Remnants: Season of Fire (11 page)

“What was it?” I pressed.

“I . . . I can’t share it yet.” But I followed his troubled gaze upward to the skies, searching with him, and I had a pretty good idea.

“You’re going to speak with Raniero now?” Chaza’el asked me quietly, drawing my attention back to him.

“Yes.”

“Ask him how long he intends to stay here,” he said.

I narrowed my eyes at him and then scanned the sky around the big trees again. “I will,” I said slowly.

He turned and left then. I watched him retreat, debating between chasing him down and forcing him to tell me what he meant and going to speak to Raniero. But Chaza’el had said he wasn’t ready to share. Even if I demanded it, would he tell me? I doubted it.

Reluctantly, I turned and padded down the path, thick with needles, toward the river, thinking again of my desire to bathe. But there wasn’t any way I was going to strip down to my underclothes and swim in front of Niero. I would have a week ago. But not today. I already felt vulnerable and exposed around him after last night. The thought of that moment in which I’d very nearly betrayed the Ailith just by succumbing to dark thoughts . . . I shook my head and bit my lip. I didn’t want to be a weakness, a chink in our collective armor.

I saw him up ahead, naked to the waist, his breeches wet and hair dripping down on his brown, broad shoulders. He was sitting on a boulder, staring out to the slow-moving river. He bore none of the green-yellow bruises from our battle at the Wadi Qelt, a week past — those I’d glimpsed yesterday had faded. But wouldn’t there be other injuries? I’d seen him take blow after blow myself, to say nothing of what he had to have suffered afterward. He’d moved like he was still hurting a little. And yet now, there was nothing but the ancient scars across his back and a surging strength within him.

“Good morning,” I whispered. I settled on the rock beside him, thinking of the grief I’d felt, leaving him behind. The tearing.

“Do not dwell on sorrow, Andriana,” he said, still staring forward at the water. “Dwell on things that bring you joy.”

I sighed. “You going to tell me how you do that?”

“What?” he asked, breaking up a twig and tossing bits aside.

“Reading my thoughts. All I said was ‘good morning.’ ”

“I didn’t read your thoughts,” he said, eying me over his shoulder, the hint of a smile at his full lips. “I read your . . . demeanor. Your tone.”

“Hmm,” I said, thinking there had to be more to it than that. “What about your wounds? Will you tell me how you heal so fast?”

“By the Maker’s grace.”

I shifted my neck and moved my leg, which made me wince. For me, yesterday’s wounds felt twice as bad today. “Too bad the rest of us don’t share that grace.”

“We all have our gifts,” he said, flashing me a rare, sly grin.

“You’re sure you’re not Ailith?”

“I’m sure I’m not Ailith.”

“Well, you’re something, then.”

His smile grew at that. “We’re all something, Andriana.”

“Can you just be straight with me, for once?”

His smile faded. “I don’t intend to hide the truth.” He pulled his left shoulder toward his head and twitched his lips. “I don’t know
how
I heal so fast; I just do. And as to how I know where your heart is, what you might be feeling, it’s more of a clear . . .
understanding
of another and where they are, good or bad. And only on occasion.”

I absorbed this and stared with him out at the water for some time. “Maybe the Maker gifted you as such so you could be our leader.”

“Undoubtedly,” he said. “To each of us, the Maker grants what we need, when we need it.”

To the left, in the distance, just as the river bent out of
sight, I saw boys working a line. Fishing, perhaps. I’d seen the racks in the woods, high up, boned fillets drying in the air. Again, it struck me that they would ideally be out in the sun to dry. Maybe it was because they wanted to hide any semblance of civilization . . .

“How long do you intend for us to stay here, Niero?”

“A few days, at least,” he said. “We all need rest. Recovery time, before we wage into further battle. Time to pray and seek the Maker’s direction. Time to connect with Kapriel and take him through the armband ceremony. Meld as a group.”

A thought startled me. The armbands. “Niero, where are the cuffs? Ronan—”

“Chaza’el knew what was to come. He persuaded Ronan to release the armbands to his safe-keeping.”

I breathed a sigh of relief.

I nodded. “Chaza’el had another vision this morning. You’d best speak to him about what he saw. He seemed uneasy.”

He rose and turned to face me, fully, for the first time. “I shall. We’ll have to pay close attention to his visions as we head back into the Trading Union.”

I stiffened. He wasn’t speaking of going back to the Valley, but back into places we’d been. Was that truly our call? He picked up another twig and began cracking off bits of it, dropping them in the water, then eyed me. “We must return. We are together now, strong. And there are many, many in need of the hope we can bring them.”

“If we can stay alive long enough to bring it,” I muttered. I stared at the water again, my mind swirling like the water at the base of the boulder, creating tiny whirlpools, sucking bits of Niero’s twig in and then under. Did he speak of the people in the Wadi? Castle Vega? Georgii Post? Places we had so
narrowly escaped with our lives? It seemed impossibly daunting. But also irritatingly right. Like I knew, deep within, what he had already seen as truth.

“What happened to you, Niero? Back at the Wadi? What did they do to you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, rising. “It is in the past.”

I reached up and grabbed his hand. “It does matter,” I insisted. “You were hurt. You sacrificed yourself in order to distract them from us.”

When he said nothing, I dropped his hand. He folded his arms, but he didn’t move away. And yet as the silence went on, I knew he wasn’t ready to tell me.

“There is much required of all of us, Dri,” he said softly. “This is but the beginning of our sacrifices.”

I sighed heavily. Already I felt wrung out. Weary of the battle.

“We will rest here for a time. Regain our strength. Our focus. It’s important. When we are exhausted, facing foes such as Sethos and Keallach . . . you’ve seen for yourself how they use every single crack in our armor to their advantage. Physically, emotionally, spiritually.”

The way he said that, I wondered if the two had abused him before they ever reached the coast and ran across me.

“Can I tell you something?” I paused to take a deep breath. “Keallach seemed . . .
good
to me. As if he only sought to connect with me, not hurt me. I think it’s Sethos. Sethos is the one we need to destroy. He is the one who drags Keallach down.”

Niero looked me. “Or is that exactly what he wished you to think?” He shook his head dismissively. “No, Keallach is as fallen as his guardian. Only far more clever in disguising his true nature.”

I frowned and stared at the water.

“We must become stronger. On our own. And as a collective,” he said. “We will need to rely on one another in the days to come.” He jumped off the rock and winced, the first sign that he felt any pain at all. Slowly, he straightened, but avoided my gaze.

“Did they hurt you horribly?” I asked softly.

“I’ve experienced far more horrible things than what they heaped upon me.”

I sensed an almost-explanation for some of his scars, tantalizing me, teasing me, but intuitively knew he wouldn’t elaborate on the deep past. I only had a chance at what had just occured. “How’d you escape, Niero?” I tried, as he pulled on his dry shirt.

“They grew tired of their efforts, especially once Keallach and Sethos left. I escaped a lazy guard,” he said with a shrug, and I knew there was no possible way it had been as easy as he wanted me to believe. But I said nothing more.

We stared at the river together for a long while then. He cast a sidelong glance at me. “Did they hurt you, Dri?” he said. “Aboard the ship?”

“Not in any way you can see,” I said. I frowned. “But Niero, Keallach . . . I honestly think there is good in him yet,” I said, rushing now, feeling the guilt and betrayal of my words in coming to the defense of our supposed enemy. “I think he could be turned. Redeemed. Brought into our circle.”

Niero glowered up at me, and for once, I could read him clearly. Frustration and fury. “He is a deceiver, Andriana.”

“He has traveled with Sethos for these past seasons. Sethos has influenced him greatly, for certain. Keallach made him his knight after his own died, Niero. There’s little wonder how the
man has infiltrated his mind and heart. But it doesn’t mean that at his core there isn’t something worth redeeming.”

That brought his head up, and his lips clamped shut. His dark eyes scanned the water, as if trying to see into the world of Pacifica and with it the twins’ past.

“There is darkness within him, and it’s muddled and bewildering,” I went on, shaking my head. “I admit that he might be a master at confusing me, slipping in bits of doubt when I don’t see it coming. But there’s also good in him. I felt that too, Niero. A longing, a hope. For
us
. For the
Maker
.”

“He made his choice,” he bit out. “Do you know what happened to his knight? And Kapriel’s?”

I tried to swallow, but found my mouth dry. “They died,” I whispered.

“They
killed each other
, each fighting to save their Remnant.” He closed his eyes and it was a mask of pain. Then he opened them, his brows quirking with urgency. “Do you see what a waste that was? How wrong? It is not the Maker’s way. And it was Keallach’s decisions that brought them to it.”

We stared at each other for a long moment, sharing the pain, the understanding. “He made terrible decisions. Horrific decisions. But Niero, are you certain you are not blocking Keallach’s return to us? Stopping him from restoration? Yes, I admit, it sounds like madness. But think of it, Niero. Think of it. You saw for yourself — Kapriel’s power, mingled with Keallach’s, both in their infancy yet, before the armband ceremony. What if they were working together, instead of battling?”

“It’s impossible, Andriana,” he said in disgust, turning to go. He paused and said over his stiff shoulder, “Get it out of your mind now. Keallach is using your empathy as a means to
infiltrate us and bring us down. He has chosen his lot. He is against us. Lost to the dark.”

He left me then, moving down the path, back toward the village as if he feared more that I might say, and I sighed in frustration.

I watched as the boys at the bend in the river moved into the woods too, their nets full of shimmering fish. My mouth watered at the thought of the silver scales, sizzling in pans over the open fire, and the pink flesh below, hot on my fingers, filling my empty belly.

But first I had to wash. My skin felt dry and brittle with the layer of sea salt still covering it. And my mind and heart felt much the same, especially after my tense conversation with Niero. It made me want to cry again.

Without another thought, I disrobed, dropping the heavy pelt to the rock, warming in the morning sun, with nothing on but the Pacifican sheath, still bloody, wishing I could shed it too. Then I dived into the cold, fresh water, staying under, remembering the mountain rivers of my youth.

Of my father, swimming beside me. Of laughter.

And of a time with few tears at all.

RONAN

I awakened with a start and sat up, then clenched my eyes against the pounding ache behind them. Breathing slowly and steadily, I waited for a moment until the pain became a dull throb and I could look again. She was gone, as I knew as soon as I awakened.

I tried to stand using my bad arm and sucked in my breath as stars danced across my vision and I almost blacked
out. Once again I paused, calmed my breathing, then rose using my good arm. I shifted slowly, testing my range of motion. I hoped Tressa’s prayers and the Aravander healer’s herbal poultice would help my wound heal faster. Because the thought of a bum sword arm was enough to make me blind with panic.

Bending low, I exited the warm hut and felt the chill of the morning on my skin. Where had she gone? My eyes searched the huts, but few were up at this hour. There were two young boys hauling jugs of water for their mothers. Another stirring the embers of a small cook fire and placing a small log atop it. Four girls burst through a copse of aspen, giggled and whispered when they saw the boy. They raced off and took to four separate trunks, using a long strap that formed a loop around their narrow backs and the massive girth of the trees. Utilizing it as leverage, they pushed back with bare feet and swiftly rose up and up until they were among the branches. Moments later, four boys descended, their eyes red-rimmed, their skin pale with weariness. Lookouts, I decided. Is this how the Aravanders had survived so long without capture?

Tressa emerged from the hut beside me, Killian right beside her. At least he hadn’t let his Remnant slip away while he slumbered. But they didn’t pause beside me. Instead, she was moving toward Latonia’s hut, right across from ours. It was then that I heard the woman cry from within. A great, wrenching cry that made me wince.

Niero was coming up the river path with Chaza’el, deep in conversation, but both men looked straight at Tressa when we heard Latonia cry again. With one nod, I knew she’d been called to some sort of healing. But what sort of healing did a birthing woman need? I shuddered at the thought.

Now more agitated than ever, I walked over to Niero. “Did either of you see Andriana?”

“She’s down at the river,” Niero said. There was something guarded in his eyes. Had they been together? A stab of jealousy went through me, but I looked away so he couldn’t see it in my eyes.

“She’s in labor,” the village healer said, emerging from Latonia’s hut. He shook his head, and I noticed how wan he was.

“I’ll be back with Dri,” I muttered over my shoulder and quickly moved toward the path. “If Tressa’s called, it’s best if you have all the Remnants here, right?”

Niero nodded slowly, looking at me as if trying to figure out what I was hiding. Sometimes I hated that he seemed to know all of us better than we knew ourselves.