Storms (Sharani Series Book 2) (35 page)

Near them, aevians called softly back and forth to one another where they nestled in the sand. Even the unbonded ones stayed close, though they were subdued.

“Really?” Shallee asked, moving her child over to the other side so he could continue to suckle. “That’s good. We’ll be safe until then.”

Khari frowned at this and turned her head over to look at the woman. “Safe? For over forty years I got used to dealing with the set pattern of the Dormancy and Migration. Nine months of life followed by three of terror. I devoted my life to the protection of the Rahuli people and to the Roterralar. Makin and I even gave up on having children of our own. As the years went by, the Roterralar warriors became our children, to an extent. What kind of a mother am I now?” Khari’s gaze shifted over to Lhaurel and her expression softened for a moment. Then it hardened again. “I thought we were safe when the genesauri were gone. I thought. I hoped . . . what can I do against this now?”

“Oh, it’s not so bleak as all that.” Shallee said, though Lhaurel was inclined to disagree. “Lhaurel destroyed the genesauri, right? She can protect us now, if we need it, can’t she?” The woman looked to Lhaurel expectantly.

“I—” Lhaurel began, but Khari cut her off.

“No,” Khari snapped, fire returning to her voice. “She can’t. Her mind has barely begun to heal from the effort last time. No. This battle we fight on our own. I must protect my children.” Khari straightened suddenly and her lips formed a hard line. She got to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak to Gavin about his plans.”

Lhaurel watched her go, grateful Khari had returned to normal, but also recognizing the woman’s lies for what they were. Though Khari’s confident, commanding posture and presence had returned, the woman’s eyes were dull, the fires of hope and resilience within them dim. Lhaurel rested hand on her sword, a deep desire to help Khari blossoming in her chest. Maybe she
could
save them in the heat of the battle, as she had last time.

No!

“What do they even want, anyway?” Shallee asked, most of the brightness gone from her voice now that Khari had gone.

“All that was a show then?” Lhaurel asked. “Just to get Khari back on her feet?”

Shallee shrugged, which upset the baby. “And what were you doing just now, may I ask?”

Lhaurel shot the woman a wan smile. Shallee returned it, then glanced back at the assembled army in what remained of the sunlight. The red-clothed archers were busy setting up tents in neat rows, working around the Earth Wards as if they were stone statues instead of men. “We all do what we can to help our parents, even if they’re only surrogate ones.”

Lhaurel nodded, looking back over at Khari’s retreating form. Khari had done so much for her, as had the Rahuli people. There had to be a way to protect them. Lhaurel glanced back down at Shallee and found the woman smiling down at her child, who gazed up at her with wide, wet, innocent eyes. Lhaurel remembered feeling Shallee’s pain that day that seemed so long ago now. The pain one goes through for their children. Khari’s pain came from there as well, though her children didn’t even know they were such.

“Lhaurel?”

Lhaurel looked over. “Hmm?”

“What do you suppose they want?”

Lhaurel opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again as Nikanor’s words came back to her. “Me,” she whispered.

Nikanor had said they would kill her to hide their lies. But what if . . . a plan formed in Lhaurel’s mind, one that made her hands tremble and her entire body shake. Lhaurel took a few deep breaths, steadying herself, then slowly unclenched her fists. If it all worked out, she could save the Rahuli people. If it didn’t, well, what did she have to lose?

“Talk to me, Samsin.” Gavin said again, grabbing the man on the shoulder and trying to turn the massive man to face him. “I need some answers.”

Samsin pulled out of Gavin’s grip with surprising ease, seeming to shrug and turn away at the same time. “Leave me to my prayers, slave boy,” Samsin said softly. “If I am to start the incarnation process over again tomorrow, I want to rise to the next Iteration this time.”

Gavin ran his hand through his hair in frustration, and blew out a long breath. “If you just answer my questions, maybe we can figure out a way that
doesn’t
involve us dying either from this whole desert being obliterated or shot by arrows and drained of our blood.”

Samsin spun back to face Gavin, face contorted with emotion. Gavin was surprised to see tears in Samsin’s eyes. “Nikanor is giving himself up for you. He’s gone. Do you understand? Let me mourn our passing in peace.”

Gavin swallowed and then nodded.

“The Iterations, the Schema, they are not simply paths to a different power. They are more than that. They are the paths to the salvation of souls. They show all of us what we are striving for. The Seven Sisters show us how to attain them, or should, in a perfect world.”

—From
Commentary on the
Schema, Volume I

Lhaurel walked through the sands on silent feet, her limp all but gone. The ease at which she’d been able to escape the makeshift Roterralar camp had surprised her, but then, they were busy helping the aevian riders unload passengers from the other clans so they could try and get back out there for more before the sun fully set.

Lhaurel shivered in the growing darkness, wrapping her arms around herself. Cold came quickly in the darkness, though it was probably only relative to how warm it was when the sun was out. She chewed on her bottom lip as she strode toward the army arrayed at the foot of the Forbiddence, careful to stick to the shadows so she wouldn’t be spotted for as long as possible. She didn’t want to get stuck by an arrow before she could speak to the Sisters.

The plan was reckless. It relied too much on information that could very well be false. But it was the only chance they had. They were relying on her to save them. Despite what Khari had said, despite everything Gavin claimed, she could see it in their eyes. They wanted her to save them. After what she’d done to the genesauri, how could they not look to her for salvation again? But Lhaurel wasn’t going to pay that price again. No, Nikanor had said they were here for her, or they would kill everyone once they found her to cover their charade. Lhaurel hoped to bargain for something better.

An arrow screamed through the sky, nearly hitting her. Lhaurel jumped and broke into a run, not away from the arrow, but toward it.

“How dare you fire upon one of the Seven Sisters!” Lhaurel shouted, hoping it would work long enough for her to get into their view. It was stupid, dangerous, and foolish, but no additional arrows came. There was still barely enough light to see she was alone, now that she was no longer hugging the sides of dunes and trying to hide from view.

A row of sentries appeared before her, seeming to materialize out of the gloom. Behind them, Lhaurel could make out the tents constructed there and the score or so Earth Wards still retaining their statuesque stances in between. Lhaurel studied the sentries as they dashed toward her. Each was clad in red capes and conical steel caps, quivers full of arrows strapped to their backs. Each carried a massive bow in one hand. To a man, they were tall and muscular, as tall as the tallest Rahuli warrior, but they weren’t even close to Samsin or Nikanor’s massive height. Were there different types of Orinai, just like the Rahuli were divided into clans?

They surrounded her, arrow tips inches from her face. One of the men produced a torch and lit it with an ornate striker. Lhaurel squinted against the sudden flaring light, raising her hand to block the light. The torchlight glinted off her blood-red nails and hair. Immediately weapons were lowered and the archers all took a collective step back.

The one holding the torch cleared his throat, proffered a hasty bow, and said something that Lhaurel didn’t understand. Were they talking in another language?

“Take me to my Sisters,” Lhaurel said. She held her breath, hoping he would understand. Nikanor and Samsin had spoken in her language, hadn’t they? A bead of sweat formed on her brow and slid down the side of her face.

The torch bearer’s eyebrows rose into his dark black hair and his eyes widened. They shone a pale green in the light. “Your pardon, Honored Sister,” the man said in the Rahuli tongue, though with a heavy accent. “We meant no dishonor. We did not know you were here. Your Sisters did not tell us to expect another.” He swallowed and licked his lips, though his posture returned to rigid straightness and his expression melted back into the soldier’s nondescript stare.

Lhaurel felt something relax inside her and she let out the breath she’d been holding. She also released her grip on her powers, which she’d grasped at in desperation when the torch-bearer’s eyebrows had risen. For the first time, Lhaurel was grateful for her blood-red hair and nails.

“Take me to my Sisters,” Lhaurel said again.

“Yes, Sister,” Torch-bearer said, bowing low. He gestured curtly and the other archers formed up around her into two long lines. They kept their eyes forward, not looking over at her or out to either side. The torch bearer took up a position in front of Lhaurel at the head of the two lines. “Would you care for me to fetch you a chair, Sister?”

A chair
?

“No thank you.”

The man shifted from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable.

“Would you like us to fetch you a steed, perhaps?” he asked.

“I will walk,” Lhaurel said, as calmly as she could muster.

The torch-bearer nodded.

Lhaurel walked along in the middle of the two lines as they approached the tents, physically forcing herself to remain calm. The first part of her plan—and honestly the part which had the greatest chance of going wrong and making the entire gamble completely meaningless—had gone surprisingly well, mostly due to the power of the Seven Sisters’ reputation and Lhaurel’s hair color. But what about when she met with the very women who inspired such terror and ultimate respect? Lhaurel bit the inside of her bottom lip, not wanting to ruin the imperious image she was trying to convey.

They strode through the camp, more red-clad archers giving way before them, not one pausing to make mockery of her or protest the group’s movement through their ranks. The only thing Lhaurel’s little procession moved for was an Earth Ward. They passed around him, pushing aside a group of red-clad soldiers who were in the process of getting a fire going using a wood that Lhaurel didn’t recognize and that had a sharp, spicy scent.

Lhaurel ignored the throng of bodies, the smells of so many people in the same place. They walked, clambering up the broken stones as if they were steps, as more red-clad soldiers passed down to one side, moving out onto the sands and setting up tents on either side of those already erected. Lhaurel had never seen so many people in one place.

She turned her thoughts back to the reasons she was doing this. Images of Shallee and her baby passed through her mind, of Khari, Gavin, Farah, Tieran, Makin Qays, Fahkiri. They danced through her mind and strengthened her as she walked.

Eventually, they reached the top of the stand of rocks, now in full darkness except for the torch held before them. A massive pavilion of red material stood there, a stream of people coming in and out. Half a dozen massive Orinai stood outside it, some with blond hair and others with dark or grey, but each as large and tall as Samsin or Nikanor had been.

Lhaurel steeled herself against the cold and the shivers which threatened to creep up her spine. A strange white powder covered the ground, which crunched underfoot and soaked through her boots.

She’d long since been forced to draw on her powers to keep up her strength. She felt each of the Earth Wards and Storm Wards, but what was more, a deep, powerful perversion emanated from the pavilion. The feeling of wrongness was so profound that Lhaurel had to swallow hard to keep her stomach from emptying itself.

The procession stopped, but acting on instinct, Lhaurel continued forward, passing the torch-bearer without a word. It seemed like the right thing to do. One of the massive, blond-haired Storm Wards moved to stop her, white energy crackling up his arm in instant. In a tight grey shirt, pristine white vest, and black leather pants stretched tight over a muscular frame, the Orinai mystic cut an imposing figure.

Lhaurel didn’t stop. Instead, she gathered her courage and raised her gaze to meet the man’s eye, pointedly flipping her curly red hair over one shoulder with one hand. Color drained from the Storm Ward’s face in a rush, like the flesh stripped off a carcass by a pack of sailfins. He stepped back, muttering something in the language Lhaurel didn’t understand. She kept her gaze on him until he dropped his eyes to the ground and fell into a bow. Some of the others, noticing his movements, fell into bows of their own when they noticed her. Only one of them stood up long enough to have a look of confusion cross his face. Nodding once, Lhaurel strode forward and, pushing aside the canvas door, stepped into the lighted pavilion, steeling herself against the feeling of revulsion spinning in her stomach.

The room was lit by over a dozen lanterns suspended from the poles which held the massive pavilion up. Lhaurel was immediately struck by the warmth and cleanliness within, a stark contrast to the freezing cold outside. The room was empty, save for three extremely tall, thin women with blood-red hair sitting in high-backed chairs directly across from her. At least, Lhaurel thought they were women.

Blood-red hair hung from scalps so white they appeared almost like bone. Their eyes shone with a deep reddish luster, though they were varied in color in the center. Their features were young, though the eyes and expressions hinted that the appearance was deceiving. Though they sat, they were all tall, taller than Lhaurel even by several feet, their figures curvy and voluptuous.

Upon seeing Lhaurel, the center woman smiled, revealing teeth that had been sharpened to points. She tapped a long wooden walking staff that lay across her chair with one long, blood-red nail. Lhaurel couldn’t help but shudder.

“So,” the center Sister said, “it
is
true.”

Lhaurel wondered that they were speaking her tongue.

The Sister on the left nodded and made a gesture with one hand. A short man, clad only in a white vest and leggings, appeared from another door in the pavilion’s canvas just behind the Sisters. “Send everyone away,” she said. “We will have privacy. Remove everyone from hearing range.”

The servant scurried away.

Lhaurel licked her lips, her throat and mouth a barren desert. She cleared her throat. “I have come to negotiate on behalf of my people.”

“Your people?” the Sister on the right asked, laughing. “Oh child, your people are before you.”

The other two Sisters laughed as well. Lhaurel heard movement from outside as those near the pavilion moved away from it, as instructed. A bead of sweat dripped down Lhaurel’s forehead and slid passed her ear.

“The Rahuli,” Lhaurel said, her voice a hoarse whisper. “I have come to bargain for their lives.”

“They are of no consequence, child,” the center Sister said. “Tell us, have you been having dreams?”

Dreams?

Lhaurel struggled to form cogent thoughts. They hadn’t killed her yet, had even seemed to have expected her.

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” Lhaurel said, playing for more time as her mind slowly worked over the information she had available. “You seem to have been expecting me?”

“Expecting? No, I wouldn’t say that at all. Did we hope we’d find you when we came? Yes. Why else would we have taken an entire month on this wretched journey? We left this place over a thousand years ago, left it to rot within its own decay and mildew as it turned from the true Progressions. Why would we have come back, if not to find you again?”

Lhaurel blinked, more confused than ever. They’d known she’d be here? A thousand years? What were they talking about? Hadn’t Nikanor and Samsin been surprised to find her here?

“Now look, you’ve gone and confused her, Sellia,” the Sister on the right said. “Of course she doesn’t know anything about that. You can’t really expect the
slaves
to remember anything at all, can you?”

The Sister on the left snorted and Sellia, the center Sister, frowned and narrowed her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. She stands before us radiating with the power of the Sisters. She is Elyana’s newest incarnation. We must take her home.”

“Agreed,” the two other Sisters said together.

“We will teach her our ways, return her to the fold,” Sellia said with a smile of pointed teeth. “She will renew her Progression and replace the sitter.” Her deep, blue eyes glinted in the lamplight. “Let us bind her.”

“Wait!” Lhaurel said, a note of terror creeping into her voice as she sensed all three of the women reaching for their power, a vast reservoir of strength flowing through them that made anything she’d channeled seem like a spit in the wind by comparison. “I will go with you, whatever you want. You don’t have to bind me. I’ll do whatever you ask of me. Just let the Rahuli go.”

“Go?” the Sister on the left said. “Why ever should we? They’re slaves, descendants of rebels who slew one of our very Sisters through your past betrayal.”

My past betrayal?

Elyana had betrayed the Sisters, not Lhaurel. She pushed that thought aside, ignoring everything but the three women sitting before her, radiating power yet sitting there as if nothing of any real importance was going on.

“Indeed. If they had simply left that sword in the rock, they never would have triggered the alert we left behind. They have chosen their own fate, my dear.”

Lhaurel felt the three woman acting as one, reaching toward her with their collective strength. Desperately, Lhaurel pulled at her power, but the three Sisters brushed aside her efforts as if she were a child fighting a sailfin. They entered her mind, her body, her blood. Pain erupted from every part of her body at once. She screamed.