Rhiana nodded to her right. “I’ve been working over here. Follow me.”
They came to an area where two cart paths crossed, and Rhiana set her waterskins down. Arteura shrugged hers off as well, relieved of the weight and finally able to see what her mother had been up to. Sadly, it didn’t look like much. Even by moonlight, Arteura could see the spotted leaves of infected grain spread out before her, reflected in hues of blue and gray that would otherwise be the greens and yellows of daylight.
As if reading her mind, Rhiana said, “That’s where we’ll be working tonight, love.” She pointed to a section off to the side. “This is where I’ve been.”
Arteura looked where her mother indicated. There was nothing but moonlit shades of blue all the way until it disappeared in shadow. By sunlight, the grains would likely be wave upon wave of vibrant green.
“Wow!” Arteura exclaimed.
“I know.” Her mother beamed.
Rhiana crouched down with two of her waterskins. One she propped by her knee, the other she held, shaking it up and then unscrewing the stopper just enough that water dribbled out in a loose, slow stream. She did the same with the other and motioned for Arteura to follow her lead with her own skins.
“What I’ve been doing,” Rhiana said as she stood, “is carrying a waterskin on each side and, with my hand controlling the flow, dripping the water right over the tops of the plants on either side of me as I walk.” She positioned the skins over each arm and demonstrated what she instructed, walking along between rows a short ways then turning up the next and walking back. “It doesn’t take much, and it doesn’t take long, as you’ll see.”
Even as she was talking, Arteura could hear the grain stalks of where Rhiana had just been faintly crackling with life. Gasping in wonder, she went to one of the rows. As she held a few leaves, she could see them widening and reaching high for the faint light of the waning moon. The plants were responding. Instantly.
“That’s amazing,” she said.
“Isn’t it?” Rhiana agreed.
Arteura eagerly slung the skins over her shoulders and followed her mother. They worked side by side down adjoining rows, working in one direction until their skins were empty, then slinging their remaining two and working the other, toward the river where they had first come in. By the time they were done, they had covered a sizeable area, and the grains were bustling and crackling with life. They smiled happily at one another, gathered up their now-empty skins, and melted into the forest, back down the river’s edge and along the walls, back the way they had come in darkness and silence.
It was working. They were reversing the damage of the worms that had been devastating the harvest for years, and they were saving the Empire. And no one would—or could—ever know. After all, they were using forbidden magic. They were members of the cursed Denaeus family, for years accused as the cause of the Empire’s famine. They would never be seen as its cure.
Still, they returned. Night after night. Working in secret. By the light of the moon. Under a canopy of stars. All for the benefit of an Empire that hated them.
≈≈≈≈≈≈
Out among the trees, on the edge of the fields, on one of those nights, hidden in shadows and masked by the rolling sounds of the Sadrean River, a hand slipped from one of the lower branches and light footfalls tread the loose dirt, stealing silently away back toward the walls of Brynslæd, unseen by the two women with the waterskins.
14
Sacred Ground
It was going about as well as Rahn and I suspected.
“You want to what??!”
Marshaan may have told her about some things, but he obviously hadn’t told her everything. Now he had, including our plan to travel up the Waters toward the underground waterfall. At that, her mouth dropped and her hands balled into fists.
After her initial outburst, she just paced and stammered, throwing daggered looks at us with each turn. Rahn’s mathematical argument that Daina only had so much anger to divide between us turned out to be so much folly. Daina apparently had anger to spare. Rahn, Marshaan, and I just looked at one another, waiting her out. It was all we could do. Telluras had wisely chosen to go home instead of coming with us. The coward.
As Daina paced and stammered, there was a knock on the door.
Marshaan looked at her and she just gestured impatiently for him to answer, then stood with her arms crossed and her lips pursed.
It was Peata.
“How’s it going?” he asked in such a light and innocent manner that it was plain he already knew full well the answer.
“I suppose you knew about this?” Daina accused him over Marshaan’s shoulder and without preamble.
He merely shrugged and stepped across the threshold. “I did,” he said. “But not before about an hour ago.”
“And you approve?”
He wrinkled his chin and nodded with a heavy sigh. “Yes, I do.”
Daina looked at him incredulously, “Of course you do!”
She resumed her pacing and stammering, this time with wild arm gestures as well for good measure.
“Daina?” Peata said gently. “In fact, all of you. This is why I am here. I’d like to show you something.”
Daina wheeled around, pointed her finger, and started to protest.
Peata held up a hand. “If you would please come with me, I think it will help explain a lot, including my reasoning.”
He walked to the door and opened it with a raised eyebrow, gesturing toward the darkness of night beyond and calmly waiting for us to follow.
Peata escorted us to the cave that led to Estemere. He had three torches already lit and waiting at the entrance, and he handed one to me, one to Marshaan, and took the third himself before leading us inside.
We were a little less than halfway when he stopped. He placed a hand on the wall, smiling, almost as if he held a special fondness for the cold stone beneath his touch.
“Caden?” he asked. “Shine your torch against this wall here.”
I came up and held the torch out to where he indicated.
“Higher.”
I lifted it up, almost touching the ceiling. There, about a foot from the top, he ran his hand across what looked like a dark brown line in the lighter-colored stone.
“Do you see this line?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I answered.
“Have you ever noticed it before?” he asked. “Ever wonder what it might be?”
I’d never really paid that close of attention, and I told him so.
Peata smiled again, unsurprised. “This is what we were talking about at the Hole in the Wall,” he said. “At one time, long before any of us were here—probably long before anyone was in Cierra—the waterline of the Waters used to reach to here.”
“Wow!” I said, genuinely surprised. “What happened?”
“Oh, years of natural attrition, I suppose,” he answered as he turned and continued on. “Then years more of man-made attrition.”
He turned back, slowly walking backward as he continued. “You know where the Waters are now, but even there, they have continued to recede, little by little, as we were talking about earlier, Marshaan.”
“Aye, they have,” Marshaan confirmed.
“Yes.” Peata nodded, walking forward once again. Then, he stopped and turned to me. “And I’m sure you remember how rough the rocks were on your passage through the Waters, yes, Caden?”
“I do. It’s a feeling and memory I’ll likely never forget.”
“Indeed,” he said. “Yet now imagine that passage as the Waters continue to recede.”
Less water meant more rocks. More rocks meant more cuts, scrapes, and bruises. And, likely, more death.
As if reading my thoughts, Peata nodded and said again, “Indeed.”
Then, he held up his torch and there, to the right of us, was another passage, well hidden by the natural bend of the tunnel and the shadows of our torchlight.
“I’ve never noticed that
before,” I said.
“Neither have I,” said Daina, the first time she’d spoken on our entire excursion.
“And no reason why you would,” said Peata. “And yet, it is one of the most sacred places in all of Cierra. This is what I wished to show you tonight.” He shone his light back to the group. “All of you.”
At that, he turned, aimed his torch, and led the way through the narrow opening.
It wasn’t just the opening; the entire passage was narrow—a tight fit for Rahn, Daina, and me. I had no idea how Marshaan managed to squeeze his way through, but somehow he did. The tunnel seemed to be making a slow turn to the left, then it straightened, then a sharp right and another left.
As the passage straightened once again, I felt a slight breeze. Peata slowed then stopped at what looked like an entrance to a deep, dark void.
“As I said,” he whispered, almost reverently, “where you are now is the most sacred ground in all of Cierra. You are blessed to be here, and Ahredai welcomes you, as do those who have passed on before the time of Cierra.”
And with that, he turned and disappeared into the darkness.
The passage opened into a wide cavern, at least fifteen feet deep and roughly square. It was high enough that all I saw above me was pitch black. All around the sides, it looked as though shelves had been carved all the way from the floor to where they disappeared in the darkness above, dozens of them surrounding us. A vine-woven stick ladder leaned against one wall.
Peata walked to one side and gave light to one of the shelves with his torch. Inside was a shroud-wrapped, prone body, carefully strewn with dried herbs and vining flowers, some still faintly green with drooping blooms in blues, pinks, and purples.
“Marshaan?” He gestured for the man to join him. Then, the two of them held their torches at arm’s length and the entire wall lit up. I saw that each and every shelf was carved exactly the same. Each held a single shroud-wrapped body, with herbs and vines gracing their resting place as if someone was paying homage to the lasting memories of dear loved ones by adorning their graves. The entire cavern smelled faintly of sweet mint, rose, and lavender. There was no stench of death. In fact, the entire scene was awe-inspiring and oddly beautiful, and there was a collective gasp from all of us, including Marshaan.
“According to the Sacred Scrolls,” Peata said, “these are some of the earliest known sacrifices to be found in the Waters.”
We all looked at him, dumbfounded.
“Do you remember where I showed you the watermark on the tunnel walls?” he asked. “As the Waters began to recede, some of the first Cierrans began to find the remains of those who had come before them.” He raised his chin to the walls. “As far as they knew—and as far as we know—these may be some of the first ones to pass through the Waters. They too may have tried to choose life, but the Waters were just too deep, too unforgiving. This place was built as a final resting place for them. A place of honor, to set them apart.”
He looked at each of us in turn. “To me, and to many of the Scroll Readers, now and in times past, these are the first true inhabitants of Cierra, regardless of life or death. And I believe they watch over us still, and in all that we do here.” He stepped forward, handed his torch to Daina, then placed a hand on both Marshaan’s and Daina’s shoulders. “As Watchers today, we may let pass the bodies of those who have not survived so that they may continue their journey down the river’s passage. But those who are here, the first true inhabitants, watch over them as well, and they welcome them to their eternal home with Ahredai. What we do, we do for them—those we let pass, as well as those who have come before.”
“How long have they been here?” Rahn asked.
“No one knows,” Peata answered. “There is no way to know. The Hæðn have been performing these sacrifices since before recorded history. Before the Sacred Scrolls. Even before the Legends of the Cyneþrymm.”
He turned a slow circle. “These are why this place is sacred ground.”
We all just stood in silence, turning with him as each wall lit, showing more and more shelves, and more and more shroud-wrapped bodies. The shrouds were all different sizes and different shapes, each as individual as the being that once inhabited those empty shells.
“This is why—” He stopped, correcting himself. “These are why I chose to support what is admittedly a crazy, hairbrained idea.” He looked at me and smiled. “It’s crazy enough that it just might work.”
Then he addressed all of us again. “This is why we do what we do. This is who we do it for. It is nothing that we do against the Hæðn. It is that we do it for these here. For life.”
“Thank you, Curate, for bringing us here,” Daina said with a bow of her head. Using his ceremonial title only seemed appropriate under the circumstances, and we all echoed her gratitude.
He bowed his head then turned solemn. “Marshaan and Daina, I leave the final decision of this journey to you. Just know that you have my blessing, and the blessing of all the Scroll Readers, no matter your choice.”
“Thank you, Curate,” she said again. Then she turned to Marshaan with a fire in her eyes. “So, when do we start?”
15
Legacies Shattered
A few nights later, Arteura and her mother returned from the fields, weary but still filled with the quiet satisfaction of their newfound role. Rhiana closed the door behind her. Fresh bread was still cooling on the counter beside the kiln, the savory aroma making their stomachs growl. As she shed her waterskins, Rhiana leaned heavily against the doorframe, looking intently at Arteura and smiling with pride.
Arteura looked at her strangely. “What?”
Her mother cocked her head. “What do you mean?”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I just can’t believe how grown up you are,” Rhiana said, still smiling widely. “That’s all.”
“No,” Rhiana answered with a small giggle. “I’m just very proud of you, that’s all.”
“For what?”
Her mother thought for a moment with her eyes fixed out the window. There were no people, only the shadows of late evening crawling their way across the streets and creeping up the neighborhood. Then, her smile changed to a conspiratorial grin, and she giggled in an almost giddy way, like a child. She grabbed Arteura’s hand. “Come with me.”
“Why?” Arteura chuckled. “Where to? Where’s Marcus?”
Rhiana froze. The grip on her daughter’s arm tightened to a painful grasp and all playful giddiness evaporated, replaced by a mask of rivaled emotions, from alarm, to pain, and to anguish, finally settling on a wavering resolve.
Through tightly drawn lips, she said, “He is probably still with the Þrymm guards, at training or out carousing.” She turned to her daughter, relaxing her grip and forcing herself to relax. “He’s becoming more and more immersed in the world of the guardsmen, I’m afraid. And the Rectors.”
Arteura looked at her with concern. “And you’re okay with that?”
“I don’t know, honestly,” Rhiana admitted. “He is so angry now. Angry at his father. Angry at me. I’m sure you’ve seen it.”
Arteura breathed heavily, pursing her lips. “He’s been distant, even when he’s here. We haven’t been spending as much time together, and he’s been rather short with me. But I just figured it was his age. I’ve been giving him his space. Like you say, he’s spending more time at the academy.” Her tone took on a hint of concern as she continued. “I’ve also seen he’s not been picked on as readily lately. I just attributed that to our training out in the forest, but maybe it has more to do with who he’s spending time with in the guard. I don’t know, maybe he’s—”
“He’s starting to believe them? To follow them? To be them?” Rhiana nodded sadly. “Yes.”
“But he’s so young.”
“That’s why it’s working. He’s young. He’s naïve. He’s malleable. He’s rebelling against us”—Rhiana shrugged—“which I believed was simply a part of growing up, like you’ve said. But, honestly, it’s what the city has been doing for years now. He’s starting to be accepted by them, because they’re starting to see that he no longer accepts us.”
Anger flashed across Arteura’s face. “If that’s true, I can talk to him—”
“No,” Rhiana said. “Arteura, no. If you do that, he’ll only turn on you as well.”
She grasped her daughter’s arm once again. “I beg you, Arteura—please, don’t jeopardize what little you may have left of your relationship. You are his only tether to this family right now. Without you . . .” Her words trailed off as a lone tear traced its way down her cheek.
Arteura bit back her anger and swallowed. “Okay,” she said.
Rhiana held her gaze.
Arteura nodded. “Okay,” she said again.
“Thank you.” Rhiana sighed. She tried to brighten with a shallow smile as she said, “Now, come with me.”
Arteura resisted for a moment, and her eyes couldn’t help wandering to the curtained desk of her father.
Rhiana’s demeanor shifted once again, this time growing serious. “He’s not here.”
Arteura’s brow furrowed. “That’s odd, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Rhiana said.
“And you’re not worried?”
Her mother shifted her gaze to the curtained desk, then her eyes lowered to the floor as she nodded. “Yes.”
Arteura waited, hoping for a little more than a mere affirmation.
“I am worried about him, yes, Arteura,” Rhiana said with a sigh. “I’m worried about both of them. I’ve been worried about them for years now. But there is nothing I can do. I can’t comfort Remè. I can’t reach Marcus. I can’t heal either of them. Remè doesn’t talk. Marcus only glowers, and he is here less and less. When Remè is here, he just sits at his desk and reads or writes. Gibberish mostly. Talking to himself and blaming the world, the gods, the Temple.” She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Gods, he even thinks the Temple is after him now. As if it’s not enough they took Tristan.”