upon learning Alton had sent the additional Riders on to the other towers.

“That is wonderful news,” Merdigen said. “My fellow tower mages will be most delighted, and it should prove useful as well.”

“And what did you and the others decide about Tower of the Earth?”

“After numerous arguments and discussions, with some breaks for ale—Booreemadhe is a very good brewer—we concluded that Tower of the Earth must be entered. By you and me. It’s the only way to get answers.”

“What?” Alton said. “You tried getting in there before, but couldn’t.”

“Very true. I took the long route that time and found too many broken bridges. But, there is one other possibility, my boy. It is not the safest approach, but it is the
only
one that remains to us.”

“And what would that be?”

Merdigen looked distinctly uneasy. “You must carry the tempes stone to Tower of the Earth.”

A
lton, Estral, and Dale set out for Tower of the Earth the following morning, a raw, gray day hinting at the rain to come. He needed Estral because her singing would allow him to pass through the tower wall, and he needed Dale so she could provide a buffer against Estral’s emotions. Also in case something untoward befell him.

Swaddled in a blanket deep in one of his saddlebags was the tempes stone. Alton had not known the stone could be removed from its pedestal, but it lifted from the depression that cradled it with no resistance. It was heavy and smooth in his hands, rather like an oversized egg of green tourmaline. The whole time Alton held the stone and packed it, Merdigen fretted and chewed on his fingernails.

“Don’t drop it! Don’t drop it!” he told Alton. “If it chips or cracks—no! I can’t even think it.”

“Calm down,” Alton said, “I’ll take good care of it.”

Merdigen stared at him with an intensity Alton hadn’t witnessed before. “It is not just a pretty stone you’ve got there, boy, it’s what allows me to exist. It contains my essence, who I am. My knowledge, everything.”

Alton had swallowed hard, finally comprehending the significance of what he held wrapped in the blanket. “I swear to you, Merdigen, I’ll see that the stone remains unharmed.”

Merdigen nodded. “You do that, boy.” And then resigned to his fate, he vanished, and that was the last Alton had heard from him.

Merdigen was willing to risk his very existence to see the condition of Tower of the Earth. He’d put his trust in Alton to deliver him safely, and Alton hoped it wasn’t misplaced.

As if picking up on his thoughts as they plodded at a walk to rest the horses, Dale said, “Do you think Merdigen can tell he’s riding in a saddlebag, or is he just asleep until he gets to the tower?”

Alton smiled. At least Dale talked to him. Estral remained silent and gloomy and he missed her melodious voice and laughter with unexpected intensity.

“You’ll have to ask Merdigen yourself,” he replied, “because I have no idea.”

“I will never understand these tower mages,” Dale said, “or what they are, exactly.”

“Magical spirits,” Estral said. “Like those in the wall, but manifested as individuals.”

Dale and Alton gawked at her, but she rode on as if she hadn’t said anything extraordinary. That she spoke at all was startling enough.

“Merdigen said something like that before,” Dale commented. “But is a magical spirit a living soul?”

This time Estral appeared deep in thought and did not respond. Alton could only shrug. It sounded like a question for a moon priest. They picked up their pace to a trot. There was still a way to go yet.

It was drizzling by the time they reached the tower and they immediately tended to the horses and set up camp. Estral stowed her gear in Dale’s tent and Alton sighed at the prospect of another night alone.

Afterward the three stood together beneath the deepening sky with their hoods drawn.

“Might as well get started,” Alton said.

“I will not expose my lute to the rain,” Estral said.

“I’m sure if you play it in the tent it won’t offend the guardians any,” he replied.

She only nodded, the hood obscuring her expression.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go in with you?” Dale asked. “You need someone to watch your back for that . . . that thing in there.”

“It will be easier for me to shield just myself from the tower defenses. And I need you out here. In case anything goes wrong. If I’m not back out in, say, a couple hours, go to Garth in Tower of the Trees. If something happens to me, there is a chance Merdigen is fine. He may find a way to communicate with Mad Leaf, but from what he says about broken bridges, it doesn’t seem likely.”

They stood in dismal silence for many moments staring at the tower.

“I guess I’ll go then,” he said. But before he was two steps away, Estral grabbed him and hugged him.

“You will come back,” she said fiercely.

He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his cheek into her hair. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Good. I’ll play for hours if need be.” She pulled away and glowered at him. “I don’t need to lose you, too.” And she strode toward her tent.

“Karigan will come back,” he murmured.

“Karigan can take care of herself,” Dale said. “You, I’m less sure of.”

“Thanks.”

She flashed him a smile. “Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

He walked toward the tower without looking back, the tempes stone still wrapped in its blanket and tucked in the crook of his arm. By the time he reached the wall, the familiar notes of the wall guardians’ song drifted to him from Estral’s lute.

He tugged on the hilt of his saber to ensure it would easily clear the scabbard if needed, took a deep breath, and entered Tower of the Earth.

’WARE THE SLEEPER