The Dark Remains (61 page)

“No,” a deep voice said.

As one, they turned toward Sareth.

“You must not go to the palace. The peril is too great for you here. You must leave the city at once.”

Durge glowered at the dark-haired man. “Why were you following us? Are you not the cause of our peril?”

Vani moved to Sareth, her golden eyes filled with concern. “Sareth, what is happening? And what has happened to you?”

Her gaze flickered downward. Grace looked down as well. His billowing pants partly concealed it, but by the way he moved Grace guessed the amputation to be just below the knee. And this world offered no custom-fitted, flesh-colored prostheses. Instead, his left leg ended in a carved wooden peg.

Sareth took Vani’s hand, squeezed it. As he did, Lirith turned away, but there was no time to ask the slender witch what was wrong.

“There is much I have to tell you,” Sareth said, his gaze intent on Vani. Then he looked at the others. “I would guess we all have much to say to one another. But it is not safe for you in Tarras. It would be best if you would come with me now. Our caravan is not far from the city. We can talk more safely there.”

Grace saw the suspicion in Durge’s face. Falken and Melia exchanged glances and unspoken messages. Grace didn’t know why they were in Tarras, or why Sareth had been following them. But Sareth was Vani’s brother, and Vani had done more than just save their lives. She had proven herself a friend.

“You should trust him,” Grace said. She glanced at Vani. “You should trust them both.”

As if Grace’s words were a command, Durge sheathed his sword and bowed to Sareth and Vani.

“You are friends of my mistress, and I have insulted you. I am certain my mistress will reprimand me severely.” The knight sounded almost hopeful.

“No, my good cloud,” Sareth said. “You were right to be suspicious. Especially in this city. But we can talk more later. We must leave at once.”

Melia glided forward. “We must at least stop by the hostel to settle our account with Madam Vil.”

“You cannot,” Sareth said.

Falken frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The House of Nine Fountains is no more.”

“What do you mean, it’s no more?” Aryn said with a gasp.

Sareth made a sharp motion with his hand. “I mean it is gone, just like the nave of the temple of Sif. There is only an empty pit where the hostel stood this morning.”

Grace didn’t know how a building could vanish, but by the expressions on the faces of the others they had an inkling.

Melia lifted a hand to her breast. “How many? How many were inside the hostel?”

“No one I overheard was certain,” Sareth said. “Perhaps a dozen guests and servants. And the proprietress of the hostel.”

Tears shone on Aryn’s cheeks now. “Madam Vil. But why? Why would they do such a thing?”

It was Lirith who answered, voice hard. “They found out where we were staying, and they wanted to eliminate us.”

Sareth hesitated, then nodded.

“You know how they’re doing it, don’t you?” Falken said. “You know how they can make buildings vanish just like gods.”

“I will tell you, ancient one. But not here.” Sareth glanced around, as if he feared an attack.

“All right, everyone,” Falken said. “I’d say try to look as discreet as possible as we move through the city, but that’s probably a little hard for this group. So let’s at least move as quickly as we can.”

Travis laid a hand on Beltan’s arm. “Can you walk?”

The blond knight nodded. “I can.” He seemed to hesitate, then he laid his hand on top of Travis’s.

Vani turned away from the two men and moved to Sareth.

“Let us go,” she said, her voice as flat as her gaze.

It was late afternoon by the time Grace and Lirith followed Vani along a track that led up the side of a rocky hill a half league to the north of Tarras. They had left the grotto in small groups, spacing their departures by a quarter of an hour, in order to be less conspicuous as they moved through the city. However, Durge had not been happy that Vani, Lirith, and Grace were to bring up the rear.

“Three ladies should not go unattended when there is danger about,” the knight had rumbled.

Grace had glanced at Vani, then had smiled. “I don’t think you need to worry about us ladies.”

Now Grace and Lirith panted as they tried to match Vani’s swift pace up the slope. Just when Grace was beginning to think her knees were going to give out, the track did instead.

They stepped onto the summit of the hill: a flat space crowned by a circle of
ithaya
trees that rose like columns toward the sky.
Ithaya
were also called sunleaf trees, and at that moment Grace understood why. For the slender,
yellow-green leaves caught the heavy light of the sun and spun it into a gauze of gold that mantled the grove.

On the far side of the grove, the hill fell away abruptly, and Grace realized they must have ascended to the top of one of the white cliffs that rose above the city. Far below, Tarras rose in five concentric rings of white stone, the sun setting fire to its domes. Grace turned around to tell Lirith how beautiful it was.

Instead, a gasp escaped her. She must have somehow missed it as they entered the grove. Now she saw it, lurking there among the tall trees. Its wings were folded tight against its body, its neck coiled, but there was no mistaking the scaly body, the saurian head.

“Lirith, a dragon!” she murmured, fear and wonder melding as one in her chest.

Lirith let out a warm laugh, and Grace managed to wrest her gaze away from the creature long enough to stare at the dark-eyed witch. How could Lirith laugh at a dragon?

“Look closer,” Lirith said.

Grace turned back. Again a thrill of terror shimmered through her—

—then faded as she saw the peeling paint, the spoked wheels, the small green door where the dragon’s tail should have been.

It was a wagon. And now Grace saw there were other wagons among the trees, all shaped like animals both fantastical and mundane. There were a toad, a rabbit, and a snail, as well as a unicorn and a lion with wings like an eagle’s. Flags hung between the wagons and the trees, filling the grove with sparks of color. People in bright clothes moved in and around the circle. A group of them started toward the new arrivals. Grace saw Travis, Beltan, Melia, and Sareth. Durge, Aryn, and Falken came close behind.

Vani started toward the others, and Grace and Lirith followed.

“Don’t worry, sister,” Lirith said. “I thought it was a dragon as well the first time I saw it.”

This startled Grace. “You mean you’ve met Vani and Sareth’s people before?”

“Not exactly, sister. They came to Ar-tolor at the end of summer, and Aryn, Durge, and I went to visit their caravan. But I’ve heard it said that no one can really know the Mournish.”

“You mean the Morindai,” Grace said.

The dark-haired witch shook her head. Clearly she had never heard the word before. The two groups had come together now in the center of the grove.

“Vani,” Grace said, “didn’t you tell us your people are called the Morindai?”

“That is what we call ourselves. But in Falengarth we are called the Mournish. Or the Vagabond Folk. Or, often, less complimentary names.”

Falken scratched his chin. “Morindai. Now why is that name familiar?”

Vani cast a glance at Sareth, and he gave a small shrug.

“It means
People of Morindu
,” Vani said.

The bard’s faded eyes went wide. “Morindu? You mean Morindu the Dark, the lost city of sorcerers?” He gave Melia a stunned look.

The lady’s amber eyes gleamed. “I confess, I had often wondered if it might be so. But I was never certain.”

Before the bard and lady could speak more, a shrill voice drifted from the open door of the dragon-shaped wagon.

“Sareth, where are they? Bring them to me at once. I could perish at any moment.”

Sareth grinned. “Nonsense, al-Mama,” he called back. “You know exactly when you’re going to begin the Great Journey. You told me yourself you saw it in the cards.”

“Vile young man!” the shrill voice came back. “I’ll put a
va’ksha
on you as my dying act, do you hear me? Now come!”

“What’s a
va’ksha?
” Grace asked.

“A curse,” Vani said with a sharp smile.

Beltan clutched a small clay cup. “I would go if I were you.” He took a sip from the cup, grimaced, then managed to swallow.

Aryn’s nose wrinkled. “Beltan, that healing tea she made you smells dreadful. How can you possibly drink it?”

“She said I had to finish it all or she’d put a
va’ksha
on me that would make my—” His cheeks turned pink, and he hastily lifted the cup for another sip.

Vani started toward the wagon.

“My al-Mama will see your fate now,” Sareth said to Grace. “She has already seen the others.”

“But what about Lirith?” Grace said.

Lirith turned away, her arms crossed over her gown. “I will stay. I already know my fate.”

Sareth gazed at Lirith’s back, but Grace could not fathom the expression in his eyes.

“This way,” he said to Grace, and she followed him and Vani toward the wagon.

It took Grace’s vision a long moment to adjust to the dimness of the cramped interior. Then motion caught her eye, and she made out a thin, birdlike figure swaddled in blankets.

The woman lying on the bench was ancient. An accurate estimate of age would take closer examination, but Grace was certain she was over a hundred. Her arms were withered sticks, and her nose a vulture’s beak, but her eyes were bright and clear as harvest moons.

“Leave us, Sareth,” the old woman rasped.

Grace heard his wooden leg beat hollowly against the steps outside, then he was gone. She opened her mouth, not sure what she should say, yet certain she should say something.

“Shut your mouth, girl, and let me look at you,” the old woman said in her harsh voice.

Grace snapped her mouth closed.

“Humph.” The old woman bit a finger with what seemed to be her sole remaining tooth. “Well, you are skinnier than I would have thought, for one who has so much to do. Yet looks can deceive, can they not?” She cackled, touching her all-but-hairless skull. “Now, give me your hand.”

Grace hesitated, but a bony arm shot out and thin fingers grasped her wrist with a surprising strength, pulling her forward. The old woman turned Grace’s hand over, palm up, and pored over it. She cackled again.

“Yes, yes, I can see it in you. You are strong, girl—perhaps, in the end, the strongest of all. So many of them will break before all is done, but not you, girl. In the end, it is you who will break others. That is your fate.”

Grace fought for breath. No, the old woman was wrong. She was not strong. She was broken, a thing used, damaged, and thrown aside. Even now she could see it: the shadow pulsing on the edge of vision, as hungry as the bodiless beings she had glimpsed in the void between worlds. She snatched her hand back.

The old woman grunted. “Do not think I do not see it, girl. A darkness lies upon you, heavier than upon any of the others, memories of what once was. Those who say the past cannot harm you are liars. It can consume everything you are and leave only an empty husk. But”—the old woman leaned forward, pointing a finger toward Grace’s chest—“only if you let it, girl!”

Grace fought for words. “But you said you believe in fate. What if I don’t have a choice?”

“Bah!” The old woman waved a hand in disgust. “Fate is only what you make of it, girl. Every day we make a thousand choices. Do I turn left or do I turn right? Do I drink water or do I drink wine? Fate is where, in the end, all these choices lead us. It is nothing less, nothing more. Just because you cannot escape fate does not mean you cannot shape it.”

Grace started to shake her head again, then hesitated. Maybe the old woman’s words weren’t so mad after all. After all, it sounded less like magic than it did chaos theory.

But chaotic systems are hopelessly complex, Grace, you know that. Countless factors work together in unpredictable ways to determine the outcome. You can’t control it, so it might as well be fate
.

Still, despite the dread in her throat, the old woman’s words filled her with a fraction of hope.

Vani knelt beside the old woman’s bench. “What did you see for him, al-Mama?”

“Who do you mean, girl?”

“You know very well who I mean, al-Mama. Travis Wilder.”

The old woman shrugged shoulders as sharp as knives. “What do you think I saw, child? He is the one, you know it as well as I do. But he is not what I expected. His hands are without mark. Even a newborn has lines upon its hands, Vani, but not him!” She clucked her tongue. “He is a man with no past and no future.”

Vani shrank back, as if the old woman had struck her a blow. “He has no fate, then?”

“So, you think he is
A’narai?
” The old woman folded her arms, bracelets gleaming around her skeletal wrists. “Perhaps, girl. I had not thought of that. Or had not dared to. These bones are too old to bear such wonders. But perhaps you are right, perhaps he is one of the Fateless after all. It was said, long ago, they were the only ones who might enter the chamber where Orú dreamed without their minds being stolen by madness. And if he is indeed the one …”

Vani and the old woman locked eyes.

Grace worked her parched tongue. “What are you talking about?”

“Come,” Vani said, standing. “We must leave my al-Mama to her rest.”

Grace started to protest, but Vani was already steering her toward the door of the wagon.

“Take great care with her, Vani,” the old woman called. “Never will he reach the City of Secrets without her. That fate is clear above all others.”

The curtain parted. Grace stumbled down the steps, then found herself among swaying
ithaya
trees. The sun had set, and the sky had turned from sapphire to jade. Over the sea, a great, round moon was rising, a dozen times larger than any moon ever glimpsed on Earth.

Sareth was waiting for them.

“Tell me everything she said.”

Vani nodded, took Sareth’s arm, and together the two moved across the grove, heads bent together in talk.