Beyond the Shadows (29 page)

“Tuz, take Cyn to the linking station of the com array that is connected to the docking interface,” she commanded. “Use as many of the thin branches as you can and scan for witnesses.” She turned her attention to Cyn and placed her hand over the welt on his chest. “Don’t get caught. As soon as you hack into the array, you’re vulnerable. Get the cannons down, and your message out quick. If I’m unsuccessful, the people of Azra need to rise.”

“What do you mean?” He caught her wrist, then tucked her hand against his heart.

“I’m going to give you your distraction.” She let her fingers splay out over his warm skin as she felt the beat of his heart against her palm.

“Yara, what do you mean?” he asked again.

“It’s time to light the fire in the temple.”

CYN STEPPED BACK. “YOU CAN’T.” HE STARED AT HER IN SHOCK. HIS FACE paled. “You’ll be in the path of the revolution.”

“I know,” she said, taking his wrist. Her fingers caressed the snakes. “It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“I’m not.” His eyes shone with sincerity, but her mind was made up.

“I’m going to challenge the Grand Sister. If I don’t survive, Azra must rise.” She swallowed.

He took her hand and pulled her closer to him. “Fira will cheat. She’ll do whatever it takes to kill you, Yara. She’s already killed three challengers, and they were younger, stronger, and more talented than she is. Even if you defeat her, you’ll have to contend with Palar. She’ll challenge you before you ever step off of the platform. It’s the only time you’ll be vulnerable enough for her to strike.”

“I know. It’ll give you the time and opportunity to lead our people, Cyn. You have to take it. The access code for the com system is integrated into Tuz’s collar. Bug should be able to find it.” Yara let her body soften against his. She tilted her head up and kissed him one last time.

“Go,” she implored.

He looked stricken as she backed away from him.

“Go.” She turned her back and strode out of the hall. She didn’t have much time. As soon as she lit the fire in the temple, all eyes would turn to her. No one would see Cyn in the chaos.

With the force of her conviction, she quelled her nerves and steeled herself for what was about to come. The beauty of the high cities passed by in a blur as she marched through the smooth white streets built over the arching branches of the eldar trees.

The serenity of the light filtering through the bright green canopy only hardened her resolve. This was her beautiful home, but Azra was more than just this. If things didn’t change, the high cities would fall. The time of reckoning was upon them.

She turned the corner and climbed a flight of stairs. The open arc of the covered bridge rose before her, when a small boy in white prayer robes caught her eye. She paused, drawn to the little boy. He turned his enormous green eyes up to hers.

He was so young, so innocent. His sweet little face glowed as he gave her a hesitant smile. She was about to bring war to this child.

By Esana the Noble, what was she doing?

His mother grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him around. “Get back! Lower your eyes!” she shouted at the boy.

Yara blinked in shock. The mother shoved the baby behind her and bowed in deference. “I am so sorry, Your Holiness. He did not mean to look at you. He knows his place.” The mother shook as her skin paled. “I swear he knows his place.”

Yara touched the woman’s bare shoulder. She tensed, her fear so stark and raw. The Elite were supposed to protect the people. When had they gone so wrong?

She squeezed the woman’s shoulder, then turned and entered the bridge to the temple. The bridge arched over the gap between eldar trees leading to the holy temple. Smooth, white branches wove up from the floor supporting the roof above her. The shadows of the twisted branches curled across the floor as they passed swiftly beneath her feet.

She knew what she had to do for all of Azra.

She climbed the steps to the towering doors of the temple. Two low-level orderlies greeted her with a sweeping bow, their faces masked by a white drape. She walked straight past them, over the inlaid floor depicting the glory of the Matriarchs, to the chewed-up wood of four support columns in the central sanctuary. In each column, daggers stabbed into the ancient pillars, grouped by loyalties among the Elite. She saw her own dagger. It hadn’t moved in the four years she’d been away, and now even more daggers jutted out from the wood just below it than she had ever seen. Palar didn’t have a quarter of the backing she did.

Would they support her in this?

It was time to test loyalties.

She took a deep breath and climbed the steep shrine stairs to the golden brazier burning in the heart of the temple. One of the priestesses gasped. She couldn’t turn back now. Grasping the ceremonial torch, she dipped it in the fire.

Flames licked along the torch, warming her hand. She lifted it, felt the heat close to her face as she closed her eyes and prayed.

She prayed her heart was guiding her to the will of the Matriarchs. She prayed she had the strength to succeed and survive, but most of all she prayed for the future of Azra.

She opened them again, at peace with herself and her decision. The priestesses had gathered at the foot of the stairs, waiting. She turned and placed the torch in the center of the open hands of the statue of the Creator.

The flame burst to life, traveling down oil-filled channels carved along the edges of the temple. It barreled along its path, proclaiming to all those in the center of the temple that change, violent and terrible, was coming. It reached two pillars at the end and roared to life with a terrifying ferocity as the flames shot up through the center of the pillars to the crown of the temple above. Soon all of Azra would know what she’d done.

She turned and watched the crowd through the angry tongues of flame as she gripped the torch. The sounds of frantic conversation began to fill the temple. A stream of people flooded in from the doorway.

A hush fell over the crowd as the Grand Sister entered, the mantle of power swaying behind her.

“Palar!” she shouted. “How dare . . .”

Her eyes locked with Yara’s, and Yara lifted her chin in defiance. Fira paled, her expression slack with shock. A moment passed, then two. Yara watched the Grand Sister’s icelike eyes dart around, chased by the turmoil in her expression. The color returned to the old woman’s face; she flushed red with it as she ascended the steps like a stalking cat.

“You were not to light the fire,” she scolded then took another step. Yara tightened her grip on the torch.

“Yet I did.” She took a deep breath, her resolve strengthening her. She would not let one woman torture Azra any longer. Fira’s time was done. Yara welcomed the fight.

“Your High Holiness,” someone shouted from the doorway, “the prisoner has escaped.”

“What?” Fira shrieked, her voice cracking as she unfurled her whip. She sent it flying over the heads of the Elite. Then she rounded on Yara, climbing the last of the steps with her rage pushing before her like the wall of a great hurricane.

“You freed him. You have betrayed me. You have betrayed Azra,” she accused Yara under her breath.

“The torch has been lit,” Yara stated, even though her heart raced for Cyn. She sent a quick prayer that he wouldn’t get captured or killed. “How do you answer?”

“Your blood will wash my feet!” The Grand Sister’s voice boomed through the temple. The crowd gasped. The nervous current of whispers slid through the room. “Prepare yourself. I will meet you in battle.”

“Find the son of the Rebel and bring him back alive,” she thundered as the crowd parted and she exited the temple.

Yara let out the breath she had been holding and tried to keep her focus through the reeling in her head and gut. She couldn’t lose her concentration now. She had to rely on the precision and cold certainty of her training.

It was in her. She couldn’t fail Azra.

She took each of the steep white steps carefully. Her nerves made her feet uncertain, but she couldn’t let it show. As soon as she reached the crowd, Onali grabbed her elbow. Yara glanced toward the columns as three of the young girls in training put their daggers with hers.

“Why?” Onali urged, squeezing her elbow tighter as they rushed out of the temple with urgent strides. “You have everything. Why are you doing this?”

Yara lifted her head, surprised by Onali’s concern.

“Because it has to be done,” Yara confessed. “Please trust me, Nali.”

“You could die,” Onali warned, blinking her eyes. Yara remembered the death of the last challenger. Penora had been so strong, so skilled, but in the arena it was as if her life just faded out of her for no reason. She seemed weak in battle. It was unlike her. They all took the loss hard, but it was the way of the Elite. “I don’t want to lose another sister,” Onali confessed.

Sister?
Yara had spent her entire life not feeling connected to anyone, but the truth almost slapped her in the face. She had not connected to them, but it didn’t mean they had not connected to her.

She looked away from Onali. “It’s too late. I have to face her now.” She didn’t realize the depth of Onali’s loyalty until this moment. She didn’t want to betray it. What choice did she have? “I’ll see you at the platform.”

Onali left with a swift and angry stride. Yara swallowed her regret. She didn’t have much time to focus. The Elite were already looking for Cyn. Her distraction would only work if she pushed things quickly.

It was time to face the Grand Sister once and for all and end the grip of terror.

Yara passed through the back branches, the thin sweeping arches bowed gracefully amid the foliage and ciera blossoms. In spite of the tranquil beauty, she felt the same way she did just before the spider attack on Cyn’s ship.

She had fought through blood, horror, and agony, and she stood victorious. She pulled that memory to the forefront of her mind as she thought about being chained on the Kronalen ship. Her sheer will to live had kept her focused and calm. She felt that instinct rise as she stepped onto the final arching bridge that led to the platform.

The thin bridge swayed beneath her feet, and she thought about Cyn, the way they had fallen together through the lattice, then kissed.

She had something to live for.

She was more than duty. She was more than her training. She was Yara, blood of the Just, and a woman who would do anything to help and protect the man and the planet she loved.

She stepped onto the ceremonial platform. The gleaming white expanse hovered directly over the shadows below. Five thin arches led onto the platform. Each would be guarded by a group of Elite warriors. The only way off of the platform was the straight drop to ground below.

Spectator stands rose above them, separated from the arena floor, forming the deadly gap. Already the stands were filled with at least half the population of the high cities. They eagerly watched the projections above the platform. Everyone on Azra would be able to see the challenge through the com array.

Yara strode to the center of the platform, holding her fist high. A cheer rose from the crowd, heartening her. She had support. She had the love of the people.

The crowd suddenly hushed, and Yara felt the hair on the back of her neck prick up.

Fira smiled as two temple attendants removed the mantle of power and two more carried in the ancient ceremonial blades. The curving bone blades made from the rib of an ancient felam beast had been sharpened and hardened with a special resin and treated to make them as strong and sharp as steel.

They rested within their clean blessed cloths, the attendants forbidden to touch them.

Fira took the master blade and smiled. The bone had been stained with the blood of generations of challengers. “You’re a fool, girl. And you’re going to die.”

“Not by your hand,” Yara stated.

Fira chuckled, a chilling and ominous sound.

Yara grasped the two handles of her own bloodstained blade. Her skin tingled where she gripped the felam leather.

Odd
.

She shook off her sense of foreboding as she held her blade out to the side by one handle and bowed her head. Fira did the same.

The temple attendants disappeared over the bridge as the hush of anticipation fell over the crowd.

Her palms itched. Yara felt weak. A rush of adrenaline shot through her as the Elite standing at the bridges shouted as one.

Fira swung her blade without missing a beat. Yara countered quickly, blocking the blow even as the force of it jolted her body.

The Grand Sister had probably taken enhancers along with her drugs. She’d be foggy. Yara had to wait for the right opportunity and strike quickly.

Fira lunged after her, a wild attack like an animal on a rampage. Yara used her skill and instinct to block. It was easy to see the old woman’s next move coming. If she kept up this pace of attack, she’d run out of energy soon. Yara was younger and stronger. She’d outlast the aging tyrant.

Suddenly she felt as if a fire licked over the skin of her hands. She shouted, nearly dropping her blade. Fira laughed and took a swing at her head. Yara ducked, rolling out of the way as the blade whistled past her ear.

She glanced down at her palms. Her skin was raw and red. The fire moved through the muscles of her arms, even as her mind fought to focus.

She launched her own attack, using both hands to spin and strike with the elegant blade as she drove forward, pushing Fira back toward the edge of the platform. Yara felt hot, weak. Like her body was fighting the way it had when she had been poisoned.

Glorious Creator, Fira had poisoned her. The tyrant screeched a shrill war cry, coming at Yara with fury and unnatural strength.