stomach would do with it, and then he sat, leaning against the cliff, cradling the staff in his arms.
I am mad, he thought again. Yet he’d felt the power go out from him, felt the staff respond to him and then … this. Water. Fruit. Shelter. What had she said about the parents’ toys in the hands of infants?
Vlad shook his head. “Not possible,” he said.
The kin-raven settled down before him, but this time, the large bird regarded him without speaking. Vlad studied it, cocking his head. How long would it shadow him? And who bid it do so?
He’d heard Amal’s voice clearly from it; he’d swear to that. Of course, that was another impossibility. Like this island of life in the midst of nothing but scorched earth and dead water. He looked away from the bird and back to the staff. It felt heavy now, but he couldn’t bring himself to put it down. He stood, refusing to lean upon it. And then, he stretched his aching muscles and picked some fruit.
An hour later, he lay in a pile of ferns in the shade, licking dried juice from his fingers, his stomach full and his eyes heavy. The kin-raven had sped off again, and Vlad suspected the bird kept vigil, flying up and down the coast, even as this unexpected place gave him shelter from the heat of the day. He smiled at the thought and felt his body relax. This, he realized, was the most at ease he’d felt in a good many months.
And cared for. He didn’t understand how, but he thought he grasped who. Some part of her, he suspected, lived within the staff he had carefully tucked beneath him. And she would not send him here and let harm befall him.
Somehow, Vlad trusted that and let sleep take him someplace cool and far away.
When he awoke, he found himself sprawled in the sand, clutching the staff, the heavy weight of the kin-raven pressing down upon his chest. The sun was down, and his body felt strong, rested, and ready once more to walk.
“Be gone,” he told the kin-raven.
It hopped from him to a rock. “Be gone.”
Vlad chuckled and sat up. When the moon rose, he watched, stretching the staff out toward it and feeling the silver pulse in his hands. The moon was particularly clear this night, and he could see the slightest white scar upon its surface that marked the Moon Wizard’s Tower.
“Be gone,” the kin-raven said again as it took to the night sky, moving eastward up the beach.
Vlad Li Tam inclined his head in the direction of the tower, though he was not sure why he did so. Then, he turned and followed his dark companion along the cooling beach.
Neb
A warm wind rose up from the jungle below, and Neb heard the whispered name it carried even as it pulled at his hair.
“Neb.”
He heard Amylé gasp beside him and looked over his shoulder. The voice was familiar but out of reach, and it evoked a mixture of emotion. Anger, sorrow and relief all wrestled for primacy, and the girl’s eyes widened.
She sees it on my face, Neb thought.
“Neb.” This time, the voice was stronger, closer. He closed his eyes and stretched toward it by instinct, leaning into the dream with his mind. What had the Blood Guard who’d captured and cut him called it? Casting in the aether.
“Father?” Three faces flashed across his mind, and he finally registered which one spoke to him now. Petronus.
Yes. The old man had been at the ship, holding off the Y’Zirite soldiers as the metal men prepared for departure. And he’d heard the other voice—Whym’s voice—speaking to Petronus, though he couldn’t pick out the words. And now, the former pope called to him.
He saw the old man stretched out upon his bedroll, eyes rolled back in his head, fist clenched and held tight against his chest.
“Father?” He tried to project the word, but the rising wind pulled it away from him.
There were hands upon his shoulders now, pulling him back. Even as they did, he felt something cold and dark moving between him and the old man, impenetrable as a wall. “No,” Amylé
I am mad, he thought again. Yet he’d felt the power go out from him, felt the staff respond to him and then … this. Water. Fruit. Shelter. What had she said about the parents’ toys in the hands of infants?
Vlad shook his head. “Not possible,” he said.
The kin-raven settled down before him, but this time, the large bird regarded him without speaking. Vlad studied it, cocking his head. How long would it shadow him? And who bid it do so?
He’d heard Amal’s voice clearly from it; he’d swear to that. Of course, that was another impossibility. Like this island of life in the midst of nothing but scorched earth and dead water. He looked away from the bird and back to the staff. It felt heavy now, but he couldn’t bring himself to put it down. He stood, refusing to lean upon it. And then, he stretched his aching muscles and picked some fruit.
An hour later, he lay in a pile of ferns in the shade, licking dried juice from his fingers, his stomach full and his eyes heavy. The kin-raven had sped off again, and Vlad suspected the bird kept vigil, flying up and down the coast, even as this unexpected place gave him shelter from the heat of the day. He smiled at the thought and felt his body relax. This, he realized, was the most at ease he’d felt in a good many months.
And cared for. He didn’t understand how, but he thought he grasped who. Some part of her, he suspected, lived within the staff he had carefully tucked beneath him. And she would not send him here and let harm befall him.
Somehow, Vlad trusted that and let sleep take him someplace cool and far away.
When he awoke, he found himself sprawled in the sand, clutching the staff, the heavy weight of the kin-raven pressing down upon his chest. The sun was down, and his body felt strong, rested, and ready once more to walk.
“Be gone,” he told the kin-raven.
It hopped from him to a rock. “Be gone.”
Vlad chuckled and sat up. When the moon rose, he watched, stretching the staff out toward it and feeling the silver pulse in his hands. The moon was particularly clear this night, and he could see the slightest white scar upon its surface that marked the Moon Wizard’s Tower.
“Be gone,” the kin-raven said again as it took to the night sky, moving eastward up the beach.
Vlad Li Tam inclined his head in the direction of the tower, though he was not sure why he did so. Then, he turned and followed his dark companion along the cooling beach.
Neb
A warm wind rose up from the jungle below, and Neb heard the whispered name it carried even as it pulled at his hair.
“Neb.”
He heard Amylé gasp beside him and looked over his shoulder. The voice was familiar but out of reach, and it evoked a mixture of emotion. Anger, sorrow and relief all wrestled for primacy, and the girl’s eyes widened.
She sees it on my face, Neb thought.
“Neb.” This time, the voice was stronger, closer. He closed his eyes and stretched toward it by instinct, leaning into the dream with his mind. What had the Blood Guard who’d captured and cut him called it? Casting in the aether.
“Father?” Three faces flashed across his mind, and he finally registered which one spoke to him now. Petronus.
Yes. The old man had been at the ship, holding off the Y’Zirite soldiers as the metal men prepared for departure. And he’d heard the other voice—Whym’s voice—speaking to Petronus, though he couldn’t pick out the words. And now, the former pope called to him.
He saw the old man stretched out upon his bedroll, eyes rolled back in his head, fist clenched and held tight against his chest.
“Father?” He tried to project the word, but the rising wind pulled it away from him.
There were hands upon his shoulders now, pulling him back. Even as they did, he felt something cold and dark moving between him and the old man, impenetrable as a wall. “No,” Amylé
Similar Books
