Obsidian (33 page)

He spent several hours watching, waiting for his move. The orbs were beginning to rise when, as he looked on, the whole force started forward. He spared a glance toward the city. Was Corfe ready? He shook his head to clear the thought. That was not his concern just now.

The grim parade marched on before him. He tried to spot Verial, but it was impossible to see anything in that writhing mass. He had to make a move soon, though, or she would be carried off with the tide. Who knew? Maybe she was already gone. The thought seized him so violently that he almost panicked. Could it be? Maybe he was too late. Even now, maybe she was bound in the Chasm, suffering her punishment.

Visions of her distress assailed him. Clutching at his stomach, he rocked back and forth, trying to shake off what he knew was Zyreio’s own doing. Obsidian would be happy to paralyze him with fear. And it was working. He started to sweat, moaning at his own impotence.

Then, as clear as the toll of a bell, he heard a voice. It was his own, echoing inside his head, cutting through the fog that gripped him. He was speaking words from the Ages:
My children are my own. I have sent them for a good purpose. The plans of the evil one will come to naught.

They were familiar words, words that his mother used to speak to him as a child. They had given him comfort then. Now they became a lifeline.

“My children are my own,” he breathed as he staggered to his feet, “I have sent them for a good purpose. A good purpose.”

Slowly, he relaxed his arms and straightened his back. “My children are my own. I have sent them for a good purpose.”

There was nothing else to do. The army was moving. If he failed to act now, he might not have another chance.

“The plans of the evil one will come to naught,” he said to himself one more time. Then he stepped out of the trees and into the flow of Chasmites.

__________

The evacuees were oblivious to what was going on above ground. They could no more tell if the attack had begun than if it was rainy or orblit outside. The hours slipped by as they went about their daily task of self-preservation.

Haven was not without its difficulties. Quite apart from the stress of having husbands, fathers, brothers, and friends above ground was the tension between the evacuees themselves. Being thrown into a new, primitive, living arrangement while surrounded by thousands of women and elderly in the same position brought out some of the evacuees’ darker sides. By the end of her first full day there, Alisha noted that the orange-banded “hosts” had been called upon to break up at least three fights and investigate four accusations of theft.

Alisha tried to stay away from trouble as much as she could. She had volunteered for trepofam duty, which meant that she visited most of the “neighborhoods,” and often was brought in as an impromptu judge over a dispute. The trepofam she didn’t mind so much; having to decide whether a portly old man needed a hands-breadth more cooking space than his younger, thinner neighbor was what she loathed. Usually, she just called a host over and relayed the argument to her. The host never seemed pleased to inherit the problem, but Alisha figured that she was at least better trained to handle it.

To return to the tent from trepofam duty was her chief delight. Trint and Ester were always there waiting for her and Ester made it her duty to have food from the dining tent already prepared. That was fine with Alisha; after hours of overhearing squabbles and cleaning waste houses, socializing was the last thing she wanted to do. Instead, after their meal, she would read to the children from the Ages, or they would swap stories about their lives. There was so much to learn about each other. Often enough, Alisha would break down in tears over what the children—her children now—had been through.

Ester, in particular, delighted to hear about how she and Tertio had fallen in love. Alisha never would have guessed that the girl had a romantic streak a league wide. This tendency wasn’t helped by Bertrice’s frequent visits. Their one-time guide had become their friend, so she would often stop by when she was off duty to regale Ester with romantic stories from far-off places. Alisha doubted the truth of these accounts, but since Ester never took them too seriously (except for swooning over a handsome prince), she figured little harm was done. It was much harder to find stories to impress Trint. Tertio’s life had been steady, with minimal amounts of swordplay and adventuring, which were the only things Trint wanted to hear about. And though Bertrice’s stories had plenty of combat, she always lost the young boy at the kissing parts. Yet he was content enough to play with some of the toys he had brought along. And, of course, he lived for the times when N’vonne would come visit.

Although she was the chief administrator of Haven, N’vonne still found plenty of time to stop by Alisha’s tent alone. On the second morning after the evacuation—the same day that Vancien returned with news of the Sentries and fennels—she stopped at their tent for over an hour, chatting with Alisha, helping Ester with some dishes, but above all, sitting on the floor playing with Trint’s set of wooden blocks. Together, they built lofty towers, squat castles, and Trint’s favorite, a rounded arch, complete with a wooden keystone. This was his building of choice because it was necessary that they rig up a support for the arch in order to build it and then, when the keystone was in place, they would remove the support. There the arch would stand, as if by magic. He would giggle with delight and then, with N’vonne’s permission, send it crashing to the ground.

After an hour or so, N’vonne had to leave to go about her other duties. On her way out, though, Alisha pulled N’vonne aside and thanked her for spending so much time with Trint.

“I’ve never had the opportunity to have children of my own,” N’vonne said, a little embarrassed. “So it’s a privilege to be around Trint and Ester. Plus, I guess Trint reminds me of Vancien.”

Alisha nodded. The night before, over tea, N’vonne had shared her distant past. She knew of N’vonne’s career as an instructor, of her interest in Hull, and of her care for Vancien. Though she had never met Vancien himself, she had nothing but gratitude for the young man who rescued Trint and Ester from Gorvy. So she took N’vonne’s comment as a compliment.

Alisha checked to make sure both children were distracted, and her voice cracked as she responded. “Yes, my boy was just a little younger than Trint when the sickness took him.”

“Did you see him among the Risen Ones?”

Tears welled up in Alisha’s eyes. “Oh, yes. He. . .” she turned her face away. “He was just like he always was, only. . .”

N’vonne waited, and after a moment, she had collected herself. “My Nes—That was short for Nesbert. He was named after his grandfather. Tertio never cared for the name, but I always kind of liked it. Anyway, Nes was full grown. And yet so young!” Her eyes took on a distant expression. “Seeing him again was the most amazing gift Kynell could have given me.”

“And yet you could not see him for long.”

Alisha shrugged, trying not to relive the parting. “No. But a lifetime would not have been enough. It was good to know he was safe. And besides. . .” she looked tenderly back into the tent. .” . .I’ve got to take care of these little ones now. They need me more than my Nes does.”

For a moment, N’vonne had nothing to say. How much selfless love must it have taken for this woman to pull herself away from her son for the sake of two street kids she’d only just adopted?

Now Alisha was looking up at the black space above them. For a moment, she looked very peaceful.

“Wonder what’s going on up there?” N’vonne asked, following her gaze.

“I don’t know. I can’t even tell if it’s day or night. I know we haven’t been down here for very long, but still, the waiting is difficult. Do you think the Risen Ones would know if anything happened?”

N’vonne shook her head. “I’ve asked them several times. They keep telling me it’s better not to know. Frankly, I don’t like the sound of that.”

Alisha sighed and then glanced around. “I’d better tend to the children. I think I can hear Trint getting into trouble.”

“Are you on trepofam duty today?”

“Yes. But not for a few hours yet.”

“If you like, I’ll go with you. I could stand to do something more practical here than wandering around all day with the Risen Ones. Besides, being with them reminds me of Telenar.” Now it was her turn to look away. What was her husband doing right now? Praying? Fighting Sentries? Talking with Kynell? She had briefly heard of Kynell’s arrival before she had gone underground. She knew it had to be wonderful for Telenar, to be up there with him.

Alisha pretended not to notice her distraction. “I’d like that very much. The kids and I will be at the dining tent for lunch, if you want to meet us there.”

N’vonne nodded then took her leave. It wouldn’t do to be sniffling or dreaming over Telenar in front of a woman who had already lost so much. They parted with a quick hug before Alisha went back into her tent and N’vonne took the long road back to her lonely little dwelling. She had never before so sharply regretted not being a follower of Kynell in her youth. If she had been, maybe she would know some of the Risen Ones who now stood guard over her. Instead, she was certain that her mother and grandmother had chosen the way of Zyreio. The thought that they were now among Obsidian’s army was like a dull, reverberating ache that she could never entirely ignore. Her family had never followed the Prysm; to her father, it was just another corrupt organization that siphoned money for the king. And her mother was so bitter towards life that hope had no room to grow. With two such parents, N’vonne had grown up a defensive, cynical young woman. Though she had never told Vancien this, Hull was the one who had introduced her to Kynell. No wonder she had fallen for him! He had shown her life: the fullest, most abundant sort of life. It was enough to divert her from her youthful angst. Now she lived and breathed the Prysm like it was her lifeline. And on top of that, she was married to a priest!

These thoughts carried her back to her own tent, where she decided to steal a quick nap before going about her duties. Only when she crept into her bedroll did she realize that she didn’t feel lonely at all. The One who had brought Hull to her, who had given her to Telenar, and who now was presenting her with a friend in Alisha was still there. He had walked with her the whole way. And even while he walked on Rhyvelad, she knew he was still standing guard over her. She felt as certain about that as she did the rock underneath her. So she slept.

__________

The munkke-trophes were all for staying put. Even though Ragger felt some obligation toward his captain, it was easy enough to assure him that where Gair had gone, he could not follow. So, like a good soldier, he assigned himself the post of first sentry and chief hunter. Sirin, meanwhile, couldn’t help but fret a little about what he was going to do. Lucio and Teehma were equally restless. Not a few leagues away, the battle to end all battles was taking place and they knew nothing about what was going on. It was maddening and reassuring at the same time.

“D’you suppose the city’s been overrun?”

“Lucio, for the last time, I don’t know!”

“But Trint an’ Ester are safe, right?”

“Listen, young man, if you ask me that question one more time I shall use this cane on you.”

So Lucio, having annoyed both Teehma and Sirin past the point of conversation, took up with Ragger. The munkke-trophe had a soft spot for children, so he was happy enough for Lucio’s company. He even took the time to show him a few combat moves, which caught Teehma’s attention, as well. Soon both children were learning how to wield a long-staff and a sword.

Sirin did not approve, but neither did he object. “Good for the muscle tone,” he grunted once when Teehma asked him about it. “Not that I think you’ll be doing any fighting. When you come up against a Chasmite, only Kynell will be able to help you. Not some sliver of metal.”

Teehma was feeling particularly independent at that moment. She had just had her first lesson from Ragger and he had complimented her on how well she moved with the long-staff. The world was at her feet.

“Yeah, well, what if I don’t believe in Kynell?”

Sirin looked at her with sad eyes. “I know you don’t believe in him, child. Or I figured as much.”

The insightful comment stung. “Huh. Well, you’re right. So what?”

The munkke-trophe narrowed his eyes a bit. “You are not ready to have this conversation. Here, right before your very eyes,” he waved a furry arm in the general direction of the battle, “is proof that Zyreio exists and plots against us. Only a fool would not believe that Kynell exists, as well. And only a very lost little girl would not want him to exist.”

“But Zyreio we can see. . .sort of.” Teehma protested. “We saw his army, anyhow. We haven’t seen Kynell or his army.”

“You’ve seen Captain Gair and Lieutenant Ragger. Are they not enough for you?”

“You know what I mean. The dead soldiers. We haven’t seen
them
.”

“I fail to see why you should want to see a dead soldier when you do not even acknowledge the living ones,” Sirin sniffed.

Teehma couldn’t suppress a growl. “You’re impossible to talk to.”

“I know exactly what you’re saying,” Sirin continued. “But it seems to me that you are so resistant to the truth that a vision of Kynell himself would not satisfy you. What disturbs me is why you don’t
want
him to exist.”