Freewalker (37 page)

“Yes,” say Roan, truthfully.

“Don't let Grandmother rile you, Roan. You're the best I've seen, next to her.”

“Oh, he's better than me, just out of shape,” sniffs Ende as she walks toward a heavy door. “Come, Roan, I've long been awaiting this conversation.”

The thick stone door opens onto a room, spare but elegant in its simplicity, every item in it graced with a singular beauty, creating an atmosphere of tranquility Roan's seldom experienced. Ende sits, her back to him, and pours three cups of mint tea.

“Do join me, Roan,” she offers, and gestures to the bamboo mat opposite her.

But as he rounds the low table, Roan is stopped by a picture on the wall. Our Stowe.

“I've been monitoring her progress with interest,” says Ende. “I hear she's grown quite powerful.”

“She's run away.”

“Ah,” says Ende.

“A man I met, Willum, is looking for her. He thinks he can help her.”

“I'm sure he will. He's a good boy, that Willum.”

“You know him?”

Kira and Ende share a smile. “He's my brother,” says Kira.

Roan studies the faces of both women and sees the resemblance. “You all have the same eyes.”

“And more,” says Ende, handing Roan his cup of tea. He takes his place across from her and sets the ring on the table between them.

Ende finishes her tea in one gulp. “As you probably know, there were four groups in the Parting. One became Longlight, one Oasis, one became the Gunthers, and the fourth was destroyed by a plague unleashed upon them by Darius, some fifty years ago.”

Roan's already put some of the pieces together. “But his virus only did half the job, didn't it? The women survived and escaped to the top of this dormant volcano, far from Darius's view. They swore never to be defeated again and became great warriors.”

Kira laughs. “I told you he was quick, Grandmother!”

“What I don't understand,” says Roan, “is your connection to that village, and the Brothers.”

Kira shrugs. “We wanted to preserve the myth of our extinction, but we still needed mates. So our women all lead double lives, taking strong, healthy partners in the villages for breeding. In the beginning, only the girls were smuggled here to be raised and trained, our boys left in the villages with their fathers.”

“But it's different now,” adds Ende. “When that prune of a man started taking the children from the villages, we began smuggling out what few we could and hiding them here.”

Roan stares at Kira, astounded. “So you were pretending with Saint? Just using him to... breed?”

“Despite our best efforts, many of us grow fond of our mates,” Kira says, laughing ruefully. “I believe Saint desired to make a better world but was misguided. He thought he'd formed a temporary alliance with Darius. The truth was that Darius's hand gripped Saint firmly by the neck. Still, when I encouraged his involvement with our campaign to recover as many children as possible, he did not hesitate.”

Roan stiffens. “But you couldn't get him to save Longlight.”

Though Kira does not shrink from his gaze, her sadness is palpable. “Saint didn't tell me that Darius had given him an order to deliver you and your sister. Clerics were sent, so he knew you must both be important, but he didn't realize who you were. Legends of Longlight were considered fairy tales and as far as he could see yours was just another village scheduled for destruction, whether he did the deed or not. He believed it a necessary exchange for the lives of the children he'd yet to save.

“For his own reasons, he decided to hold one of the two requested back. And we can be thankful that he did, whatever his motivation—it is unlikely you both would be alive, otherwise.

“His eyes were opened once he'd spent time with you. He began to realize that there were many things about you and your talents that were beyond his comprehension. It was too late to save Longlight, but not too late to save you. He'd become convinced you were the destined leader we'd been waiting for, and there was no turning back. Despite the wound you inflicted on him, he kept searching and hoping. I warned him that you wouldn't be convinced, that since you'd discovered his hand in Longlight's destruction, you could never trust him. But he wouldn't let me deter him. Then, in his last encounter with Darius, something Saint saw terrified him. Though he wasn't able to speak of it, it clearly decided him—he'd win you over or die trying.”

Roan's thoughts return to their last meeting, the battle—Saint had been trying to tell him something. He'd been unable to listen, and his inability had resulted in many unnecessary deaths. “I need to find out what he knows.”

Ende picks up the silver ring, holding it in her palm. “I feared you would lose it.”

“I often wished I'd lost it. I kept it as a reminder of the first wound I inflicted on another.”

“That was wise, Roan. Do you ever wonder why it's so light?”

“I thought it was hollow.”

“Not truly hollow. Inside is an energy from the Dreamfield.”

“I suppose you're all Dirt Eaters,” Roan says, heart sinking.

“No,” Ende replies. “All our Dirt Eaters, men and women, were killed in the plague. So, though we had not intended it, in the end, we had to take the path Roan of the Parting had recommended. He'd come to hate the Dirt, so certain was he that it would lead to disaster. That was the cause of his break with Darius, and why he gave my mother the ring to keep for you.”

“To keep for
me?
”

Ende shrugs. “Everyone thought he was half-mad, you know, even the people who loved him. The difference was we saw his madness as genius, while the others believed him insane—or so they claimed.” She reaches out, gripping Roan's hand. Eyes fixed on his, she seizes his consciousness. A torrent of images pours into Roan's mind.

R
ED
R
AIN FALLING FROM THE SKY.
T
REES ON FIRE.
A
WOUNDED SOLDIER WRITHES ON A BLOODY WHITE SHEET.
H
UNDREDS AND HUNDREDS OF BROKEN WARRIORS HUDDLED OVER CAMPFIRES.
A
MAN, PERHAPS THIRTY-FIVE, WHO CARRIES SOME RESEMBLANCE TO
R
OAN'S FATHER, LOOKS OUT AT THE HALF MOON.
H
E TURNS, HIS GREEN EYES LUMINESCENT.
H
E LIFTS HIS HAND, TAKES THE BADGER-SHAPED RING OFF HIS FINGER AND HOLDS IT UP.
“I
T'S FOR SAFE PASSAGE,
”
HE SAYS.
“I
T CARRIES ALL FORMS AND WILL NEVER FAIL YOU.
”

Ende lets go of Roan's mind.

“I'm not sure I understand.”

“Understanding will come with action,” Ende states. “Strength, though, comes from the heart and through the acceptance of what we know we must do. You stand at a crossroads, Roan of Longlight. In you, old hopes culminate and from you new hope will spring forth.” Ende pauses, releasing Roan's arm. “But for you the way will be difficult, with no reward other than the accomplishment of your task. It is much to ask of one so young. Do you still wish to return to the place of death?”

“Yes.”

“You may use this room.”

“I was sick for a while after the last time. It could happen again. Or worse.”

“If you come back sick, I will heal you. If you do not return, we will wait until your body dies, then we will bury you well,” Ende says, sending a chill up Roan's spine.

The possible risks of the venture so bluntly laid out, he turns inquringly to Kira and asks, “What about Lumpy?”

“I will inform him.”

“If he wishes to sit vigil, he may,” Ende offers.

Putting the badger ring on his finger, Roan takes a deep breath and tries to clear his mind. But the terror of dying in the Dreamfield, his body in this world condemned to vegetate soulless, mindless, until corporeal death sweeps it away, will not leave him. All too aware of how much depends on his success, he takes breath after breath, but these thoughts keep him grounded as surely as chains.

With a few leaps, Roan's white cricket lands on his ring. It raises its wings, and rubbing them together, begins its song. Roan's apprehension is harnessed, his unruly mind soothed, and with every inhalation, light filters in from the soles of his feet. Rising slowly, the radiance finally fuses with his tailbone, blasts up his spine and he is finally freed.

R
OAN STANDS AT THE EDGE OF THE RUPTURE AND LOOKS AT HIS CLAY HAND
. O
N HIS FINGER IS THE SILVER RING IN THE SHAPE OF A BADGER
. I
T'S MOVED WITH HIM BETWEEN THE WORLDS
.

T
HE IRON STATUES, PELTED BY WIND AND RAIN, HAVE GROWN THICK WITH RUST
. T
HE CLOSEST ONE SLOWLY TURNS HER HEAD
. S
HE TRIES TO SMILE BUT CAN BARELY MOVE
.

“R
OAN
!”
MURMURS
L
ONA, HER VOICE GROWN WEAK
.

“I
WANTED TO SEE HOW YOU WERE
.”

“W
E'RE DOING GOOD,
R
OAN,
”
WHISPERS
B
UB.
“W
E'RE GOOD AT THIS JOB
.”

“I'
VE STILL GOT A LOT TO DO.
Y
OU HAVE TO KEEP HOLDING ON
.”

“W
E'LL HOLD ON,
”
SAYS
J
AW
.

“W
E'RE NOT AFRAID,
”
SAYS
L
ONA
.

“W
E KNOW YOU WON'T LET US DOWN,
” G
IP TELLS HIM
.

L
IGHTNING FLASHES, ILLUMINATING THE FOURTEEN CHILDREN OF IRON
. T
HEY SEEM SO MUCH AT EASE WITH THEIR SACRIFICE—
R
OAN CAN ONLY GUESS AT THE COST...
H
OW LONG WILL THEY LAST IF HE FAILS TO FIND A WAY TO CLOSE THE RIFT
??

M
AYBE
S
AINT HAS THE INFORMATION HE NEEDS, SOMETHING THAT WILL GIVE HIM DIRECTION
. N
URSING THAT HOPE, HE TURNS AWAY FROM THE CHILDREN AND IN SECONDS IS AT THE WATER'S EDGE
. L
EAPING ONTO AN ICEBERG, HE IS HURLED OVER THE TUMULTUOUS SEA TO THE BRINK OF THE WHIRLPOOL
.

W
ITHOUT HESITATION,
R
OAN DROPS INTO THE MAELSTROM
. A
S HE SPINS DOWNWARD, THE STENCH OF DEATH GAGS HIM
. A
LL TOO SOON, HE SPLASHES INTO THE LEECH-INFESTED SLIME, AND REACHING PAST HANDFUL AFTER HANDFUL OF THE PARASITES, HE LOCATES HIS NEMESIS
. S
AINT'S EYES SNAP OPEN AND HIS COLD FINGERS CURL AROUND
R
OAN'S ARMS, DRAGGING HIM BENEATH THE UNDULATING MASS
. H
OPING TO HASTEN HIS SURRENDER,
R
OAN BREATHES IN THE VILE SOUP
. H
IS LUNGS FILL WITH LEECHES AND SCUM, BUT THEY ALSO SWELL WITH AIR
. W
ARM AIR
. H
E'S SQUINTING IN THE BLAZING SUN, STANDING ON THE PRECIPICE OF A BOTTOMLESS RAVINE
. T
HE SAME TERRIBLE GORGE WHERE BOTH
S
AINT AND
L
ELBIT DIED
.

H
E HEARS A BATTLE CRY
. S
AINT IS CHARGING TOWARD HIM, SWORD HELD HIGH
. R
OAN LOWERS HIS HEAD, AWAITING THE DEATH BLOW
. H
IS CHIN RAISES INVOLUNTARILY
. H
E'S NOT IN HIS CURRENT BODY, BUT IN THE BODY FROM THAT DAY, HIS HOOK-SWORD MEETING
S
AINT'S WEAPON WITH A CRASH
. H
E TRIES TO STOP FIGHTING, WANTING TO INVITE THE DEATH
M
ABATAN TOLD HIM HE MUST SEEK, BUT THIS
R
OAN IS THE
R
OAN
S
AINT WANTS HIM TO BE AND WILL NOT QUIT
. T
HE BATTLE RAGES, EVERY SWORD STROKE AND BLOW REENACTED
. O
NLY NOW THERE ARE JUST THE TWO OF THEM
. N
O
L
ELBIT WILL COME FORWARD TO SAVE
R
OAN
.

T
HEY CLASH UNSTEADILY ON THE NARROW LEDGE, NEITHER GAINING THE ADVANTAGE
. U
NTIL
S
AINT SPOTS THE OOZING ARROW WOUND ON
R
OAN'S ARM AND PUNCHES IT WITH HIS FIST
. T
HE ORIGINAL FLASH OF PAIN COURSES THROUGH
R
OAN AND HE JABS OUT WITH HIS SWORD, CATCHING
S
AINT ON THE THIGH
. E
NRAGED,
S
AINT SMASHES THE WOUND AGAIN
. R
OAN FALLS AND
S
AINT'S BLADE IS AT HIS NECK
.

“N
OW DO WHAT MUST BE DONE,
” S
AINT WHISPERS AS HIS BLADE SLICES
R
OAN'S THROAT
.

B
LOOD GUSHES DOWN
R
OAN'S ARMS AND STREAMS INTO THE ABYSS
. H
IS BODY GROWS COLD, AND TUMBLING OFF THE CLIFF, HE PLUNGES DOWNWARD LIKE A TAILLESS KITE
. T
HROUGH THE HAZE OF HIS DEATH, HE GLIMPSES A CRIMSON SHEEN IN THE EYES OF THE BADGER RING
. T
HE GLOW SPREADS OVER HIS HANDS, HIS ARMS
. H
IS BODY BEGINS TO SHIFT AND CHANGE, ARMS TRANSFORM INTO LEGS, WHILE HIS JAW ELONGATES AND BRISTLY HAIR SPROUTS FROM EVERY PORE
. H
E HAS TAKEN THE FORM OF A BADGER
.

R
OAN'S DESCENT SLOWS, THEN HE REVERSES, GAINING SPEED AS HE BULLETS TOWARD THE DEAD PROPHET
. S
AINT WAITS AT THE PRECIPICE, SWORD LOWERED, HANDS BY HIS SIDES, AND OFFERS NO RESISTANCE WHEN
R
OAN DIVES INTO HIS EYE
.

T
HROUGH
S
AINT'S EYES,
R
OAN SEES THE POLISHED CORRIDOR, THE HANDSOME OAK DOOR,
S
AINT'S HAND REACHING FOR A BRASS CLAW
. W
HEN THE DOOR SWINGS OPEN, A NARROW-EYED, TIGHT-SKINNED, ODDLY AGELESS MAN WELCOMES HIM TO COME AND SIT
.