The Turquoise Tower (Revenant Wyrd Book 6) (35 page)

“Moonchild,” Laphrael said, finding Grace. “The eastern side is cleared. It appears the largest amount of verax-acis were concentrated in the west.”

Grace nodded.

“And the Guardians are starting to come to,” he told her.

“Good, we have work to do,” Grace said.

It was true, the Guardians had aged. Grace was used to seeing Sara in the prime of her youth, at the age she had gone through her trials. Sara Bardoe had always appeared a healthy twenty-some years old. Now there were small crow’s feet at her eyes, and her raven-black hair was peppered with gray near the temples. A cursory glance at the other Guardians showed less signs of aging, though Pyang did appear in his early teens now. Sara must have taken the brunt of the blow.

Grace kneeled before Sara, who was sitting at the edge of a bed, her red-rimmed eyes staring off into nothingness. For long moments she didn’t pay attention to Grace, but eventually she spoke.

“We were going to start hiking this coming summer,” Sara told her. “Without the use of our gifts. Do you know how often we wanted to get out and enjoy our Realm, but were never able to?”

Grace looked to the floor, because Sara wasn’t really looking for someone to talk to as much as she was looking for someone to listen to her.

“All of the responsibilities of government kept us away from nature, away from each other at times. She gave so much to the Realm, though I was the speaker,” Sara said.

“Yes, Annbell was never good with dealing with people,” Grace said.

“Not with any civility,” Sara said, and smiled mournfully. She fell silent again, prisoner to her own thoughts. Grace patted her knee and stood, looking to the other Guardians, who were now starting to assemble around them. All of their eyes were on Sara, as if with her mourning they also mourned. Grace wasn’t sure if all of the Guardians could feel the torment that Sara was undergoing or not.
Are they connected like that?
Grace couldn’t be sure, but they were certainly lending Sara their support.

After a time they turned to Grace, and she filled them in on what was happening, as well as what they were to do next.

“So I guess it is true,” Rowan said as the rest of the Guardians, minus Sara, began filing from the room. “There
is
something special about you.”

Grace didn’t say anything.

“I wasn’t completely out of it when they pulled me out of the wreckage,” Rowan continued. “Neither was I out of it while I laid beneath the stones. I had hold of your hand, and I felt it like liquid in mine, and then you were gone. When I was pulled free, I saw the army of dead standing enslaved by you.”

Grace clasped her hands behind her back and stared at Rowan, wondering what she was getting at. It was the same “teacher” look she used to give Angelica when she was being obstinate. It worked just as well on the Guardian of the Realm of Air.

“I’m sorry,” Rowan said, averting her gaze.

“Very well,” Grace said. “There are sorcerers to be rallied, and there’s a plan to be put into action.”

“Yes, Moonchild,” Rowan said. As she turned to leave, Grace grabbed her arm, stopping her.

“Please, my name is Grace, call me that.”

Hours later Sara finally joined Grace and Dalah outside. It was nearing dinner time, but Grace didn’t think there would be much by the way of food left unsullied. Still, she sent some villagers around to make a large enough meal to feed everyone.

“What do you need me to do?” Sara asked. She still looked lost. Grace wasn’t sure if Sara would ever
not
look lost after the death of Annbell.

“We have people assigned to the houses they are to defend. All the windows and doors are boarded up except one, through which they will fight. There are emergency exits if they need to escape, but with any luck the sorcerers that have been assigned to each group will be able to keep the house safe enough from fire or whatever the fallen can throw at us. Archers are placed around on the rooftops, but most of them are unskilled, and there’s no telling, even if they’re able to hit moving targets, whether the arrows will be much good against the fallen.” Grace took a deep breath and looked around.

“And where will we be?” Sara asked.

“Realm Guardians are stronger than regular sorcerers, and I possess a lot of power now myself, enough to keep the vibrations of this city in tune.”

“Atorva was doing this thing with his holy power, infusing places and people so they could actually harm the fallen,” Dalah told Grace. “He’s dead, but maybe you can do the same thing?”

Grace thought about it, and nodded. “I agree. I never thought much about that, but we won’t really do any good against the fallen if we can’t actually harm them. Good thinking.” Grace turned to Sara. “It will be some time before food is ready, and the attack will likely come in the night. Are you well enough to help me spread the holy power throughout the city?”

Sara nodded that she was.

“He did it from the roof there,” Dalah said, leading them back into the Votary House.

Grace followed Dalah through the silent halls of the Votary House. She hadn’t noticed it before, but the house did show signs of the previous battle with the undead horde. She had to sidestep fallen tables, broken lamps, and other debris that had been shoved around in their haste to shutter windows and keep the dead out.

Grace felt a malicious twinge in her stomach outside one door, and she turned toward it.

“What’s in here?” she asked, the power from within rankling the Crone energy inside of her. Whatever was inside was the exact opposite of the power she held within her.

“That’s where Mag is being held,” Dalah told her, and turned away from the door before Grace could read the expression on her face. Grace followed behind her, and Sara didn’t give a second look at the door. Either her sister didn’t register who was behind the door, or she had given up the fight of saving Mag. Normally Grace wouldn’t expect Sara to give up that easily, but with Annbell gone, she seemed to be losing some of the fight she had before.

Dalah led them out onto the roof, and Grace saw the slaughtered body of Atorva immediately. He lay in a pool of drying blood, his eyes turned, unseeing, up to the darkened sky.

“We’ll get him inside before the fighting starts; he’ll be burned with Annbell,” Grace said. She turned to Sara before they started working. “I need you to promise me that you won’t do anything silly tonight,” Grace said.

Sara just looked at her.

“I know that Annbell is dead, and that has wounded you greatly, but you can’t give up. There are people and a Realm counting on you. You can’t let the pain of one death cause many other unneeded deaths.”

That seemed to strike a nerve with Sara, and she nodded.

“You can give up after this if you like, but not before we see this through.” Grace turned back to the roof, and Dalah and Sara followed her out to where Atorva lay dead. There they linked hands, and Grace started working the might of the Crone. Sara and Dalah obeyed, and as with Atorva, the power of the Goddess slithered through the streets, taking holy residence in each human vessel.

Grace stood atop the rubble of the High Basilica, waiting for the legion from the west. She gazed around her at the five Guardians, also staring off westward. In buildings around the clearing were stationed her defense. She was putting a lot of faith in the ability of the archers and the other infantry they’d been able to arm. With any luck, they wouldn’t have to hold off long before reinforcements from the Ivory City came.

“This could be slaughter,” Laphrael said, standing beside her. Someone had been kind enough to bandage up his stump of a wing, and the blood had stopped flowing. Still, Grace wasn’t certain how agile he would be with his left arm.

“It could be,” Grace said. “But what is our other option?”

Laphrael didn’t say anything. If the Guardians heard the exchange, which was likely, they also didn’t say anything.

With her new sight, Grace could see the wyrd of the Guardians spreading up around her, like waves of heat coming off the surface of baking stone. They were already working their wyrd. Each of the Guardians, she realized, had a touch of elemental wyrd within them. Into the shield poured the might of the Earth, the agility of the Air, the fierceness of Fire, and the foresight of Water.

“They near,” Laphrael told her, as if she couldn’t feel their presence humming chaotically across her skin.

“Be ready,” Grace said, and her voice carried easily around the knoll. All around her the dead army, now with no small amount of decaying verax-acis in their midst, turned their slack-jawed moaning toward the west, awaiting the legion.

Somehow she could see through the darkness the sun had been cast in. Through the blackened air, just out of the reach of torchlight, Grace could see the black wings circling. Thousands of them, easily outnumbering any force she had been able to scramble together, including the armies of the dead.

As they came, Grace clasped her hands together high above her head and pulled on the power of the Crone within her. From where her hands were joined a great white light emanated, making the surrounding stones sparkle and sing with power. She was the bait, and the buildings around her were her defense.

And then wyrd was raining down around them. Fire, lightning, and bolts of darklight plummeted out of the sky in greater quantity than Grace could count. Around her, buildings vanished, undead vanished, and even a few armed villagers who ventured past the wyrded buildings they were assigned to were dissolved.

But their attackers, winging through the sky above, were just out of range. A few arrows shot up to the sky, but never made it as high as they needed to be. The only thing they could do was use wyrd, and there weren’t that many wyrders left in Lytoria.

But they fought back. Lightning and fire shot in numerous colors from the buildings, into the night-like sky.

“We are outnumbered,” Laphrael reported. There was a look on his face that said he wanted more than anything to take to the skies.

“We knew that,” Grace said. She forced more Crone energy into the weaving. The light from her joined hands flared brighter and with more holy power. The fallen skirted away from the light.

“I think they know where you are, and they also know they can’t reach you while you are letting out that light,” Laphrael told her. “If you were to stop that, they would come for you.”

Grace’s heart raced. She knew what he said was true. The legion knew that she played host to the holy power of the Goddess, and they would come for her if she let the power drop. She would be putting all of the Guardians in danger.

“Listen,” Laphrael said. “If you
don’t
do this, many will die for nothing. If we allow the legion to come closer, we can strike at them.”

Grace nodded, closed her eyes, and let the holy power wane. As she lowered her arms, the fallen began to descend. Once they were in reach, the wyrders were more effective, dropping the black-winged beasts as they came into range. The power Grace had infused all the people of Lytoria with allowed their strikes to damage the fallen, putting them on equal ground.

A detachment of fallen landed not far away, before the Guardians. The army of the dead reacted, swarming to the threat and overpowering the angels. But there were several pulses of darklight that opened a hole through the dead, and the legion came closer to Grace.