Rise (30 page)

“Blood binds, as I’ve already said,” Bosque answered. “The emptied body will have to be infused with my blood to gain entry to the empty plane.”

Turning his gaze on Hamish, Bosque asked, “Do you understand?”

Hamish nodded eagerly.

“Then let us see to it.” Bosque led them from the room that reeked of death to the main chamber of the catacombs.

Now they stood around the sarcophagus, waiting for the child’s body to give up the last of its blood.

“There,” Hamish said, setting a third brimming bowl to the side. Taking a long, hollowed needle that was thin as a hair at its point and wide as a man’s hand at its base, Hamish pierced the center of the boy’s chest with its tip. With careful taps he hammered the slender spike into the child’s heart. Keeping the needle in place with one hand, Hamish set a funnel over the base and looked at Bosque.

Holding his hand over the funnel, Bosque used a dagger to open a deep gash in his palm. His blood welled, dripping into the funnel. Bosque allowed his blood to run freely for about a minute before he closed his hand.

“That will be enough,” he told them, looking at Alistair. “Now the wolf.”

Alistair nodded, though his jaw was clenched. He moved around the sarcophagus to stand beside Hamish; the wolf followed.

Going to one knee beside the young wolf, Alistair said in a firm voice, “Be still.”

The wolf watched him, ears perked up in curiosity. Alistair reached around the wolf, looping his arms around its back and chest. The wolf’s tail began to wag in anticipation of a wrestling match.

Alistair looked at Hamish and nodded. The cleric’s motions were somewhat familiar, like the dance that wove a door, but altered. Hamish moved more slowly than a weaving cleric would. His arms swept through the air in deliberate motions, as if he were gathering objects invisible to the rest of them.

Clasped in Alistair’s arms, the wolf growled and then began to whine. Steeling himself, Alistair tightened his hold on the beast as it began to struggle. Its whining became more urgent. Alistair made soothing sounds, hoping to calm the wolf. He knew it didn’t help that his pulse was flying, which the wolf could surely feel.

The wolf stopped squirming but continued to whine, the sound of its distress growing softer, but more plaintive. Alistair bent his head, thinking that if he laid his cheek against the wolf’s shoulders, it might soothe the beast. But as he did so, the animal in his arms began to glow. The wolf’s gray fur glimmered, becoming molten silver.

“Let the beast go,” Hamish said, sweat pouring down his face. “The wolf must take possession of the empty body that awaits it.”

Alistair released the cub, and it rose into the air. Where fur, flesh, and bone had been now was a creature of pure light, as if the moon had given birth to a wolf. While Hamish filled the air with a steady stream of chanting, the wolf cub floated away from Alistair to hover over the sarcophagus. It began to descend, and when its gleaming paws met with the dead child’s cold skin, the wolf vanished.

Hamish dropped his hands and bent over, coughing and gasping for breath. Alistair leapt up and went to the sarcophagus. The child’s eyes widened before it opened its mouth and began to wail in fear. Alistair gave a low cry when he noticed the boy’s golden irises. The boy turned at the sound, his frightened gaze finding Alistair standing beside him.

Holding his breath, Alistair stretched his arms out to the crying child. Without hesitation, the boy crawled into his embrace.

PERCHED AT THE JUNCTION
of Loch Duich and Loch Aish, the Mackenzie castle called Eilean Donan kept watch over land and sea. Cian, Father Michael, and Ember rode in silence, their mounts’ hooves clopping on the stone bridge that joined the mainland to the castle’s small isle.

The journey from Tearmunn amounted to less than a half day’s ride, but for Ember the trip wore on and on. While the horse she rode upon was a sensible palfrey with a smooth gait, Ember missed Caber’s lively spirit. Her companions traveled in silence, not deigning to speak of their errand to the western lord’s castle nor of any other matters that burdened Ember’s thoughts.

At several points on the road, Ember had looked at Father Michael with the intention of telling him about Alistair’s proposal, seeking his advice as to how she should proceed. But Ember found that she struggled to bring any words from her throat. She didn’t question the result of her meeting with Alistair in the great hall the night before, but speaking the words aloud made them real in a way Ember wasn’t prepared to face. She had played upon Alistair’s affections and earned the result she desired, but now Ember wasn’t sure she knew what that would mean.

Mackenzie’s stable hands awaited the riders inside the castle gate. When they had dismounted, one of Mackenzie’s warriors escorted them to Eilean Donan’s main hall. The somber gray stone of the keep enclosed corridors lined with dark wood, giving the castle an air of solemnity.

The hall into which they were led would have been dwarfed by Tearmunn’s great hall, yet the room was filled to bursting with people. Ember saw quickly that not only were a handful of clan chiefs in attendance, but they had also brought large contingents of their warriors. Searching the crowd for her father, Ember couldn’t find him or Lord Mackenzie. But among the clansmen, three figures stood out to her, all wearing dress that identified them as hailing from the kingdoms of the east.

Two of them were men, each wearing a steel helm with a spike at the crown of the head and a train of chain mail that covered his neck and shoulders. Their long, colorful robes offered only glimpses of the plate mail gauntlets and greaves beneath. Their female companion wore a flowing gray gown that fit more loosely than the European fashion. Her hair, neck, and shoulders were covered by a pale blue headscarf.

Beside Ember, Cian murmured, “They have come. I dared not hope it was true.”

“Who are they?” Ember asked.

“The men are Mamluks,” Cian answered. “The woman is a cleric; they secreted her to us at great risk to themselves.”

“We aren’t here to meet my father, are we?” Ember asked.

“Your father is here, and we will discuss Agnes with him,” Cian told her. “But that meeting provided the excuse for our real reasons to journey here.”

Father Michael had already pushed his way through the crowd to greet the strangers. The priest and the woman embraced, and Father Michael beckoned to Cian and Ember.

“Lady Ember Morrow and Lady Cian.” Father Michael presented the two women. “Please meet Lord Kurjii and Lord Tamur, of the Krak des Chevaliers Guard, and their most revered cleric, Lady Rebekah.”

Kurjii and Tamur offered crisp bows. The knights reminded Ember of falcons, with their clear, sharp eyes and the talonlike sabers belted at their waists. The sight of the wicked, curving blades, so like Barrow’s sword, made Ember’s chest pinch. Rebekah’s hair was dark brown shot through with threads of silver, her face deeply lined, and Ember guessed she was only a few years younger than Father Michael.

Ember curtsied, and Cian returned their bow.

“It’s an honor,” Cian said to Kurjii and Tamur. “Your reputations in the field proceed you.”

“As does yours,” Tamur answered. “And your sister’s.”

Kurjii nodded grimly. “We’re deeply grieved that she has been seduced by this nether creature, Bosque Mar.”

“He grows bolder by the day,” Cian replied. “The way he looks at my sister terrifies me. She believes he answers her commands, but he thinks only to rule her.”

“From what we’ve been able to discover of Bosque Mar, your suspicions are true,” Rebekah told her.

Father Michael clasped his hands together prayerfully. “God be praised. You have found something, then?”

Rebekah smiled at the priest, but it wasn’t a mirthful expression. “We have, but I fear we don’t bring good tidings.”

“But you have found a way to defeat him?” Cian asked the cleric.

“Possibly,” Rebekah answered. “But only by cobbling together lore from some of the most ancient texts in our archives. There is no way to be certain it will conquer him.”

“How is it that you’ve come here?” Ember asked.

Kurjii and Tamur exchanged a glance, and Cian said, “Ember is one of the Guard, forced to hide her true allegiance for our purpose. You may speak freely.”

With a curt nod, Tamur said, “Hiding is what many are forced to do now. Those who openly hold to the true mission of Conatus have been labeled traitors. They rot in our dungeons. Or worse.”

“Worse?” Ember asked.

“Lady Eira’s clerics-turned-conjurers demand allegiance while shadow beasts hover at their side,” Kurjii said, mouth turned down in disgust. “Any who resist or refuse to swear their fealty to her rule of our order are handed to the wraiths. Most who witness the torment abandon their convictions in order to avoid a similar fate.”

Tamur sighed. “Upon their first arrival, Eira’s emissaries implied the oath taking would be voluntary, but now they have no qualms about forcing an immediate choice. The orders came from Eira that any who question or delay joining with her are enemies. She dismantles a resistance before it can be gathered.”

“Then what are you?” Ember asked Tamur. “If not resistance?”

“The last chance.” Rebekah answered Ember, though her gaze met Father Michael’s. “Before Conatus is lost.”

A stirring of the crowd near the hall entrance turned Ember’s attention to the door. The gathered warriors quieted, stepping back as Lord Mackenzie entered the room with Ember’s father at his side.

But Ember’s eyes fixed upon the trio that followed the two Scottish lords.

Tamur leaned forward, murmuring into her ear, “You asked how it was that we came here, Lady Morrow. It was due to the efforts of your former companions.”

Lukasz, Kael, and Barrow halted just inside the door. Lord Mackenzie lifted his hands, commanding the attention of all assembled.

Paying the clan chief no mind, Ember was already pushing her way past burly warriors, elbowing them roughly to get through. As men grunted when she jostled and shoved them, Ember’s advance gained notice.

Barrow saw her trying to reach him. His face paled, and he ran forward. Ember broke through the crowd and then she was in Barrow’s arms. With the castle’s lord, her father, and a hundredsome of Scotland’s battle-hardened men watching, Ember drew Barrow’s face to hers. Barrow held her gaze for a moment before he kissed her. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she breathed the scent of his skin.

They only parted when Kael said loudly, “And I thought we’d come here to fight.”

His words didn’t make Ember blush, and while she forced herself to step out of the embrace, she took Barrow’s hand, holding it tight, needing to feel that he was here, alive, safe.

“Well, then.” Lord Mackenzie nodded at Barrow. “At least not all of the day’s talk will be of sorrow.”

Ember risked looking at her father. To her surprise, he hadn’t transformed into a red-faced troll, but instead appeared to be on the verge of laughter. When he winked at Ember, she gasped.

Following her gaze, Barrow whispered, “I’ve been speaking with your father and am happy to report I’m out of his ill favor, as are you.”

Ember glanced up at him, wondering exactly what Barrow had told her father.

“Would you like to kiss the lass again, Lord Hess?” Lord Mackenzie called to Barrow with a guffaw. “Or can we get to the business of war?”

Hearty laughter filled the room, and Barrow said, “I will always want to kiss the lady Morrow, but out of respect to your lordship, I will wait… for a while.”

At that, Ember did blush, and the warriors roared, snickering and slapping one another on the back. Ember ducked her head, but Barrow slid his arm around her waist, holding her close.

“Rebekah!” Lord Mackenzie stretched his hand out, and the cleric came to join him. Addressing the crowd, Mackenzie said, “Though I am proud to call myself chief of my clan, I am not such a fool as to believe myself master of spirits and devils. Whenever those foul things that are not men, yet prey upon them, have troubled those under my protection, I have called upon Conatus for aid. Now the very order that has kept the darkest of things from infesting our lands falls under the sway of nefarious forces.”