Sacrifice: The First Book of the Fey (100 page)

His hands were shaking, and some of the water spilled onto the Fey next to him, who immediately started screaming. The old man Fey, the one whom Titus had spoken to, saw that and ran to the side. He was screaming at the Rocaan-thing in that guttural language, but the Rocaan-thing did not respond. It just kept hurrying forward as if it could escape the kirk.

Another Fey grabbed for Titus’s hand. Titus splashed him, then waited until he had a clear shot. He tossed the bottle toward the Rocaan-thing as Matthias had done the day of the invasion. Water splashed on all sides. The Rocaan-thing screamed and raised its arms to its face to ward the water off.

A stench like burning flesh rose around Titus, bringing with it a mist. He could barely see. He stepped forward, toward the kirk, as the living Fey around him ran.

Water splashed on the Rocaan-thing. For a moment nothing happened. The thing looked up at Titus with both relief and anger. Then the water started to work, for the thing grabbed its arms and screamed. Another Fey came close, talking to it, begging it in their language, but the Rocaan-thing didn’t seem to hear. Its face was twisting as it had done moments before. As the face changed, Titus recognized the Danite he had seen in the Fey place, then a man he had seen around the palace. Then he saw a Nye face, and another, and another, followed by a series of Fey faces before all the features washed away and the Rocaan-thing fell to the ground in a large heap of cloth and twitching limbs.

Some of the Fey from inside the kirk pushed past Titus. Others were twisting as the Rocaan-thing had done. There was blood on the altar and foul-smelling mist in the air. Fey screams trailed away along the stream.

Titus stood in the door, clutching his second vial. Elder Reece was pouring water onto a lump that had been the Fey holding him. Elder Timothy was crouched on the floor, hands in the blood, praying, as if that would bring the Rocaan back to life. One of the Danites was shaking an empty bottle in the air as the other Danite struggled with his Fey captor. The Aud hid behind the altar, pulling the bloodstained wood over him like a cover.

Elder Andre was pressed against the wall, his hand over his mouth in horror. He was staring at Titus as if he had never seen him before. Tears were running down Andre’s face. As Titus moved closer, Elder Andre seemed to be trying to disappear into the wall itself.

But Titus stopped when he reached the Rocaan-thing. It was dead now. Its body had stopped twitching. It no longer looked like the Rocaan. It no longer looked like any living thing Titus had seen, just a lump of flesh and bone on the wet floor.

Titus bent over it. During the Sacrament, as the Rocaan had been quoting the Words, Titus had finally understood what the Rocaan was doing. He was trying to get the Ear of God. Maybe if God was paying attention, he would free them all from the Fey invasion. Maybe, maybe from the beginning the Roca had meant this Sacrament to help fight beings like the Fey.

But the Rocaan had done it wrong. The Fey were too close and too cunning. Maybe the Words had caused that Fey to go crazy and try to become the Rocaan. Whatever happened, the Rocaan was dead. And so was his attacker.

Titus looked up. Only Andre watched him, with great terror. There were no Fey behind him, and the Fey in the kirk were dead. The Auds who had run to the carriage had fought their own Fey and were standing over them like victors at a palace ceremony. A lot of the Fey had got away.

Titus touched the face of the Rocaan-thing. It felt soft and mushy. A few feet away from him, on the floor, was the sword the Rocaan had been using, and an unused vial of holy water. Titus got up, picked up the sword, and laid it flat over the Rocaan-thing. Then he took the stopper off the holy water.

He took his Sacrament cloth from the pocket of his robe and held it over the mouth of the bottle. Then he poured the holy water onto the cloth and picked up the sword. “‘Without water,’” he quoted, “ ‘a man dies.’” He cleaned the sword methodically, as he had been taught, only this time his movements took the blood off the sword’s blade. “‘A man’s body makes water. His blood is water. A child is born in a rush of water. Water keeps us clean. It keeps us healthy. It keeps us alive. It is when we are in water that we are closest to God.’”

The Danites stood and bowed their heads. The Aud picked up the altar and moved it so that he could stand. Timothy remained bowed, but Reece stood behind Titus. Only Andre didn’t move.

“‘A man dies only when he is not pure enough to sit at the feet of God,’” Titus said. He finished cleaning the sword and handed it to Reece, wishing in his deepest heart that the Sacrament would have brought the Rocaan back. But it did not. It was an object lesson to the dead and dying Fey.

Titus looked down at them, huddled lumps around his feet, some of them still moving. “ ‘When you touch water,’ “ he said to them all, “ ‘you touch the Essence of God.’”

THE MEETING

(Three Weeks Later)

EIGHTY-SEVEN

Her father left her no choice. During the three weeks it took to set up the negotiation sessions, Jewel barely spoke to him. Instead, she worked through her own people, sending Burden and others from her decimated Infantry unit into Jahn to speak to the King’s representatives. Her father spent most of his time in front of the fireplace, staring at the flames. Twice he tried to talk with her—once to apologize—and she didn’t even let him finish. What had he been thinking, to allow their people inside a holy place? She had thought he would have had enough sense to have the meeting outside. Or to act quickly. From all reports, he waited and let the old man lead the proceedings. Things were too far gone when Quest made his move.

Five Infantry leaders dead. Two Beast Riders missing. Their only remaining Doppelgänger dead. All for nothing. Quest, even though he took over the religious leader, never gave Rugar the secret of the poison. And that didn’t even count the loss of Caseo, who, if the Warders were to be believed, was the only Fey who knew the entire formula for the breakthrough experiment on the poison.

If she allowed her father to continue command, they would have no one left. No one left at all.

So she stood on the hilltop with Burden at her side, staring down the rock-littered sides to the flat stone where the meeting tables had been set up. Wind whipped her hair, pulling it from its braid. Her father was in the party, but shunted aside. She didn’t want him anywhere close. The negotiations just to choose the site had been difficult. They finally had to settle near the channel where the Fey had first invaded the Cardidas River. The rocks had risen up, forming a bowl, protected all around. The base was a flat piece of ground that created a natural—and open—negotiations site. Both sides had seen it before, and both sides knew that neither one could dominate there.

The Stone Guardians ringed the mouth of the channel like sentries blocking a palace. Through them lay freedom, and her grandfather, whom she would probably never see again. The black water around the Guardians churned, covered with a thin layer of foam. Waves broke against the stone, sending spray across the rocks. The mist was in the air, fresh and bracing after the stale, smoky smell of Shadowlands. If she weren’t so terrified, she would have been happy to be outside.

She had given this meeting a lot of thought, ever since her father had returned with news of his defeat. They had killed the religious leader, and they still had the Black King as a threat on the horizon. They weren’t entirely powerless.

It only felt that way.

The key, her grandfather would have told her, was to act as if they still had all of the power. But she knew that the Islanders could keep whittling away at the Fey on the Isle until none were left. She had to count on the fact that the Islanders didn’t know that. She had to buy time. She had to make an offer that would someday work in the Fey’s favor.

Her father came up beside her. She half turned her back on him. He would sit at her side, and if he said anything, she would stop him. She would undercut him in front of the Islanders. She should have had a Warder on her other side, but she needed someone she trusted.

She needed Burden.

She should have listened to him since the First Battle for Jahn. He had said her father was Blind. She should have listened.

On the hill on the other side of the bowl stood Nicholas, the King, and an adviser. As previously agreed, the Fey guards made their way down the rocky slope to the flat surface at the same time the Islander guards did on the other side. They brought some Black Robes, probably knowing that the religious representatives would strike more terror into the Fey than anything.

They were right.

When the guards were in place, Jewel, her father, and Burden made their way down the hill. Jewel watched as Nicholas, the King, and the other adviser kept pace with them. They all arrived on the flat stone surface at the same time. So many details, so much delicate negotiation, even before this meeting could start. They crossed the stone together, reached the table, pulled back the chairs, and sat with the unison of people used to ritual.

The wind wasn’t as harsh in the bowl, although the spray had turned into a fine mist that coated everything with water. Jewel pushed the stray strands of hair off her face. Nicholas was staring at her with the fascination that she remembered. In the year since she had seen him, his face had acquired an almost Fey-like leanness, and lines had formed around his mouth. She longed to touch him, to see if his skin was rough. He no longer looked like an untried boy, more like the man who held her with such tenderness in her Vision.

She hoped today’s meeting would change that Vision.

Nicholas sat to his father’s right, across from Jewel’s father. Burden and the Islander adviser sat on Jewel’s right. Jewel and the Islander King sat in the middle.

Jewel swallowed. She nodded at all of them, then started the proceedings since she was the one who had called them.

“My name is Jewel,” she said in the language of the three Islanders who faced her. Her words sounded stilted, even to herself. Adrian had coached her long and hard on the next few sentences. “I am the Black King’s granddaughter. My father, Rugar, is the one who met your Rocaan at Daisy Stream. My adviser, Burden, will listen in as well. I will be speaking for the Fey. I would hope, once the formalities are passed, that we can speak in Nye, since my Islander is still limited.”

“It is nice,” the King said in Nye, already acquiescing to her needs, “to learn who you are. My son Nicholas sits with me, and my adviser, Lord Stowe. I will negotiate for Blue Isle.”

Jewel nodded at his kindness. “I called this meeting because I believe it to be in all of our interests to call a truce.”

“I thought the Fey don’t negotiate,” the King said.

Rugar began to speak, and Jewel grabbed his thigh. She dug her fingers in so tightly that he had to pry them loose. “The Fey have never lost before,” she said, amazed at her ability to say the words. When she had rehearsed this, alone, they had stuck in her throat. “We would like to return to Nye.”

Her father’s hand froze on hers. He had not expected her to say that. She even knew what he was thinking: they couldn’t return to Nye in defeat. He would never be able to stand before his father again.

Nicholas’s eyes were wide. He was watching her closely. She did not allow herself to look at him, although she felt his presence, as strong as her own.

The King’s smile was gentle. “You know we can’t allow that. You will return with more ships and more Fey, and finally overrun us.”

“You would have our oath that no such thing would happen,” Jewel said, trying to conduct this negotiation as skillfully as she could. If they did return to Nye, they would do exactly as the King said. But if she could convince him otherwise, they might have a chance to leave this Isle of defeat.

The King rested his hands on the damp wooden table, fingers clasped. “And if you broke your oath, what then? We simply fight in a war we did not want in the first place.”