Remnants: Season of Fire
BLINK
Remnants: Season of Fire
Copyright © 2015 by Lisa T. Bergren
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ePub Edition © January 2015: ISBN 978-0-310-73568-7
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Interior design: David Conn
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CONTENTS
“If you will not fight for right when you can easily win without bloodshed; if you will not fight when your victory is sure and not too costly; you may come to the moment when you will have to fight with all the odds against you and only a precarious chance of survival. There may even be a worse case. You may have to fight when there is no hope of victory, because it is better to perish than to live as slaves.”
— Sir Winston Churchill (1874 – 1965)
ANDRIANA
I
found the ship we want. A merchant vessel with supplies for Catal, the
Far North
.” Chaza’el cast a worried glance back through the maze of crates — three times taller than we were — and then to us again. “One little problem — she’s loaded with soldiers.”
“Perfect,” Vidar said, crossing his arms. “It’s been a little dull around here.”
I smiled at him, my eyes tracing the lingering bruises on his olive skin, then sighed heavily, wishing again Niero was with us. He’d know how to go about this — seeking to free Kapriel from the island prison, as well as how to board a ship loaded with sailors who wouldn’t exactly welcome us.
“You’re sure that’s the one, Chaz?” Vidar asked, gesturing toward the ship. “The one you saw in your vision?”
The shorter man nodded once, and his dark, silken hair
washed forward and back. “And as far as I can tell, it’s the only one heading out any time soon.”
“We’re too obvious, all together,” Killian groused, pushing his blond dreadlocks over a shoulder. He looked at Ronan, my knight, who had assumed leadership in Niero’s absence. “Send me. And Bellona. We’ll slip in, spring Kapriel, and bring him back to you. The rest of you can find shelter in the meantime.”
Ronan’s green-brown eyes hovered over Killian a minute, then at the rest of us. “Look, I know this seems like the most idiotic thing we’ve done. But Kapriel is the key to us winning this war. Niero said so. He’s the only one who can really go head to head with Keallach. And if he’s ill . . .” He looked at each of us in turn again and we seemed to collectively hold our breath. “We all need to go,” Ronan said, “because we all might not return.” His lips clamped together and avoided my gaze. “We’re never going to be closer to Kapriel than this, right? Anyone disagree that this is where the Maker has led us?”
We all shook our heads, even Killian, clearly miserable at the idea of putting his Remnant in such danger. But ever since we’d seen the broad band of the blue ocean, we’d felt the undeniable pull toward Catal and Kapriel, as impossible as it seemed.
“Get down,” Bellona suddenly growled. Her long, brown braid hit my shoulder as she whirled to crouch beside me.
We ducked, and a second later heard two men walk by, just one crate away from us. They were laughing under their breath and murmuring to each other. We’d seen the whistles every worker wore around their necks. The dockyard’s air filled with the sound of them, long and short blasts, a wordless language that sounded eerie and foreign to our ears. I had no doubt that there was a unique blast for alarm — a call that
would send some of the gray-clad soldiers stationed on each corner, armed with automatic weapons, after us.
The men paused on the far side of the crate that separated Chaza’el, Killian, and Tressa from them. My fellow Ailith were breathing shallowly, eyes wide, backs to the crate. We all had our hands on the hilts of our weapons, but my ears strained for the bits of conversation from the dockworkers. They were speaking in low tones about the
Far North
, the merchant ship Chaza’el said we had to board if we were to get to Catal today. Only the transports and supply vessels were allowed around the island; any others were immediately destroyed.
I could feel Ronan’s stare. Ever since we’d kissed, he seemed somehow more
present
. Vivid. Like he was an extension of me, in a way. I met his gaze and his brows knit together. He vacillated between concern and understanding what I was after — to learn more from the two dockworkers nearest us. If either felt alarm, I’d be the first to know it.
An empath, Niero had called me once. It was my gift to feel what others felt. Just as it was Tressa’s gift to heal, Chaza’el’s gift to see the future, and Vidar’s gift to know light or darkness in another. We knew that somewhere ahead of us was Kapriel, with a miraculous power of his own; and others too. If they yet lived. I knew it as surely as Ronan did that this — this mad need to get to Kapriel, our brother, our prince, and free him — was what we had to get done.
Somehow.
“Shoving off soon . . .” said one of the dockworkers as I dared to edge closer, crawling down low in order to hear better.
“Yeah. All the freight’s loaded already,” said the other.
Their conversation over, they turned to go and I slowly pulled back, freezing as they came into view — with me in
plain sight — but they passed on. My heart hammered in my chest, but I grinned. I rolled to my side, and around the corner of the crate. Ronan gripped my upper arms, half in consternation at the risk I took, half in hope I’d gained good information.
“We have to get aboard tonight. They’re to leave soon,” I whispered.
“Bellona and Vidar,” he said, “make your way over to the
Far North
and see if you can spot a way for us to steal our way aboard.”
The two nodded and immediately moved out, each carrying a dagger in their hands. If they came up against a dockworker, they’d be best dispatched in silence. Ronan and Killian watched their progress, ready to spring to their aid if necessary. The rest of us stayed down.
“What if we got into some crates?” Tressa asked, pushing her red ponytail over her shoulder. “Like we did in Castle Vega?”
“It sounds like they’re all loaded already,” I said.
She sighed. I knew what she was after — avoiding a fight. And I couldn’t blame her. She found it nearly impossible to hurt another — with her gift of healing, it felt completely wrong, regardless of how much danger she faced. I had encountered something similar. As my empathy gifting grew, I knew what it was to feel what my enemies felt, and their fear or fury tangled with my own heart in alarming fashion. The mere thought of it sent bands of panic around my chest, and I fought to breathe. But I couldn’t help it. Were Tressa and I as much an impediment as a boon to the Ailith? Might we not endanger the others, in their efforts to protect us as well as themselves?
Chaza’el caught my eye. He studied me, searching me, seeing me in a way that I hadn’t often been seen. It reminded me of Niero, and my heart panged anew with worry for our lost leader. Was he all right? Hurt? Even alive?
“We are on the Maker’s path,” Chaza’el said, a hint of compassion in the lines of his moon-shaped eyes, as well as within him. “And this is his next step for you, Andriana. I’ve seen it.”
I nodded, once, not really feeling like I wanted to get into it. But his choice of words —
you
, not
us
— and then the cold wave of hesitation from him, gave me pause. What else had he seen in his vision? We’d already lost Niero. Were we about to lose others on this mission too?
Chaza’el moved away, edging past Ronan as if he didn’t want to stay close to me, giving me further opportunity to question him. Ronan absently ran his fingers along his ribs, where I’d seen the massive bruise days ago, even as he watched our companions make their way through the labyrinth of the dock’s crates.
“Hey,” I said, touching his hand lightly. “How’re you healing?”
“It’s getting better,” he said distractedly. But he dropped his hand.
“Can you still see Bellona and Vid?”
“No. They disappeared a couple rows away from the ship.”
I listened to the whistles that continued to fill the air, and prayed we wouldn’t hear an alarm.
Two hours later, we all moved over toward the ship, with Bellona and Vidar leading the way. After sunset, the docks
grew mostly quiet, with only the wash of waves against the docks; by nightfall, the workers’ whistles and wheeling gulls all grew silent. Every so often, we heard a short whistle, and I came to understand that it was a sort of clock — the means for guards on duty to know how much time had passed . . . and how much was left before their watch was over.
Vidar gestured for most of us to hide along a line of triple-stacked crates, and Ronan and I took up opposite guard flanks, watching for patrolling guards. I grabbed Vidar’s arm as he passed me. “Anything?” I whispered, wondering if he sensed any of the Sheolite nearby.
He shook his head, and I released him. For this being enemy territory, we’d run into very few that alarmed Vidar, and our armbands remained oddly neutral. Mostly, Vidar said he sensed a vague void, which seemed to unsettle him more than the looming cold threat that the scouts and trackers brought with them.
He and Bellona went on alone, slipping to the edge of the docks row by row. Under the light of a half-moon, I could see their shadowy figures pause a moment, then one leaped out over the water. Vidar. He grabbed hold of the heavy rope, wound his legs around it, and shimmied up the arc toward the ship. When he was a third of the way, I saw Bellona leap for the rope beneath him and do as he was doing — climbing her way up to the ship, but at a greater speed.