The Keeper's Shadow (42 page)

“No need to explain.” Kamyar pushes away from the table and gestures at Mejan, who's waiting impatiently in the doorway. “But the Storytellers are making their way to the City, Roan. I have to say goodbye.”

“Be careful, old friend.” Roan rises, extending a hand, and Kamyar envelops him in a walloping bear hug.

“Be strong, Roan of Longlight, and ride with the wind at your back.”

But Roan's head begins to spin. He's spiraling up the Big Empty and then, through a haze of exploding rock, he sees a puzzled frown.

“Kamyar?” he whispers and collapses.

R
OAN IS BARELY PRESENT BEFORE
S
TOWE HAS CLASPED HIS HAND, HER CONVERSATION WITH
Q
UERIN FLOODING HIS AWARENESS
.

“K
IRA'S ALIVE
?”

“I
F
Q
UERIN IS TO BE BELIEVED
. B
UT FOR HOW LONG, WE CAN'T BE SURE
.”

“B
UT BENEATH THE CRATERS OF THE MOON'S TWO FACES—WHERE'S THAT
?”

“W
E DON'T KNOW
. P
RESUMABLY THAT'S PART OF THE TEST: CAN YOU FIND HER AND WILL YOU ENACT HER RESCUE ACCORDING TO WHATEVER'S IN THE PROPHECY THAT
Q
UERIN HASN'T TOLD US
.”

T
HEY STAND FOR A MOMENT, SILENT
.

“T
HIS COULD BE A TRAP
.”

“I
KNOW THAT,
B
ROTHER
. Q
UERIN HAS US UNDER GUARD, SO
W
ILLUM CAN'T CONTACT THE
G
UNTHERS
. W
E'RE HOPING YOU CAN DECIPHER THE PROPHECY HE'S REFERRING TO IN TIME
.” P
LACING HER HAND OVER HER BROTHER'S HEART, SHE SMILES
. “I
KNOW YOU'LL DO IT,
R
OAN
. I
KNOW
. T
HE PROPHECIES NEVER LIE, DO THEY
?”

Kamyar's shaking him. “Roan! Roan! What's wrong with you? What is it?”

Reaching up to assure the worried Storyteller, Roan says urgently, “Kamyar, ‘Beneath the craters of the moon's two faces…' Do you know that prophecy?”

But it is Ende who responds. “One of the Wazya, three singers on each palm, shall guide them.”

Nodding, Kamyar interjects, “And on and on it goes. Roan! It's one of the most debated of the prophecies. Since I met our friend, Lump, I've developed my own personal theory.”

“I need to hear it. Kira's been released and the prophecy's supposed to tell us where to find her. Our lives depend on it.”

Lumpy's furious. “Ende says the ride alone could kill her. Mabatan's so weak, Roan. And since she's heard, well—she insists. But every time we shut off the Allayer…it's as if she's dying. Roan. If Kira dies and Mabatan…”

“Do you believe in the prophecies?”

“What?”

“Do you?”

Lumpy looks at his friend, confused.

“Do you believe in the Dreamfield? The crickets? That Darius must be destroyed? His presence in the Dreamfield eradicated? That I was chosen to do this? That you were destined to be my friend? Do you believe in the prophecies, Lumpy? Do you?”

Lumpy's eyes are red, but he does not blink or try to avoid Roan's gaze. “Yes.”

Roan sighs. “Then we go.”

The three riders gallop across the Farlands bordering the wasted fields of the Devastation.

“Any change?” Roan yells.

Mabatan's slumped against Lumpy, and as he bends to hear her, his arms squeeze even more protectively around her. Having them ride together has slowed their progress, but given her condition there simply wasn't any other way.

“She says we're getting closer. It's a scarred place, just beyond that ridge.”

“Should we dismount?”

Lumpy leans forward again, his ear brushing Mabatan's cheek. “She says no. There's a vehicle. But she doesn't think anyone's inside. And only one Cleric with Kira. He's carrying a cage with two birds in it—one white, one black.”

As they crest the ridge, streaks of red slash the sky like claw marks over a festering wound. The Cleric is patiently waiting, his cage on the ground beside him. On a wide smooth stone, her hands and feet bound, lies Kira.

Roan's heart is in his throat. The sight of the broken Apsara warrior unbearable, he turns to the moon, hanging behind him on the eastern horizon, and dismounts.

Lumpy carefully slides Mabatan into Roan's arms. She presses her head into his shoulder and breathes compulsively, stifling sobs. When she's finally calmed herself, Roan whispers, “As soon as the moonlight touches Kira.”

The three stand silently together, watching the moonbeams slowly trace their way across the plain. Finally they reach the stone.

Mabatan holds out her palms and three white crickets leap onto each one. Staring at the ground, she moves with excruciating care. He knows the effort it is taking for her to stand tall, to walk steadily. Seeing the damage to Kira has brought home the extent of their suffering and he flushes with rage. Though he tries to quiet his pulse, the anger will not leave him.

Mabatan passes the Cleric and steps toward Kira, making sure their eyes do not meet. When she's close enough, the crickets begin to sing.

Placing a hand on Lumpy's shoulder, Roan whispers, “Go.”

Without hesitation, Lumpy walks straight to Kira. Standing beside her, he faces the moon. Its glow is reflected on Lumpy's face, his ravaged skin an ethereal echo of the moon's surface.

Hook-sword in hand, Roan strides over to his companions. His own white cricket crawls out of his pocket and sits on his shoulder, joining the song. Then, with his blade, Roan cuts Kira's bonds, and intones the words Kamyar taught him. “We walk in the shadow of greatness. But when the shadow passes, we will be blessed with the sun.” Lifting Kira's fragile body, he turns, Mabatan and Lumpy at his side.

The Cleric opens the cage. Before they pass over the rise, Roan looks back and as the Blue Robe raises his arm, a white bird flies away.

Waiting is not something Stowe does well. She wanted to come up with a plan, try to kill Darius now before it's too late. Willum's great idea was that they trust in Roan. So here they are again. Waiting.

“Kira's still alive?”

“Still.”

That's about the hundredth time she's asked. Willum had said she'd know too if something happened to Roan. “Would it be the same if something happened to you?” she'd wanted to know. “Those who are bound by blood and love,” he'd said. “So only you can answer that question.” And what about him, would he feel it if she died? She knew the question wasn't worthy of an answer, but he'd smiled and whispered, “Yes. I would know.”

It's the first evening of the full moon, and as its light spills into the chamber Willum gasps. “It's done. Roan's got her.”

He covers his face with his hands. Stowe can read the exhaustion in his body. He hasn't slept or eaten since Kira was captured. She wants to comfort him, but instead she lifts the bowl of fruit from the table and brings it to him.

“Eat. You must eat.”

When Querin steps in, Willum is almost himself again. The Master carefully locks the door, and leaves the lights dim. Then, stepping into the center of the room, he activates his small box. His expression is almost feverish, eyes swimming, his head a whirl of purple streaks of light. At a speed that takes Stowe's breath away, he's beside them withdrawing a long, sharp stiletto. Stowe is about to scream, but Willum places a hand firmly on her arm.

Opening his robe, Querin draws the knife across his chest, raising a thin line of blood. He places the knife down in front of them and kneels. “Stowe of Longlight, Willum of the Apsara, the prophecies are at last coming to pass. I mark myself as your servant. Forgive my doubts.”

Stowe stares openmouthed.

“You are forgiven,” Willum says calmly.

“For decades I have prayed in secret for this day. Now it begins.”

“But you are the Archbishop's most trusted advisor,” Stowe blurts out. Willum sighs. Had he covered this one of those times she hadn't been listening?

“I serve only the prophecies.”

“How much time do we have before Darius activates the Throne?” Willum is taking Querin at his word. Querin. Master of Inculcation. Second only to Darius in power. Are they really supposed to trust him? Darius had been afraid of him…but maybe for the wrong reasons.

“He has announced the Throne's unveiling. The Masters are to assemble before it in eight days' time.”

“Master Querin.” Willum motions the man to rise. “I suspect you and your colleagues are about to be sacrificed.”

PREPARATIONS FOR THE ECLIPSE

YOU ARE TOLD YOU'RE NOT FORGOTTEN
BUT THAT MONUMENT SMELLS ROTTEN
YES, IT'S SHINY BUT REMEMBER:
ALL THAT GLITTERS IS NOT GOLD.

—LORE OF THE STORYTELLERS

B
OTH
S
TOWE AND
R
OAN ARE OBLIVIOUS TO THE ROCK RAINING DOWN ON THEM
. T
HEY ARE EXHILARATED AND THE ATMOSPHERE AROUND THEM SEEMS ELECTRIC
.

R
OAN SHAKES HIS HEAD IN DISBELIEF
. “I
ALWAYS HATED THE PROPHECIES
. I
FELT LIKE THEY WERE FORCING ME INTO A CORNER I DIDN'T WANT TO BE IN
.”

“I
NEVER PAID ATTENTION TO ANY OF IT
. P
ROBABLY SHOULD HAVE
. B
UT WE WEREN'T BROUGHT UP WITH THEM,
R
OAN
. Q
UERIN WAS
. I
KNEW HIM ONLY AS THE
M
ASTER OF
I
NCULCATION, BUT HE TOOK HIS SECRET TITLE MUCH MORE SERIOUSLY
.”

“D
EFENDER OF THE
F
AITH
.” R
OAN CAN'T KEEP THE SLIGHTLY MOCKING TONE FROM HIS VOICE
.

“H
E SAVED
K
IRA
.”

“B
ARELY
. S
HE WAS HURT,
S
TOWE, IN WAYS
I
DON'T LIKE TO THINK ABOUT
. T
HAT HE WOULD LET IT GET THAT FAR
—”

“W
E DON'T KNOW EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED,
R
OAN
. I
KNOW HE'S DANGEROUS BUT
W
ILLUM SAYS WE CAN TRUST HIM
. F
OR NOW
. T
HE
C
LERICS WILL GO WHEREVER HE ORDERS—EXCEPT FOR
D
ARIUS'S PERSONAL GUARD
. T
HEY STICK CLOSE TO THE
K
EEPER
. W
E'RE ONLY SUGGESTING IT BECAUSE
W
ILLUM THOUGHT IT WOULD HELP
.”

“D
ON'T GET ME WRONG, IT'S A GREAT PLAN
. T
HE FEWER
C
LERICS
W
OLF HAS TO DEAL WITH AT THE
C
ITY GATES, THE BETTER
. I
T'S JUST HARD NOT TO BE SUSPICIOUS
.”

“W
ILLUM SAYS IT LOOKS LIKE A GOOD SITE FOR AN AMBUSH, BUT IF YOU GET THERE AND IT FEELS WRONG, GET OUT
. T
HEN LET ME KNOW
. O
UR PLANS WILL HAVE TO CHANGE TOO IF WE'RE BEING DOUBLE-CROSSED
.” S
TOWE GRABS
R
OAN'S HAND
. “S
OMETHING'S WRONG
. I
HAVE TO GO
. I
S IT A YES
?”

“Y
ES
. S
TOWE
—”

“I'
LL BE VERY CAREFUL,
R
OAN
. I
T SEEMS CERTAIN
D
ARIUS IS PLANNING SOMETHING AT THE TOP OF THE
P
YRAMID
. Y
OU JUST HAVE TO FIND A WAY THERE
.”

“W
HAT IF
—”

“N
O MATTER WHAT,
I'
LL GET HIM THERE
. I
PROMISE
. D
ON'T WORRY ABOUT ME
!”

H
OW CAN HE HELP IT
? R
OAN THINKS AS HE WATCHES HIS SISTER FADE AWAY
. O
NCE
D
ARIUS HAD NEEDED HER; NOW SHE IS EXPENDABLE
. T
HE NEXT WEEK WILL BE MORE DANGEROUS THAN ANY
S
TOWE HAS EVER EXPERIENCED—AND HE NEVER EVEN SAID GOODBYE
.

The Academy is thrumming with anticipation. Although the Brothers have already been deployed to the gorge, the Apsara are still honing weapons and checking supplies in preparation for their departure to the City. Roan too is anxious to be on his way, but there's still one last meeting and, before that, he has to attend to the summons he's just received from Algie.

He finds the old Gunther bent over Roan of the Parting's journal, muttering. He sits opposite him and slides his hand onto the desk where Algie can see it.

Sighing irritably, the old man slowly props up his head, but upon seeing Roan he flashes a gap-toothed grin. “Oh, there you are, at last! Everything seems to take too long since Gwendolen…”

“I know.”

“There was a passage she was working on that she was most excited about. I've just finished and thought you should hear it before you go.” The old man bends his head as close to the paper as he can without touching it: “
To defeat Darius, Roan of Longlight, you must not stand alone against a darkening sky. Alone, you are nothing. You must travel with a friend.
” Algie shakes his head. “Do you know who that might be?”

Roan smiles. “Could that ‘a' be a ‘the,' do you think?”

“Humph. You know, Roan of Longlight, you might be right. My mistake, my mistake.” The old Gunther shakes his head unhappily.

“Algie, I was teasing. ‘A' or ‘the' doesn't matter. You've done so much. More than I could ever thank you for.”