Rise (War Witch Book 1) (33 page)

Ramora and Chara sat on the edge of their seats, waiting, as Esteban flipped the pages back and forth a few times, then shook his head, saying, "There is nothing more."

"What?" Chara yelped. "No, wait, hold on. What happened to those guys?"

"I'm assuming they were wiped out," Esteban shrugged. "It was copied here by the Arch-Wizard Rhasalis, who was an advisor to Cynthanis, so I assume it was found in the aftermath."

Chara stared at him for a moment. "Okay, so how does this help us find the guy she's looking for?"

Ramora was kind of wondering that herself. While the story was fascinating, it didn't really help her find the man who had destroyed her village, and slaughtered her family.

"That’s what the Wandering Tome is for," Esteban replied as he stood, moving towards the stairs.

Chara hopped up. "Oh, right. I forgot about that thing. What is it again?"

Ramora trailed after them, pondering the story the Cat had read them. Such brave warriors, to hold their position, even knowing what was coming for them. She hoped they had found their way into Paradise.

"The Wandering Tome is a book my father created to aid Blessed," Esteban explained as they climbed the staircase. "If you know what you’re looking for, the Tome can tell you anything you want to know about it. Unfortunately, he finished creating it just before he grew ill, so he was never able to put it into the proper hands."

Chara glanced back at Ramora. "Guess we should be grateful for that right now, though it’s sad. It would be a really useful thing to have on hand."

Ramora nodded absently.

Reaching the middle floor, the Werecat led them to the massive book, pausing a moment to rest his hand on it before saying, "The Sigil of the Fallen Dragon in modern use."

Chara quirked an eyebrow. "Seriously? That's how it works?"

"Mystic items are often simple to operate if one knows how," Esteban replied as he opened the book.

All of them watched as text flowed over the blank pages, complete with an image of the banner. Though she didn't know how it worked, Ramora got the basics well enough. Without knowing what the banner was called, they wouldn't know what to ask the book.

"Here we go," Esteban murmured. "The Sigil has popped up again in the last fifteen years, being carried as the standard of a Dark Blessed who goes by the name of Draco. It remains unknown at this time what his real name is, or whom he serves, but it’s strongly believed he’s a member of the Lords of the Dark Circle, the highest ranked Dark Blessed in the Middle World."

"That's not exactly everything there is to know," Chara grumbled.

Esteban shrugged. "The Tome calls upon all written documents that exist in the Middle World to collect its information. If things like his true name, and the Demon God who Blessed him haven’t been written down, there’s nothing the Tome can tell us about it."

"Oh," she said. "Still, that is one really useful book. We should give it to somebody."

Ramora signed a quick no. It was too dangerous to be allowed out into the world. If Demon Seed got their hands on it, they could strike at the Blessed in their homes and beds.

Chara's face fell. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Ramora has a point," Esteban nodded. "It should remain here when the keep is sealed. Regardless, there is more."

Ramora waved him to read it.

"Hmm, here we are," the Cat nodded. "Apparently, six months ago, it was discovered Draco had established a base of operations south of the Eastern Heights. So far, no one is certain just where it is, but his banner has been seen in the area a lot, and it’s believed he is building an army there."

The Blessed hung her head. South of the Eastern Heights was a world away. Located in the extreme south of the southern continent, it was literally on the other side of the world from them.

"That's about it," Esteban said slowly.

"No, it isn't," Chara snorted. "What's that list of stuff on that page?"

Esteban blocked her view. "Nothing."

Ramora cocked an eyebrow and shoved the Cat aside, looking over the book for a moment before stepping back, her face a mask of horror. Frightened to see her looking like that, Chara stepped up to see what she had.

"I didn't think you should know," Esteban was saying. "Please, forgive me, Ramora."

"How many is this?" Chara asked past the lump in her throat.

Esteban hesitated a moment. "Sixty-eight."

"Sixty-eight," Chara echoed, going over the names, some of which she’d heard tales. "He's killed sixty-eight blessed of the High Gods. This can't be right."

"It’s an estimation, nothing more," the Were offered.

"Meaning, it could be more," Chara replied.

Esteban looked at Ramora. "It’s possible, yes."

"Gods above," Chara said slowly. "Ramora, you need to rethink this. This guy, he's on a whole different level."

Slowly, Ramora shook her head. She wouldn’t give up now. Lifting her hands, she signed to Chara, who grimly acknowledged what she said.

I will avenge them all, my brothers and sisters, to the last, with his blood.

Chara closed the book as Ramora walked away, trying to wrap her head around it. How could any one man be this dangerous? How did that happen? How could anyone hope to defeat such a monster?

"Chara," Esteban said after Ramora left the library.

"Yeah, I know," she said softly. "We're going with her. All the way."

"Indeed," Esteban nodded, wrapping his arms around her.

Falling into his embrace, Chara wondered if it would do any good.

Ramora reached her room, shutting the door behind her before the shock could fully wear off and the tears could begin. She couldn't believe what she’d seen, refused to accept it, and railed against it. Enraged beyond words, she wanted to throw something, smash everything, but could only sink to the floor, sobbing quietly.

The last name on the list. Collette Reisengard, Blessed of Ramor.

"Little Sister," Talbor said, appearing in a flash of light. "I'm so sorry. I was going to tell you."

She shook her head, refusing to hear it. Heartbroken, he knelt and reached for her. She punched him, screaming without a sound. Landing on his butt, Talbor sat there, looking away.

"Father felt it best you not know right away," he said at length. "At least, not until you returned from this place. He wanted to tell you himself."

Slowly gaining some measure of control over herself, she waved an arm out.

Talbor stared at the floor. "About a month ago. She told Weingin that she thought she'd gotten a lead on the man who had attacked your village, and that she was going to investigate. That was the last we heard of her, until Weingin felt her die."

Horrified, Ramora could only stare, tears burning their way down her cheeks. Collette had been more than a friend; she’d been almost like a second mother.

When Ramor had taken her to the High World to live as his child, he’d often struggled with how to reach her, and help her. She’d been so far gone into her sorrow and misery, he’d ultimately sought help from one of his Blessed, a warrior named Collette.

She had come to the High World, just to meet the little girl who never spoke, and cried more than she did anything. Already in her forties, Collette had been the stabilizing influence she’d craved. Human, with kind eyes like emeralds, she’d simply held the lost little girl and let her cry.

Over those first couple of years, she had come often, always drawing a smile from the silent child with her visits. Gradually drawing the girl from her shattered shell, it had been Collette's guiding hand that had turned her towards proper understanding of how much Ramor cared for her, eventually allowing her to become the daughter he’d sought to make her.

The Ascended had become her new family and Ramor her father but in her heart, she had cherished Collette as her adopted mother. As she had trained to become a warrior under Ramor's watchful eye, it was always Collette she sought to emulate. Every chance she got, she spared against the woman, always finding her far too skilled to best.

Even she hadn’t been able to defeat Draco. She had gone to her death looking to avenge the girl she watched grow into a woman, to end the nightmare she lived with. If she couldn’t best him, Ramora knew, she never would.

"I really am sorry," Talbor said softly. "I should’ve told you immediately. Please, Ramora, forgive me."

Reaching out for him, she felt his strong arms close around her and hold her as she mourned the death of her second mother.

Somehow, she vowed amidst her tears and voiceless screams, she would find a way. She would avenge Collette, and all those whom Draco had taken from the world.

Somehow, she would make him pay.

CHARA STARED
out the window as a light snowfall drifted across the world outside. It seemed so far away, like none of it was even real anymore. As if she was trapped inside a snow globe, everything unreachable to her. Then again, she supposed, she'd always felt that way. At least this was familiar ground.

Somewhere, out there, was the man who’d ruined Ramora's life. Just knowing his name, though, had made him more mysterious, deadlier, and farther away. It seemed more than unfair. It seemed cruel. She couldn't help but wonder if that was how the world really was. Cruel and unfair.

In her experience, it felt that way. She’d wanted to leave Rheumer, see the larger world outside of what she knew; part of her thinking that there was a kinder side than she'd known. That hadn't turned out to be the case. The opposite, really. Her little corner of the world had been fairer than she'd known.

Something about that irritated her even more. So many wondrous places, so much adventure, excitement, and beauty to see, and Rheumer was the one place where fairness was found in abundance. She couldn't imagine how the Blessed did it, facing that kind of thing and not losing hope. It was all she could do to hang on to her own in light of it.

Her thoughts turned to Ramora with that, bringing shame with them. She’d been beyond unfair to the woman, letting her own emotions get the better of her and pushing away someone who had been nothing but a friend to her. Someone she knew wanted to be more than that. She couldn't reconcile the chaotic nature of her heart, the way it twisted and turned, or even figure out anymore what she herself wanted.

Resting her head against the glass, she wondered if this was what it meant to be mature. Not knowing what to do, what you want, how to deal with the thousand things that went wrong in life, or even be able to find the right way to say what you felt. She’d always believed that as she grew older, life would become clearer, but instead, it had gotten murkier, stranger, and more daunting.

She knew what she wanted, though, and that was the problem. She wanted Ramora, to hold her and be held by her, to love and be loved, to stand by the woman through everything, as not just a friend, but a lover, and be the rock that helped her stay strong in a world that only wanted to tear her down. In that, she knew, she would find her own strength and purpose. It felt like the reason she’d been born.

To be the thing that a Blessed of the High Gods held onto when the world grew too cruel. What greater thing could there be in this world to aspire to? What more noble purpose was there? To hold up one of those who held the darkness at bay, and be the light for the light of the world.

It was the dream of a foolish girl, though, from a nowhere town. She wasn't that special, and never would be. She was nobody, and what Ramora needed wasn't her. It hurt to admit that, but she knew, for the Blessed, she had to. It was all she could give her now. The gift of stepping away, and letting her be free of trying to protect a silly child who dreamed too big.

It broke her heart, but for the woman she loved, she would find the strength to do it. She had to. There was no other choice now.

Reflected in the glass, she saw Esteban as he prepared them a light meal. Neither of them was really hungry, but she knew, same as he did, that they had to eat something. Ramora had found what she came to the tower seeking, and now, they would wait, as Imicot left this world, hopefully bound for a better one.

Chara wanted to smile for the Werecat, but couldn't. The way he busied himself, keeping his hands moving as if it would keep the inevitable at bay. He was too kind and gentle for the world outside. Too sweet to face the horrors she knew now waited beyond these walls. Yet, she would take him from here, stand by him, and be whatever he needed of her. It was what she was. It was who she was.

Looking back out at the snow, she wondered why it had to be that way. She cared for him, loved him in a way, and maybe, could even be in love with him. He wasn't what she wanted, though. That was out of reach, and always had been. Was it fair to him that she do this? Was it wrong to lead him down this road, knowing that her own heart was a traitor? She honestly didn't know.

Perhaps, in the end, it didn't even matter what a single girl from a tiny village did. In the greater view of the world she’d glimpsed in that book, heard in Imicot's confession, a world where Blessed fought and died against monsters, the actions of an insignificant human hardly mattered at all.