Bound (The Divine, Book Four) (46 page)

The woman.

She had said her name was Lia, and the last thing Eryn remembered was having the staff pointed at her, the crystal at the tip glowing an intense blue.
 

She got to her feet and spun around. There was the great big tree, there was the branch they had hid behind, there was her brother. She ran over to him. His eyes still stared up at the heavens.
 

"Roddin, I'm sorry."
 

It had been her fault they had been found. Because she was angry. Because he had told her secret.

Eryn put her hand over her brother's eyes and pushed the lids closed. "May you rest in the light and peace of Amman," she said. It was a simple prayer, but one she had seen Timor, the village's Priest of Amman say whenever one of the villagers had passed on, before burning them on a pyre and then burying them in the ground. The ashes would fertilize the fields, it was believed, and ensure the survival of their village.

She sat with him then, and gave herself time to mourn. She leaned over him, filled with wracking sobs, missing him and Mother and Papa. He had made a mistake, and it had cost them all so dearly. Still, she couldn't find it in her heart to not forgive him. He hadn't meant to harm her, or them. He hadn't meant to cause this trouble. Like he had said while they fled the soldiers, it was
his
fault. Mother had said the same.

Eryn didn't know how much time passed while she sat over her brother and cried. Eventually, her body was too tired and too dry for the tears to keep falling. She realized then how dry her mouth was. She had promised she would survive, and somehow so far she had. She needed to find some water.

She got to her feet and looked back at the fallen tree. She had the strength to dig a hole to bury her brother in, but she didn't have the tools. The tree had dislodged a lot of earth when the roots had been pulled, so she decided she would place him there, and cover him with the dirt. Once he was buried, she would try to find her way back to the stream they had crossed.

"I'm not stealing from you," she said, leaning down and taking Roddin's knife from where it lay by his side. "But I need this."

She picked up the knife and turned in the direction of the tree's base. She nearly choked at what she saw.

The grass near the base was black and scarred, as though it had been struck by lightning. The trees out beyond it had scars as well, marks cut deep into the bark like someone had started to cut them down with an axe, and then changed their mind. There were three bodies there, two in the distance near the trees, and another much closer, near the center of the clearing. The body looked as though it had already been on a funeral pyre, though it wasn't completely charred.
 

Eryn could still make out the form of a glimmering black dress, and see random strands of golden hair still attached to the smoldering remains.
 

"Did I cause this?" she wondered. "Did I kill them?"
 

She didn't remember anything after seeing the blue crystal glowing. Only that her ears had tingled before she'd passed out. Had she done this with her Curse?
 

She felt like she should be upset at having killed someone, but the woman, Lia, had killed her brother, and would have killed her too.
His
soldiers. She knew those were
his
soldiers back there. They had killed her parents.
 

"Is it wrong to kill those who have wronged you?" she asked out loud. She didn't think it was.

She was cautious in making her way over to the corpse. She had heard stories that
his
soldiers were immortal, and couldn't be killed. That even if you cut off their heads, their bodies would still continue to fight. She had never even seen one of
his
soldiers before yesterday, so she had no idea if any part of the tales were true. They looked dead enough to her, but she couldn't be too careful.

When she got close enough, Eryn put out her toe and lightly kicked the woman's foot. She tried to ignore the smell that was hanging in the air, and the gruesomeness of the scene. She had seen burns before, both the bodies coming off the pyre, and when Papa's assistant Harl had an accident at the forge and lost his entire right arm to the flames. Lia didn't move.

Convinced she was dead, Eryn came closer, leaning over her and looking down. Only small bits remained of the shiny dress, but she saw the shimmer of red in the ash that surrounded the body, up next to the head. She leaned down and picked at it with the tip of Roddin's knife, revealing the crystal eye that had hung from the woman's neck. The necklace must have melted away, but the eye remained.
 

"I should leave it," she said. "I should leave everything, bury Roddin, and be on my way."

But she didn't. She couldn't. The eye was
his
symbol, the only thing she even knew about
him
. She felt like she needed it, as a reminder of who had brought this sudden misery into her life. She caught it on the edge of the knife and lifted it to her, holding it in the sunlight in front of her face.

"You caused this," she said, looking at it. "You took everything I had away from me. By Amman, I will take everything you have away from you."

She knew then that she meant it.
 

Not only would she survive, but she would find
him
, and she would end
his
tyranny, so no others ever had to see their families killed for them, or be killed themselves for nothing more than having the power to help people. Her parents had taught her to be strong, and loving, and just. She would weep for them again, she knew. She would weep a hundred times a hundred times more. But she would also make them proud, and stand up to injustice.

"By Amman, I swear it," she said, putting her free hand to her lips and drawing the sign of Amman to seal the promise.

She took the eye and brought it to the branch of the tree. Then she went back to Roddin and lifted him up, taking the bow and quiver from him, and putting them under the branch as well. After, she went to check on the soldiers.

She was still walking towards them, when she saw it. The staff. It was laying in the grass as though it had been thrown backwards when Lia had fallen. She walked over to it and picked it up. It was lighter than she had thought a staff of metal could be, cool and smooth to the touch. She didn't know of any alloys that were so light, nor did she know of anyone who could mold metal into such a perfect shape. She looked it over curiously, and then shifted her attention to the crystal.

Now that it wasn't glowing, she saw that it wasn't a crystal at all. It was round, dark blue in color, and only the size of a small stone. It had strange, white cloudy swirls that seemed to be floating in it, and small pits in random places on the surface. Eryn stared at it, turning the staff this way and that so she could see it from every angle. Somehow, the stone had created light and heat, enough to burn a hole right through her brother. It could be useful, if she could learn how to make it work.

She decided that she couldn't take the staff. She was afraid that only his soldiers might have such things, and she didn't want to be mistaken as one of
his
. The stone was small though. If she could free it from the teeth, she would take that.

She laid the staff on the ground and leaned over the end, placing Roddin's knife between the metal teeth and the stone and using her weight as leverage. She flexed her muscles, pulling back. It took some effort, but the prong shifted just enough. The stone fell out, onto the grass.

"I'll never regret going to the forge with Papa," she said. She picked the stone up and held it to her face, spinning it in her fingers. It didn't seem like there was anything special about it, but she knew there was. She held it in her fist and went to look at the soldiers.

Now that they were dead, Eryn didn't find them anywhere near as frightening. In fact, they looked just like any other man who had been burned, except they were both wearing some kind of metal shirts that had melted over them, and metal helms that were now fused to their skulls.

"There were six of them," Eryn said. "What happened to the others?"

She realized then that she might not be as safe as she thought. She bent down over each one, in search of anything that could be useful. Their clothes had all been destroyed, as had their armor and what she thought had been swords. The only thing she found was a single silver coin, with a large round eye stamped on the front. Somehow it had survived the heat that had killed them.
 

Eryn considered the coin. Most of the villagers in Watertown bartered with one another, but every once in a while a traveler would stop in their town, and the coins were what they would use to pay for a meal and a bed to sleep in. At the end of each month, the villagers would gather up whatever coins they had, and Master Lewyn would ride out with them. A fortnight later, he would return with a cart full of whatever supplies the village had needed. She wished she knew how much value it would have. Sooner or later, she would need a meal and a bed.

She took the coin and walked back over to her meager cache of supplies and placed it there. Then she returned to Roddin. She took his arms, said a short prayer to Amman in her brother's name, and dragged him to the base of the tree. She quickly used the knife to brush aside as much of the loose earth as she could, and then she dropped him in the shallow grave. She said one more prayer to Amman, and then began pushing the dirt over him.

She stopped a moment later. "I'm sorry, Roddin. I'm sorry, Amman," she said. She knelt down and reached for the belt around Roddin's waist, the one that held his knife. "I will need this too."

Once she had removed it, she finished burying him and returned to her supplies, looking them over.

The clothes on her back, a knife, a bow and eight arrows in a quiver, a crystal clasp, the strange stone, and one silver coin. She had no idea how she would survive with so few belongings, but she was determined to do it. She placed the crystal, the stone, and the coin in the quiver with the arrows, and slung it on her back. Then she took Roddin's belt and put it around her waist. The clasp was too large for her, so it hung oddly from her hips, but it was good enough as a place to put the knife, in case she needed it in a hurry.
 

Ready, she took one last look back at Roddin's grave, and then at Lia's corpse. She didn't fear death, not anymore. She would make
him
fear
her
, or die trying.

When Constable Penticott arrived to lead Silas from his cell, he barely recognized the old man. Gone was the homeless drunkard with the wild beard and the stained, disgusting clothes. In his place was a proud man in black cottons with deep set eyes and a tight, square jaw. He was still an old man, but he looked ten years younger, and he stood with a confidence that reminded Penticott of himself.

"Silas," he said. "You look well."

Silas stared at him for a few seconds, then spoke. "I feel like a new man," he said.

Penticott smiled. "Our baths have been known to do that," he joked. "I'm sure getting away from the ale for a few days hasn't hurt."

There was no humor in Silas' expression. "It hurt like Heden."

Penticott dropped his eyes, taken off-guard. "In any case, I have good news. Roque has arrived from Elling, and is waiting upstairs with the soldiers. All you need to do is come with us, name Calum as a Cursed, and return here with me. We'll both sign the dispensary documentation, and the reward is yours."

Silas didn't say anything, making the Constable even more uncomfortable.

"Are you feeling all right, Silas?"
 

"I'm well, Constable," he replied. "I haven't felt this right in years."

"Then follow me." Penticott motioned with his fingers, and they headed for the stairs. "Roque is waiting outside with the horses. You do know how to ride, don't you?"

Silas nodded. It had been a while, but he had ridden before.

They reached the top of the steps, and walked through the offices. When they reached the foyer, the steward handed Penticott his sword.
 

"Thank you, Malcum," Penticott said, strapping it around his waist. "Perhaps I'll even get to use it."

The steward rang a bell, the twin doors of the office swung open, and Silas got his first look at Roque.
 

So young
, he thought. The Mediator couldn't have been more than twenty years old, with a fresh, pale face, thick lips, and dark hair. He was already astride his black warhorse, his robes swaying rhythmically in a light breeze. He didn't look like a killer, but Silas noted the polished sword tucked into the saddle.

"He looks young, doesn't he?" Penticott whispered. "Mediators don't seem to age like the rest of us. He's nearly forty years old."

Silas could hardly believe it. Penticott motioned him over to the Mediator.
 

"Sir Roque," Penticott said. "This is Silas Morningstar. He is the one who discovered the boy."

Roque turned his head, gave a half-smile, and held out his hand. "I am grateful for your service to
him
."

Silas took the man's hand and gave it a light shake. The Mediator was wearing a silver ring that held what looked liked a perfectly round red river stone in it. Silas wasn't sure why, but he felt like he had seen the ring before.

"Shall we?" Penticott asked. He put his foot in the stirrup of another black warhorse and climbed up into the saddle.
 

"Over here, Morningstar." The guard was holding the reins of a third horse.
 

Silas walked over, stopping in front of it. He looked it in the eye, sizing it up, and then leaned in to whisper in its ear. "When I say to run, you run." The horse shook its mane, and Silas leaped from stirrup to saddle like an expert.

They rode through the town, Roque, Penticott, Silas, and six of
his
soldiers. When the townspeople saw them coming, they ran inside and closed the doors. Everyone knew what business the Mediators were in, and none wanted to fall under their gaze.