Requiem (48 page)

It couldn’t be.

He hadn’t seen him in months, but there was no mistaking the high Tam cheekbones of his mother or the dark eyes and curly hair that Rudolfo had seen in mirrors since his own childhood. “Jakob?”

Hope ambushed him as he ran for his son. Even as it did, his will betrayed him and tears streamed from his eyes to wet his beard. As the gathering crowd gasped aloud and wind took the tree, Rudolfo fixed his eyes upon his son and felt the euphoria rising up within him.

He knew the voice now, and he heard it clearly as he met his son’s eyes and knelt before him to hold his gaze as an equal.

“That which was closed is open,” Winters cried out. “That which was lost is returned. The Homeseeker is now Homefinder.”

Her other words were lost to him now as his son’s eyes drowned her voice. His first instinct was to gather his boy up into his arms, but some part of him resisted. What if it was the dream? Some figment in the aether? Somehow, the idea that he might touch his son and that his son might disappear kept him back. Instead, he crouched and looked his son in the eye as the seeds fell down around them to take root in sacred ground.

Rudolfo awoke to Renard’s hand shaking him and sat up quickly, his face still wet from his tears. “I must go,” the Waste Guide said. “I was seen in the aether by their casting bitches.”

Rudolfo climbed to his feet. “I am overdue as well.”

Renard inclined his head. “Hunt well, Rudolfo. Remember: Drink deep. You will not be harmed.”

Rudolfo nodded. “I will hunt well indeed,” he said.

With murder in his heart and his son’s eyes in his memory, Rudolfo turned back to the road and ran with the sound of Winters’s voice still echoing in his ears.

That which was closed is open. That which was lost is returned.

And Rudolfo knew now, just as he’d known that day so long ago upon another plain, that the world had changed, had become something different. Only the pillar of smoke was now a great tree. And the ashes raining down were the seeds of hope and home.

Neb

“Nebios?”

The voice was familiar but far away. Neb forced his eyes open. “Father?” His surroundings were taking shape now, and he saw the girl stirring where he’d tied her. He lifted the silver crescent from his lap and held it to his ear.

“Neb!” It was Petronus. “I’ve figured it out.”

Figured what out?
He pushed at the fog that disoriented him and tried to remember how long it had been since he’d had water. His mouth was dry and his skin felt hot. He blinked at the words.

He had vague recollections of Petronus’s voice now, tinny and far away as he recited the story of the People carved into the surface of the temple. He’d heard bits of the story from Aver-Tal-Ka, but this version was fuller, more polished, and though he couldn’t remember all of it, he remembered enough.

We are the People,
it began. And it told the long tale of a species both terrible and gifted, mastering the elemental building blocks of the universe for both war and peace, destruction and survival. They’d grown up and managed to live forever despite their propensity for cataclysm. He remembered the words gentling him as he lay against the wall.

“Neb? Are you there?”

He felt the slightest tremble move through the tower and heard the faintest of whispers as something stirred to life. “I am here,” he said.

“And the girl? Is she with you still?”

Neb saw her watching him, her eyes dark and empty. She lay on her side, her hands and feet tied. “I am with him,” she said, her own voice a croak. He couldn’t tell which woman she was at the moment, but he’d learned along the way that he couldn’t trust his instincts where that was concerned. Hers was a weather that could change in a moment, storms of wrath or terror alternating without any notice.

“I can help her,” Petronus said. “Wait for me on the roof.”

Neb watched her face as she heard the words and could read on it which woman currently sat behind those wounded eyes. The fear and uncertainty betrayed her as the lost girl he’d initially met in his dreams.

The whispering grew, and as it did, Neb realized the light also increased. Behind him, the door he leaned against became warm and slightly pliable, and it struck him all at once what was happening.

The tower was awakening.

He didn’t know what made Petronus able to unseal the temple, and though the old man had told him about the dream, he’d heard about it in a fog of exhaustion and dehydration.

Neb forced himself to his feet and felt the surface of the door. It responded to his touch, tingling his fingers and the palm of his hand. “Open,” he whispered.

And it opened.

At first, the sunlight and sky blinded him, but as he blinked into the light, the roof took shape. The garden and grass was gone now, but he saw the pool and started for it. Then, remembering the girl, he stopped and went back.

Neb leaned over her and helped her up, feeling the spark in his own body the moment their skin touched. He resisted the pull of the call and stood her on her feet. Then, he stooped again and untied her feet, careful to stand in such a way that those same feet couldn’t reach him if the other Amylé showed up.

She did not resist, and when he’d finished, he led her out into the light.

The sky was expansive and blue overhead, flecked with high clouds. Around and below them, the canopy of jungle stretched out to meet a clear green sea. He saw these but forced his eyes instead to the patch of roof where the fountain had once stood. Even as he moved toward it, he heard the gurgle of water, and it hastened him forward.

Then, he heard Amylé cry out and turned even as she stopped. He saw the fear and surprise on her face, then followed her eyes. Hanging high in the sky, the dead world he’d come from stared down at them.

When she collapsed, the dead weight of her pulled him down as well. “Oh Neb,” she whispered, her eyes never leaving the broken planet. “What have they done to Lasthome?”

She started to cry, and he wanted to stay and hold her but resisted. He could smell the water now, and he looked from the girl to the pool. Finally, he left her and staggered to it, dropping the crescent and falling to his knees.

The water seeped into it slowly, forming a small but growing puddle in the bottom. He scooped it into his mouth, surprised at how cold and sweet it was. Neb forced himself to drink slowly, and when he felt his stomach threatening to revolt, he made himself stop. Then, he stood and returned to the girl.

She lay where she’d fallen, her eyes fixed upon the sky. “What have they done?” she asked again.

Neb crouched beside her. “They did it a long time ago,” he said.

Her eyes went from the sky to his face. “Then my father is truly dead?”

Neb shrugged. “I think he is. I don’t know.” He thought for a moment. “I’m alive. You’re alive. It’s hard to say if there are others.”

Amylé sighed. “I’m thirsty, Nebios Whym.”

He climbed slowly to his feet, then reached down to take her by the arms and lift her. Once more, the hot smooth call of her flesh stirred him and he blushed at it. She noticed and bit her lip but said nothing as he led her to the water and lowered her to lie beside it.

“Can you untie me?”

His eyes narrowed as he tried to read some sign of her intentions. He rolled her to her side and started working the harp-string before pausing. Neb took a deep breath. “I don’t think—”

The sound—three long blasts—drifted in from somewhere to the south of them. And just on the heels of that deep, loud tone the tower shuddered beneath him and released a similar noise so loud that he felt the waves of sound moving over his skin, saw it rippling the water in the pool.

Her face lit up at the sound. “The seaway is open.”

“The seaway?”

She nodded south. “Untie me and I’ll show you.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so.” Instead, he repositioned her so that she could turn her head and drink from the pool’s edge. Then, he turned and walked to the southern edge of the temple to study the horizon. Far out in the sea, he saw light reflecting on a sphere of Firstfall metal suspended over a large white object. “What is it?”

She didn’t answer. A light wind moved over the tower’s surface, and he shivered despite the heat in it. He started to turn back toward her, but movement below caught his eye and he looked down. A tiny crystalline ship made its way up the canal. He saw the bright-colored specks of Gypsy Scouts and pirates moving over the deck. Then, he looked over his shoulder at the girl.

She was on her feet now, and her eyes were fixed on him. He read the hatred in them and knew she’d changed again.

Amylé D’Anjite smiled. “I am finished here,” she said.

And when she bolted for the opposite edge of the tower Neb understood her intent and lurched into a run to intercept her. As she ran, a cry rose up from within her that he thought at first was a shriek of rage. But as it grew in volume and pitch, it became something else—something inhuman.

He reached for her, and she eluded him by a finger’s breadth before toppling over the side of the temple. She did not struggle as she fell. Instead, she leaned back into it with her mouth open wide and her call upon the wind.

Neb cried out, stretching his hands, and nearly lost his own balance when a shriek from above answered her.

He fell back, scrambling away from the edge, as something massive and metallic flashed by him. It moved too fast for him to comprehend it—long and with paired wings fore and aft. It was sleek and silver, and as its wings shifted to drop it over the falling girl, it stretched out four of its six arms to catch her.

Only, instead of catching her and holding her, it grabbed the woman and pulled her into itself. It paused for a moment, its wings holding it in place. Then, it shot south and built speed until thunder cracked the air.

Neb watched it, and when it had vanished from view, he climbed back to his feet and returned to the pool. He drank and then slept, and when he awakened, he filled himself with water. In the hours he’d slept, the temple had continued to come alive. The pool was full and clear now, and the once bone-white surface smelled of rich earth and ozone.

Neb walked to the door and paused. Somewhere below, Petronus climbed toward him, and they would meet approximately in the middle. Stretching out his hand to the wall, Neb felt the energy rising from it like static on his hand. “Clothe me,” he whispered.

The blood of the earth enfolded him, evaporating his hunger and his thirst, easing the ache in his muscles. Robed in silver, Nebios Whym thought about Amylé D’Anjite as he descended the tower and wondered at the beast she’d called forth.

Wherever it carried her, he suspected no good could come of it.

Jin Li Tam

Sleep pulled at the edges of her awareness and Jin Li Tam clawed her way up from it, feeling the sweat in the sheets that tangled her as she did.

Jakob.

She’d been dreaming. There was a tree. And Winters was there. Isaak, too, though she didn’t know how that could be. But what she remembered most was that Jakob had been there with her and then suddenly was not. And she’d found herself running across a vast plain of people, searching for her son. She still felt the terror that flooded her even as she reached out in the bed to find him.

He was there, asleep, and she moved closer, feeling the warmth of him and taking comfort from it, she drowsed until the smell of smoke brought her upright in bed. She heard roaring outside, and the orange glow of fire cast shadows on the wall. Jin Li Tam slipped from the bed, her hands moving for knives she did not have. She padded to the balcony and looked out into the burning night. Not just the orchards, but the city burned, too, along with parts of the palace. The alarms were ringing now, and the knot in her stomach told her what came her way. She recognized the tactics of mayhem and precision that marked her father’s House, and she went first to her closet to dress quickly.

Once she was dressed, she went to her son and gathered him up into her arms. He shifted and wriggled, pushing himself closer to her as his small arms encircled her neck, and she inhaled the scent of his hair, afraid in a way that she hadn’t been in a long, long time.

Jin moved through the room and opened the door that led into the bath chambers, moving beyond the large marble soaking tub to the door leading to Lynnae’s room. She entered quietly, closing the door behind her, and went quickly to the bed. “Lynnae?”

The woman mumbled and shifted in the bed, then sat up. “I smell smoke.”

“The palace and orchards are burning. You need to get dressed.”

Lynnae scrambled from the bed. “Where are we going?”

Jin paused. “I don’t know,” she said. “Anywhere but here.”

The younger woman moved to the closet, pulling out loose silk pants and a matching shirt. She slipped into both quickly, then bent to put on a pair of low-cut boots.

There was a commotion outside—the sounds of shouting and steel against steel—and Jin moved to the door, listening. Jakob stirred and mumbled something. It took her a moment to comprehend the word.

Papa.

She wasn’t sure why that single word felt so heavy in her ears, or why it stabbed at her with a wave of guilt precipitated by the memory of Rudolfo’s face on the morning that Jakob was born. She swallowed and pressed her ear to the door, waiting until she heard her own door, just down the hall, fly open.

“Now,” she whispered.

She opened the door slowly, quietly, and moved into the hallway. There were Blood Guard strewn along the corridor, some dead and some moaning, and she stooped to recover a long, curved knife. With Jakob clutched to her breast and the knife extended, Jin ran and begged her feet to be silent over the floor. Lynnae followed after.

She’d not gone far when a voice behind her called out with quiet authority. “Daughter.”

Jin stopped, her legs suddenly unwilling to carry her. She tried to force them, and when they still refused, she tried to turn and couldn’t. She heard a cry from behind her and realized it was Lynnae.