The Broken Realm Page 25

  But Lisbet did want to share this time! She needed to talk about it, and Yseult had cut her off just as she was beginning to pull closer to whatever this awakening was that had happened to her. She knew it was there, could feel it even now, but she didn’t understand it. She couldn’t read it, couldn’t access it, not without help, and now she was left feeling as if she’d been placed at a table of rich delights and told she could partake of none of it.

  An awakening, Yseult had said, but she wasn’t speaking only of whatever was happening to Lisbet. What else had she said? Something about the Four Sorcerers?

  There was one other here who might know. The one who seemed to know everything, though he was supposedly no one, from nowhere.

  Lisbet slipped out of the small hut where the women slept and went off toward the one housing the two men.

  * * *

  “Drystan?”

  Eavan held her distance. She didn’t know if Drystan’s skill with a sword had improved, but he was likely to send it right into her, he seemed so focused on his strange, wild swings.

  Drystan straightened his posture and turned. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

  “What are you doing? I thought you were tending the meat before it rots?”

  “I’ve already finished. Now I’m practicing what Valen taught me,” he answered before sheathing the sword.

  “I’m surprised they gave it back to you, being a prisoner and all.”

  Drystan grinned. “It isn’t as if I’m much of a threat with it now, am I?”

  Eavan dropped her eyes. His playfulness reminded her of other men who had been the same to her, and she could not reminisce of the good ones without the painful recollection of the ones who had hurt her. This was her life now, the game of all the seemingly benign ways she could fail to escape the inescapable, whilst a prisoner of a world that had once been a place of friendship. “What are you practicing for?”

  He first checked to see that they were alone. “I want to offer my services to Yseult. For when they march on Whitechurch and free the Saleen.”

  Eavan looked up again. “You what?”

  “I don’t want to die here, Eavan,” Drystan said, moving closer, dropping his voice. “Do you?”

  “Of course not, but—”

  “Have you asked yourself why we are still here? After all this time?”

  “Of course I have! I ask myself every day!” Eavan fought a wave of nausea. “But I don’t see what you offering your service, in something you have no experience at all in, has anything to do with that.”

  “I understand why you’re confused. So was I,” Drystan said. He looked so serious that she felt suddenly uncomfortable. “But it all makes sense now, doesn’t it? They could have killed us. They could have freed us. Instead, they leave us here, waiting. But maybe it isn’t us who are waiting but them. Waiting for us. For us to stand up and pick a side.”

  “What does Valen say?”

  “Valen says whatever he pleases, but it’s never what I need.” A flash of anger passed across Drystan’s hard gaze, but it was gone as quick as she noticed it. “If he knew the answer, we’d be free. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t know everything, no matter what he might want us all to think.”

  “Drystan, I still can’t see how you came to this conclusion.”

  Drystan touched her shoulder, giving her a soft, faraway look. “I just told you my purpose in being here. When you understand yours, you will know it, too.”

  * * *

  Ash liked the old oak. He thought he remembered it from before. Not his second time in the Hinterlands, the one he’d told Drystan and the others about, but the first. The one that, even now, felt like remembering was akin to walking on clouds in a dream. Sometimes he wondered if it had even been real. Any of it. The magic. Her.

  “I have questions, and if you have answers, you will give them to me,” Lisbet demanded, breaking through the lovely respite. “I won’t leave until you do.”

  Ash looked up. “Fair morning to you as well, Lisbet.”

  “Tell me what you know of The Four Sorcerers?”

  The smile forming on his face quickly died. “What did you just say?” He noticed now the charged flush in her cheeks, the wild look in her eyes. He jumped to his feet. “Lisbet, what did you say?”

  “You heard me!” she hissed at him, though it was hard to tell precisely where her anger was directed. She’d been radiating with it long before she found him. Now that he could see her more closely, he wasn’t sure it was even anger at all, but rather a frenzy of confusion. Fear.

  “Can you tell me what happened, what brought you to this?”

  Lisbet’s eyes darted around. “Where’s Drystan? Are you expecting him?”

  “He’s tending the meat from our morning hunt,” Ash said. “No, I’m not. Not for a while.”

  “Good. Good.” Lisbet’s feet wouldn’t stop moving. “I don’t want him to hear this. Or Eavan. Or anyone. I don’t even want you to hear it, but I’m rather short on options, would you not say?”

  Ash kept replaying The Four Sorcerers in his mind, though there was no way that was what she said. Was it? If so, it would be the second time in recent days that someone had asked him about the sorcerers, and that could not be mere coincidence. “It’s hard for me to speak on your options when I don’t know what you want from me.”

  “First, I won’t call you Valen. Tell me your real name.”

  So Drystan hadn’t told her any of it. Was he ashamed? Did he doubt that Ash was his father? “Ash. It’s not my birth name, but it’s what I’ve been called all my life, and I don’t answer to anything else.”

  “Except Valen.”

  He nodded. “Except Valen.”

  “Ash.” Her mouth cringed as it formed the name, though Ash doubted she even realized it. Her distrust of him ran deep. He couldn’t blame her for it. Though he would take an arrow to the heart for her, she’d never believe it until the last of his blood had drained back into the cool earth. “I thought Yseult was your friend.”

  “As did I,” Ash replied. He quickly amended this to, “I still believe she is, and that our friendship is what stayed her hand.” He waved his hand around. “Why we have all we have, and not the prison given to us on our arrival.”

  “She no longer thinks we had anything to do with the treachery against the Saleen. I thought that’s why she kept us, why she keeps us, but it isn’t, is it?”

  Ash shook his head. “She can read our hearts, Lisbet. It’s why you’ve returned each day, to the same questions, over and over. Because she has read what is deep within you, even if you haven’t.”

  “Well, I have,” Lisbet answered. “I’ve read it. I read it today, and then she kicked me away before I could attempt to understand it.”

  Ash was surprised to hear this, but it explained her disheveled appearance. “I remember when that happened to me. She did the same when I was here.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “And when did she explain it to you?”

  “She didn’t,” Ash said. “She continued to push me until I understood it without needing explanation.”

  Lisbet chewed at her bottom lip. Her eyes still darted around, unable to focus on one thing for long. “Tell me about The Four Sorcerers.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “From Yseult. She said it. Said they’d been awaiting this moment for hundreds of years, and they were returning now.”

  Ash’s breath caught. “She said this?”

  “Tell me what it means!”

  “Lisbet.” Ash held his hands out. “I know what you’re going through right now, and will continue to go through as you come to these revelations about yourself. But working yourself up like this will only make it harder.”

  Lisbet grunted. “Just tell me. Please.”

  Ash shrugged. “I don’t know as much as you think I do. The Four Sorcerers that Yseult mentions are the four Rhiagain sorcerers that came to our kingdom with Carr
ow Rhiagain when they shipwrecked upon the shores of Duncarrow. Only two of them have ever been confirmed, but I have, more than once, heard tell of four. Who knows what the truth is?”

  “Came with them?” Lisbet laughed. “Hundreds of years ago? Right.”

  “You asked me, and I’m telling you. It seems hard to believe, but that doesn’t mean their immortality is merely a matter of myth. Many have borne witness to it over the years. It’s been written about. Sang about, though few still know the songs. Some even say there were more than four, though if so that is a truth that has faded beyond memory or knowledge that exists today.”

  “And where are they? These sorcerers?”

  “Two were imprisoned at Duncarrow. The others disappeared long ago. It was said they went into hiding when King Khain imprisoned the first two, but I’ve heard nothing of them since. Perhaps they are dead. Perhaps they found a way to return to their own kingdom. Perhaps they never existed at all.”

  “No one can sail beyond our shores. Everyone knows this.”

  “And yet, the Rhiagains found themselves here, years ago. What do we know about Beyond, other than others insisting its unobtainable? It could be miles from us, or a distance farther than we know how to measure.”

  Lisbet scoffed, shifting, signaling her growing impatience. “But what does it mean, about them returning? The sorcerers?”

  “I don’t know,” Ash said, and he could see she didn’t believe him. This seemed to be the nature of their relationship; she would seek him out for his knowledge and then dismiss his answers outright. “But if it has space in Yseult’s thoughts, there’s a reason for it. She doesn’t concern herself with matters of the kingdom unless she has no other choice.”

  “Lisbet! There you are!” Eavan huffed as she jogged up to them both. “Valen.”

  Valen nodded.

  “What’s the matter?” Lisbet asked.

  “It’s your brother, the fool! He’s swinging his sword around like he’s practicing for the Knights of Duncarrow!”

  Lisbet shot Ash a look that placed the clear blame on him for this. “Well, Drystan is no warrior. No risk of anyone being confused about that.”

  Eavan shook her head. “He said he’s going to fight for Yseult. That he’s going to be part of the assault on Whitechurch, for some great battle he seems to have created in his head!”

  “Some great battle,” Lisbet whispered before she passed out. Ash caught her before she hit the ground.

  “Lisbet!” Eavan cried as Ash eased her down. “What did I say? What’s wrong with her?”

  Ash sighed, gathering Lisbet into his arms so he could take her back to her hut. “Everyone looks to me for answers, Eavan, but there’s more going on here than even I know.”

  “Will she be all right?” Eavan prodded, right on his heels.

  “She’ll be fine.”

  “And Drystan? What do we do about him?”

  “Leave Drystan to me.”

  * * *

  Drystan mopped at his sister’s forehead with a fistful of damp moss. She could wake if she wanted, but she was stubborn. More than anyone he knew. More than his mother. More than himself.

  It didn’t matter. Awake, asleep. She’d tell him nothing. Since their arrival here, she’d largely avoided him, and the reason was obvious. Lisbet was afraid for him, and she had no comforting lies to offer. It had always been Lisbet looking after him, and not the other way around, as it should have been. She was the one who’d concocted a plan to leave, when he was frozen by inaction. Drystan knew she would’ve married the king, unhappy or no, but it was fear for his life that pushed her over the edge, leaving her with no choice but to flee and find another life where Drystan and Ravenna could love openly.

  Drystan would not magically become the man worthy of this devotion. He was exactly who he was, no more or less. Even if he succeeded in his plan, which was becoming more formed with every moment, he would still only be himself.

  He missed his sister. What he wouldn’t give for even one more late night by the hearth, baring their hearts, in safety and love.

  Valen paced outside the tent. He wanted to talk, he said, but he could wait. Drystan needed to be here, with his little sister, coming to terms with what he must do in the days ahead so that he could make this world safe for her once more.

  20

  This Time is Different

  Lysanor kicked sand over the remnants of the fire as the last slice of sun disappeared behind the mountains. Though it was unlikely anyone would spot the flame, way out here, they could never be too careful. They hadn’t survived this long by easing their measures.

  Isdemus slept most days and was awake most nights. Something was brewing in him. It was always like this, when he was nearing something important. She had a feeling he might share it with her tonight and, though exhaustion had crept in and settled upon her, she’d stay awake as long as she needed to hear his words.

  A pink and purple haze painted the sky. Lysanor had always loved this transition to evening, this brief flash of dusk that lingered only long enough for you to wonder at its beauty. Her eyes threatened to flutter shut as she leaned back, watching the colors dim with the rest of the world, preparing for night.

  Isdemus twitched in his sleep. He cried out, a low keening moan. Lysanor walked to him and pulled his blanket tighter over him, as she had when they were children. It was all she remembered of a childhood that was long enough in the past to have been many lifetimes for a man. The years behind her reminded her of all she was, but her fading memory was a cooling, staying hand, there to show her she was not infallible, either.

  Dusk faded to night. Lysanor sighed and laid her head back on the bedroll. If she closed her eyes, she could sleep, but she had a feeling about tonight, and Isdemus, so she instead gazed up at the sparkles dotting the sky. In the White Kingdom, they called them Guardians. The Rhiagains had seized upon that as a font of their power, appropriating something that was pure and turning it to a basis of control. The Rhiagains. She didn’t loathe them, as the others did, but neither could she respect them. Their behaviors in a foreign land over the last few centuries did nothing to earn more esteem in her eyes; if nothing else, it solidified her understanding of them, and what she would soon have to do.

  Isdemus cried out once more. She reached over to lay a hand at his brow when he shot forward. He was so utterly still it caused her own breath to catch. He was no longer crying, no longer in distress. He was as calm as the lake beyond the ridge.

  “Lysanor, you’ve been so patient with me.”

  “Brother.” Lysanor sighed into her smile. “Patience is all that separates us from beasts and man.”

  “I hope to reward it now.” He rotated his head only. He was looking at her now. His eyes glowed. “It is time. They are awakening.”

  Lysanor’s heart skipped, but only briefly. Time was a curious construct to one who was immortal, but that did not mean the years had not been long. It hadn’t kept her mind from creeping toward doubt; doubt that they’d not done enough to counter what had been laid by the others. Never doubt in Isdemus, though, secretly, she’d wondered if he’d ever have this vision. “Would you like to break your fast first, or should I begin?”

  Isdemus patted his robe. “I’ve enough for the journey.”

  Lysanor nodded. She pulled herself up with the help of a nearby branch. She indulged herself in one last glimpse of the barren valley they’d called home for too long. They could have moved elsewhere, but it was always here they would have to return, and it would’ve borne too much risk to venture too far, and not be ready when they were called. The stream beyond the foothill had provided their water, and the scattered trees and bushes bearing edible flora their nourishment. They were beyond the point in their lives where they longed for large banquets, or filled bellies. Food was a means to sustain them. Their fulfillment would come in another form.

  Lysanor closed her eyes. She didn’t have to. The magic required nothing of her, not anymore. But there
was a reverence in this, a blind trust as she surrendered herself to something that was within her, but was also bigger than her, bigger than them all.

  She felt the warmth of the veil opening even before she’d opened her eyes to confirm it. Isdemus gathered the last of their meager belongings as she finished her work.

  “Will they sense it? When we return?” Isdemus asked. He’d asked her this the last few times, though she wasn’t surprised he’d forgotten. His mind was often split into two halves.

  Lysanor nodded. “They may. Before, when we passed through, we never lingered long enough to find out. This time is different.”

  “This time is different,” Isdemus agreed.

  Lysanor stretched her hand out to the brother who had entered the world only moments behind her. “Shall we?”

  Isdemus looked back only once before taking her hand and, together, they stepped through the veil.

  An Awakening Across The Kingdom

  21

  Bigger than Faith, Bigger than Magic

  Wyat waited for the Head Magus to speak first.

  He hadn’t expected a celebration upon their arrival, but was surprised when he was ushered not up into the grand spired tower of the Sepulchre, but into a small sitting room of sorts, that smelled as if it belonged to the stable hand. He tried to tell himself this was not a sign of disrespect, or a manifestation of the longtime enmity between the Reliquary and the Sepulchre. He didn’t really understand it anyway. There was a place for both magic and theology in the kingdom, and to exist in harmony would benefit the people more than the distrust and campaigns to malign the reputations of one another.

  Wyat had some magic in him. It was a secret he’d kept almost all his life, even from his mother and father. When he was old enough to enter into service in the Reliquary, at thirteen, he did so with eagerness, choosing this over the Sepulchre not because he was in denial but because he hoped, through the Guardians, he might understand himself better. If the Guardians were the source of all, of good and bad, of night and dark, then they must also be the architects of magic. This was also why he’d chosen the scholar’s path.