Warrior (26 page)

“No,” Jason said, mentally glaring at Cassabrie. “She didn’t.”

Deference disentangled her fingers. “Well, then I suppose I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“Uriel Blackstone?” Resolute had returned and now walked slowly toward them. “The king wishes for you to come with me. He wants you to help him with a new invention. You will be served a bounteous meal when you arrive.”

“A new invention,” Jason repeated.

“Yes,” Uriel said with a sigh. “Another returning memory. Since I am skilled at mechanics, I constructed a number of devices while imprisoned here. It seems that dragon anatomy is not well-suited for nimble work, and he wished to introduce certain aspects of Major Four technology to the dragon realm.”

“How many devices did you make?”

“I can hardly remember that I did any at all, but I assume I could accomplish quite a bit in seventy years. I remember something about a pair of plates that would make something hover between them, but it is a vague memory.”

“Come,” Resolute said with a firmer tone. “The king awaits.”

“I suppose I have no choice.” Uriel gave Jason a nod. “Good luck, young man. It has been a pleasure.”

“I’m sure we’ll meet again,” Jason said, but he regretted his words. How could he make such a promise? He didn’t know if either of them would survive until evening.

After Uriel and Resolute departed, Deference waved an arm. Again each part of her body appeared as it moved. “Come with me. We will descend a long flight of stairs with no railing, so please be careful.” She turned and strode into the light.

As Jason followed, new questions begged for answers. What was the Northlands portal? Where was Marcelle now? Had she come with Adrian?

He gritted his teeth. Too many questions and too few answers. Maybe Deference would be willing to give more information when they reached this star, whatever it was.

With that hope bolstering him, he peeked around the edge of the hood to see his surroundings. The stairway, consisting of rocky steps no more than two feet wide, was really a downward-angling ridge with sheer drops into blackness on each side. To his left and right lay open space, dark except for flickering lanterns attached to cliff faces far away. The steps, uneven and craggy, felt unstable, as if any one of them could break away and send him plunging.

The shining vapors streamed up from below, giving brief views of the darkness, like pulsing candles in the night. Another slowed as it came upon him and swirled around his head, whispering as it blew through his hair.

“The guardian dragon shot a river of fire at the boy. He burned in agony while his companion watched in horror.”

Then it broke away and continued its upward flight.

Jason stopped and watched the whispering vapors fly past. It all seemed like a strange dream. Everything around him warped, as if displayed through curved glass.

“Jason,” Deference said, “the storytellers will hypnotize you if you let them speak.”

“Storytellers?” he repeated, barely loud enough to reach his own ears.

A tingly feeling spread across his fingers. Deference’s sparkling hand had slid into his. “Use your other hand to hold the hood closed, and come with me. One step at a time.”

He grabbed the hood and pulled the edges together. Deference drew him forward, though her touch felt more like buzzing numbness than flesh and bone. With each new stair, he set his foot down carefully, but after a few successful steps, he relaxed and trusted her guiding hand. The feeling of dreaminess passed, and with the new clarity the recent revelations stormed back into his mind.

“So,” Jason whispered, “why didn’t you tell me about Marcelle?”

“What did you say?” Deference asked.

“I’m sorry. I’m talking to Cassabrie.”

“Oh, I am the one who is sorry. Please converse, and don’t mind me. Just keep walking, and we’ll be there in a little while.”

Cassabrie sighed.
Jason, I have not been given leave to tell you certain things. The king doesn’t want you to be distracted from your purpose.

“My purpose? How could knowing about Marcelle distract me?”

Perhaps this stairway is a fitting illustration. The king has a path for you to follow, and you need to focus on his guiding hand and not be concerned about your surroundings. If you learned about the paths of others, you might try to cause them to intersect before the proper time.

“Do you mean everything I’m doing has already been decided beforehand?”

Not at all. You could easily stray from the path, far too easily, and never find the end. Yet the ultimate purpose will be fulfilled. If you don’t accomplish what you have been called to do, the king will find someone else to do it.

“So if I die …”

The king will raise up another warrior. Of course, many more slaves could suffer in the meantime, so it’s best for everyone if you stay on the path.

Jason looked through the hood at Deference’s shimmering glow. “I feel like a game piece that can be sacrificed at any moment, a pawn being played by someone I can’t see.”

Her voice grew quiet and sad.
I know that feeling far better than you do. I am a pawn who made a choice, and I was taken from the board.

Jason stayed silent for a moment. He couldn’t contradict her poignancy or add anything profound. “Well, even if I make the choices in the game, what good is it if I can’t see beyond the squares I occupy?”

Why is that important?
Her voice regained its strength.
The one who created the board sees every square. Isn’t that enough to know?

“So does the Creator move the pieces or just watch them move on their own?”

I am not wise enough to know that answer, but I suspect that he moves some and watches others. You are free to make your own decisions, unless you get in the way and endanger the outcome of the game.

Jason glanced over the side of the stairway. “And that’s when your piece gets removed.”

If necessary. Or perhaps your piece will stand and watch from the side.

Jason nodded. Irrelevance. That would be a fate worse than death.

If you die fighting for justice,
she continued,
or you die because you get in the way, or you die of old age after standing outside the battle, you still die. The end is always the same. The pieces go back into the box, or maybe worse. Might the useless ones be thrown into the Creator’s fireplace? That is an end I wish to avoid at all costs.

Yet, think of it. Perhaps, just perhaps, the Creator puts his martyrs on the mantle. Oh, Jason, that’s where I want to be. Can you imagine it? The Creator walks by and admires his handiwork, perhaps even speaks to me, and we laugh about the silly worries I had when I faced my execution. Pain? Disappointment? Loneliness? All fleeting, all in the past. And we enjoy the warmth of his love together. The joy is unspeakable!

Jason continued marching down the stairs. More glowing vapors breezed by, some wrapping around his head, but the hood prevented their whispers from penetrating. It seemed that the barrier made Cassabrie’s words bounce in quiet echoes. This joy, was it unspeakable? Not really. Just foreign. The Code said to seek justice and free the captives. Obey the Creator, yes, but chat with him while sitting near a fireplace? Laugh with him? What an odd concept.

“We still have a long way to go,” Deference called. “I hope you’re not getting weary.”

“No. I’m fine. I’m wondering about the climb back up, though.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you. Whether or not you return will be up to the king.”

Jason halted, letting her hand and the hood slip from his grasp. “Whether or not I return?”

Deference stopped and stared at him. Only her outline stayed visible, and even that began to fade. “Don’t worry, Jason. I merely meant return by the same path. There are other means by which one may leave Exodus.” As the parade of vapors, now surrounding them in all directions, continued their upward flow, she laughed. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to stoke the fires of fear. If you are frightened, I will let the king know. Perhaps he will allow you to leave right away.”

Jason pushed back his hood fully. “No. Don’t do that. I just have to be careful. I’m in a strange place, you know.”

“Of course, Jason. No one is suggesting that you are cowardly. I certainly wouldn’t.”

“Then maybe I shouldn’t be led by the hand. Maybe I shouldn’t show any sign of fear of these … whatever they are.”

“I call them storytellers. The king calls them whisperers. In any case, it is not cowardly to protect yourself from harm and trust someone who knows the way. Sometimes the most courageous act is to accept help from those who are most capable of providing it.”

“Cowardly,” Jason said. “I wish you’d stop using that word.”

“If that is what you wish.” When Deference resumed her downward march, she lifted her dress slightly, revealing bare feet that seemed to stay an inch or so above the steps. With every footfall, a tiny splash of sparks filled the gap, as if igniting some kind of energy field between this spirit and the reality of stone.

While Jason pressed on, Cassabrie hummed a sweet tune, inserting lyrics now and then about twinkling stars and never-ending light, how they guided navigators and inspired poets. In the song, a child snatched a star out of the sky and put it in a jar. She kept it in her room so she could be inspired and never feel lost.

As the vapors continued brushing by and leaving behind fractured stories, their words seemed to hang in the air while Jason concentrated on Cassabrie’s song. Her tale was pretty and touching, but it wasn’t real. It was pure fantasy. Astronomers knew that stars were giant balls of burning gas, too distant for anyone to reach and too hot to grasp. Nobody could keep one in a jar.

Finally, Deference reached a landing and pointed to Jason’s right. “You will find a tunnel in that direction. When you get to the end, you will have arrived. But I would put the hood up if I were you.”

Jason looked in that direction. The storytellers streamed from a dark hole about fifty paces away, flying out of the darkness like bats from a cave. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Oh, no, Jason. I am not permitted in the Exodus chamber. It is not my time yet.”

Jason measured her words. Not her time? That usually meant someone’s death. Was the room that dangerous, and wasn’t she already dead?

“Besides,” Deference continued. “I have other duties to attend to. I am taking care of an old man who wandered into the Northlands and fell through the ice. He nearly drowned before the king plucked him out of the water and flew him to our castle. The poor man suffered from a terrible blow to the head as well as hypothermia.”

“That’s too bad,” Jason said. “Is he healing?”

“To a point. Today has been worse than yesterday, so I want to hurry back and tend to him.”

“Of course you should. I’ll be all right.”

“It was good to meet you.” Deference lifted her hem and scampered up the stairs, light and fast, unaffected by gravity.

Jason took a deep breath and walked toward the tunnel’s entrance, about a hundred feet away. With his head still uncovered, the whisperers swirled around him, one after another, each leaving a verbal puzzle piece.

“So Magnar went there by himself. Arxad stayed behind.”

“My name is Shellinda, sir. What is yours?”

“I don’t have time for such trifles. Leave it there and be on your way.”

“I heard his name. Frederick. He protects four of the cattle children there.”

Jason turned and snatched the vapor, but it passed right through his fingers. “Where?” he shouted as it streamed away. “Where is Frederick?”

Dizzy again, he blinked, trying to ward off the hypnotic effect.
Don’t listen to them. Just ignore them. It’s the only way to battle the influence.

With his back against the flow, the whisperers struck his cloak and streamed around him. Their words flew by so quickly, he couldn’t string them together. It seemed that they cared to pause only when they could see his face.

He turned again and marched right into them. “Talk to me, Cassabrie. Help me fight them.”

Of course, Jason. I know you can do this. Just focus on my words and ignore their cries.
She hummed for a moment before continuing.
I first knew there was something different about me when I was five years old.

He reached the tunnel entrance, ducked his head to get under the arch, and continued with a long stride, keeping his head low. Hundreds of vapors drifted by, some pausing to drop a comment, and the barrage of words split Cassabrie’s monologue into pieces, making it impossible to concentrate.

My hair was so red, the other children pointed fingers at me and—

“Arxad will not help you now. You will die without mercy.”

My green eyes added to the effect.

“Bring the old bard to me. The song must be altered. I will tell him what to say.”

So when the Separators decided to allow the Traders to sell me —

“You are not the first human on Starlight, Uriel, but what will you do with that information?”

Jason trudged on. Wave after wave of vapors flew by, and dozens, if not hundreds, of disconnected tales spun in his mind, triggering the dizzying effect once again. Although he tried to remember the familiar names and how they applied, even they fell into the churning mix of confused thoughts.

With so many pulsing lights flashing in his eyes, seeing where he was going became impossible. He held a hand out in front. His fingers were barely visible as they groped for obstacles. How strange it seemed that light could be as blinding as darkness. Who could ever approach this star without being given a reason, especially without preparation for the onslaught of hypnotizing messages? Any unprepared person would surely turn back.

After several more seconds, he exited the tunnel and entered another massive chamber. The flow of vapors halted, as did the whispers. Cassabrie quieted. It was like walking into a cathedral—on the outside, the buzz and bustle of people going about their business never ceased, but one step past the tall doors, and a hush descended. Could this be such a holy sanctuary?