Unbroken Chain

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"Are you sure that’s the place?” Cree asked Vedoran.

A narrow valley of jagged rock lay below them. At the bottom a silt stream cut a path to the east.

“It has to be,” Vedoran said. “Uwan claimed we would find our destination on the other side of the bog. This valley is the only landmark for miles.”

“Look,” Ashok said, pointing at a spot several feet away from where they stood. “The rocks look like stairs. I think they’ve been shaped, and not by the weather.”

They went to the spot, and Vedoran bent to examine the rock. “You’re right,” he said. “There’s a path going down to the bottom.” He glanced up at Ashok. “You have good eyes.”

Ashok said nothing. Tension suffused his body, no matter how hard he tried to force himself to relax. But Vedoran’s compliment seemed genuine. He didn’t sound suspicious.

Vedoran took Chanoch, and the two of them went down the steps to scout the bottom of the valley while Ashok, Skagi, and Cree stayed with the nightmare and kept watch.

Ashok tried to look at the valley with fresh eyes, but he had been over every stone of the place since he was a child. He knew what Vedoran and Chanoch would find at the bottom, and as he marked their progress down the stone steps, he knew the instant they would see the entrance to his enclave.

He didn’t know how much longer he would be able to hide his ignorance.

When the pair returned, Vedoran said, “We found it. On the opposite bank of the stream there’s a cave entrance. It’s hidden unless you climb down the valley.”

They camped for a short rest, their last chance to sleep and prepare themselves before the second part of their mission commenced. Ashok stood apart from the others, waiting to begin his watch. His thoughts were eaten up with how to proceed.

By showing Vedoran the path to the caves, Ashok had betrayed his enclave. He would have their blood on his hands, unless he could convince Vedoran and the others to barter for the missing party members.

He dismissed the possibility almost as soon as it occurred to him. Even if by some grace of Tempus the captives were still alive, Vedoran would never bargain for his people’s release. With so much to prove to Uwan, he would accept nothing less than an all-out annihilation of the captors. Similarly, Ashok’s father would never agree to release his prisoners, nor would he allow a hostile force to know the location of his enclave.

No matter what Ashok did, in the end there were only two options: betray Ikemmu, or betray his father and the rest of his enclave.

“Ashok,” called a voice.

Ashok turned. “Yes, Chanoch?”

The young one grinned and said, “Good hunting, eh?”

Ashok nodded stiffly. “Good hunting.”

“Wake us before you become weary,” Vedoran said. He lay down on the hard ground and propped his head on one arm. They were all asleep within breaths. As eager as they were for the challenge ahead, they wanted to be as fresh and alert as possible when the time came.

Ashok watched them all at rest, their faces slack. Sleep took the stress and wildness from their expressions, so that Ashok barely recognized them as the warriors he knew.

A memory surfaced, of the few journeys Ashok had undertaken to the Shadowfell with his father and brothers. There were no watches, no long marches across the open plain. They traveled only so far and did only so much as they could do without sleep. Sleep on the unguarded plain was as good as a death sentence, if you failed to hear the dagger coming for you in the dark.

Ashok stared down at the cave entrance. There was no movement, though he knew there were guards just inside the cave mouth. He would have to find a way to alert Vedoran to their presence, if his other companions didn’t detect them.

Restless, he stood and paced the camp. He went to the nightmare, tied to a cluster of kindling trees a few feet away. The beast’s hair appeared flat black now, with only a feathering of blue at the roots of his mane and tail. The heat had dulled enough that Ashok felt confident running his hand up and down the beast’s neck.

They’re all good, Ashok thought, Vedoran and the rest-warriors to equal any in the enclave. But his enclave had numbers in the caves. They knew where there was enough space to swing a sword, and where the passages narrowed so two shadar-kai couldn’t walk abreast. There was a reason they’d survived in the valley so long.

The nightmare’s ears twitched. He whickered and nudged Ashok with his body when he ceased the gentle rubbing.

“You’ve done your part,” Ashok said, “and have my thanks. It’s time for me to return the favor.”

He untangled the reins from the needle branches. The nightmare lowered his head, and Ashok removed the bridle and bit. The metal was hot in his hands.

“Go,” he said, slapping the beast on the rump. The nightmare whinnied in indignation and took off at a gallop across the plain. When the beast was almost out of sight, Ashok saw the flames burst from his mane. Streaks of fire cut the ground in the wake of his passage. Ashok watched until the flames disappeared.

He turned back to the camp. The others slept on, their dreams unfettered by the nightmare’s influence.

Some time later, Ashok woke Skagi and took his place. The ground was still warm from the heat of his body. Ashok closed his eyes, but he didn’t sleep.

He planned.

Natan woke in a sweat in his small chamber. His skin was hot as if flames had grazed him while he slept. Had he been dreaming, or was there vital portent he’d missed?

Cursing himself, Natan got up but went almost immediately to his knees by a small wooden altar, bearing only a candle and a dagger with a ruby set in the hilt. The weapon had been a gift, long before, from Ilvani. He touched the hilt and called for Tempus.

“Forgive me,” he said aloud. “I was weary and slept. I shall not be weak again. Show me your will, I pray you.”

Uwan had been the one to send him to his rest. Natan didn’t fault his leader for it; Uwan only meant to help. He could see that Natan had been fasting and holding vigil. He’d done so almost since the day Ilvani had disappeared, and the exhaustion was starting to take its toll on his body.

What Uwan did not understand was that Natan cared nothing for his own health. Wherever Ilvani was Natan sensed she suffered far worse. He would not be well until she came home.

“Tempus,” he prayed, and repeated his wish for the god to speak, to give him some sign that Ashok and the others walked the right path. Was the fire an ill omen or a promise of rebirth? “Tell me that this has all not been in vain.”

“Is it wise, brother, to chatter so much at your god’s mind that he forsakes all others for your entreaties? Isn’t it selfish?”

Natan gasped and clutched his chest. He didn’t dare look behind him for fear he might break at last, but the voice was so familiar and beloved he couldn’t dismiss it as a phantom.

He shifted on his knees and saw her, sitting cross-legged in the corner of his chamber. It was such a familiar pose when she came to see him that Natan almost wept. She looked exactly as she had when she’d left, her pale skin and garnet hair-the red he’d hated on himself but that suited her so well.

“Ilvani,” he said.

“You look terrible, brother,” Ilvani said. She pretended to sniff the air. “Have you been bathing?”

He chuckled. “This is what I’m reduced to when you’re not around to look after me,” he said. He wanted to go to her, but he was terrified that if he moved she would vanish.

It wasn’t truly Ilvani. Natan knew that, though he ached to admit it. It was prophecy, Tempus’s visions given a voice and a face that wouldn’t frighten or overwhelm a mortal. But Natan felt overwhelmed, and full of joy, hope. Surely Tempus would not be so cruel as to send him a vision of his sister if she were gone?

“You’re watching the wrong things, brother,” Ilvani said seriously. “You’re too much on your knees and not enough in Ikemmu. You’re missing it.”

“I can’t just sit by and not look for you,” Natan said. “How can Tempus ask that of me?”

“You see the fire,” Ilvani said, “but you have no idea how it shapes them. It may forge or destroy, save them or damn them. Why do you force them to choose one or the other?”

She sounded like the Ilvani that Natan remembered, the beloved sister with her mind in two worlds, though where or what the other was, no one knew. At times Natan thought it was a safe harbor for her mind, but at others it seemed a prison she’d created for herself.

He wondered if he should have told Ashok about his and Ilvani’s unique heritage. It did not matter. The others would tell him, if they felt he needed to know.

“Ilvani, can you tell me where you are?” Natan asked. “There are shadar-kai warriors seeking you. Can you feel their presence?”

“Yes,” she said. She stood up and walked past him.

“Wait!” Natan called as he jumped to his feet and went after her. She passed through the wall, a phantom. Natan fumbled with the door latch and ran out to the stairs.

She was already walking up the spiral, her long black cloak with its overlay of tiny chains clinking behind her. Natan followed her.

“Everything is turning,” Ilvani said.

“What do you mean?” Natan said. He felt dizzy looking up at her while they turned on the stair. “What’s turning?”

“Don’t you feel it, brother?” Ilvani said, scoffing and fluttering her hands impatiently. “You should be feeling them, every one. They will change everything, and you won’t stop to see it until it’s too late. Then the fire will come.”

“Ilvani!” Natan cried. “Tempus, what are you trying to tell me!”

Ilvani stopped so fast that Natan passed through her. He collapsed on the stairs, breathless, and looked up at her. The light shone through her flesh, and she was a specter with his sister’s voice.

“He will bear the burden of Ikemmu,” she said, and her voice reverberated off the walls, deep and angry. “The faithless will guide the faithful, but by then it may already be too late. You must look to your people.”

She tipped her head back and spread her arms. White wings burst from her spine and spread out behind her. She brought them down, and in a rush of air that Natan felt on his face, she took flight.

The tower steps disappeared, and Natan found himself floating in a formless void. The specter-angel flew above him, and as he watched she was joined by other winged folk, circling in an endless vortex of wings and light.

Natan stood up and stretched his arms out. “Ilvani!” he cried. But he knew she was gone. He watched the angels cavort in the sky beneath a glowing sun. Natan felt the heat on his face, so warm he began to sweat.

The memory of his dream came back to him then in a rush, and Natan knew what had woken him. He looked up; the angels flew higher and higher, toward the golden sun.

“Stop!” he yelled, but his voice was very faint. It barely touched the vast sky. “Come back! Don’t fly there!”

He screamed until his throat was raw, but it was all in vain. One by one the winged specters caught fire. The flames outlined their wings, and for a hopeless breath they were mighty phoenixes. Then the fire consumed them and turned their beautiful appendages to ash.

Bodies fell shrieking out of the sky. As they passed they reached for Natan, and he tried to grab onto them to stop their fall, but his hands passed through their flesh, and all he felt was the fire. His hands blistered, and he cried out in agony as they all perished before his eyes.

Natan awoke in his bed, sweating. He could still feel the fire on his skin. He stumbled out of bed, went to the altar, and turned to the corner where Ilvani had appeared. But he saw nothing, sensed nothing but an empty chamber.

Trembling and awash in horror from what he’d witnessed, Natan couldn’t find the strength to pray. He went to his bed, took the blankets off, and piled them in the corner of the room. He lay down and felt the cold stone floor start to calm him and cool the sweat from his body. His heartbeat was frenzied in his chest.

“Tempus,” he begged, “Tempus.” Over and over he said his god’s name. “Let that not be our fate. Let it not be. Let it not be.”

He slept, a dreamless stupor, but he did not see Ilvani again, or the winged specters.