The Silent Guide, page 24
Zaren said nothing, and his expression revealed nothing.
“It makes no difference,” the woman continued, moving to one of the fabricated devices. “We’ve learned all we need from you. The mandolin’s location is known to us now, and soon it will be in our possession.”
Ellie’s heart sank. If the Servants already knew where the mandolin was hidden, their mission had just become vastly more complicated.
“You misunderstand its nature,” Zaren said, speaking for the first time. “Even if you find it, you cannot use it as you intend.”
The woman smiled, a cold expression that didn’t reach her eyes. “Perhaps not. But you can. And you will, once all of this is complete.”
She adjusted something on the device, which began to emit a low humming sound. The dissonant melody that permeated the tower intensified, focusing on Zaren with almost visible force. He stiffened, his body going rigid as the sound penetrated him.
“Your will is strong,” the woman observed dispassionately. “But even the strongest barriers erode eventually. It’s simple physics—apply enough pressure at the right points, and everything breaks.”
She couldn’t just stand here. She couldn’t just stand and watch Zaren in pain, being broken by these people.
What choice did she have but to take action?
She drew her blades.
Ralen did the same.
Then she darted forward.
She focused on her Blade ability. It was what was natural, instinctive, because that was how she had trained. She dropped low and drove one blade forward.
One of the Servants parried, but Ellie slammed her shoulder into the other, sending him staggering away, blocking Zaren from his tormentors.
“Step away from him,” she commanded.
The woman showed no surprise at their appearance. She cocked her head slightly. The remaining Servant moved to attack, but the woman stopped him with a gesture. “Wait. That one carries something of interest.” Her gaze fixed on Ellie’s pocket where the sphere rested.
Ellie felt a surge of power from the woman—not Blade ability or Kindling, but something older and more primal. It slammed into her with unexpected force, driving her back despite her defensive stance.
There was a fight nearby, and the first Servant recovered, drawing on his fabricated weapon as he regained his feet. She had to work quickly. She could feel the power inside her, and Ellie knew they were outmatched in this confined space. She had to try something more, to free Zaren and retreat—quickly.
She channeled power through her twin blades, cycling her Blade ability in the rapid pattern Zaren himself had taught her years ago. The familiar rhythm centered her, bringing clarity despite the chaotic situation. Then, drawing on the techniques her father had shown her, she introduced a thread of Kindling—not merging the powers but allowing them to work in concert, each amplifying the other’s strengths.
Power exploded.
But it wasn’t just her Blade ability. It was her Kindling, too. She tried to keep control over it, but even as she did, she was aware of some part of it that seemed unsettled in a way it had not been before. Maybe it was being here, or maybe it was the emotion of seeing Zaren injured. Or maybe it was just that the corruption was flowing through her, and she still wasn’t sure she had any control over it. Whatever it was, Ellie recognize that she needed to try to find a greater level of control, but right now she did not have it.
Zaren slumped forward. Ellie moved to support him, but he waved her away, struggling to his feet with visible effort.
“The mandolin,” he gasped. “We need to get to it before they do.”
“Where is it?” Ellie asked urgently, deflecting an attack from the recovered Servant.
“Hidden,” Zaren said, his voice a rough growl.
As they started toward the door, the pale woman’s eyes narrowed. “Stop them!” she commanded, her voice carrying physical force behind it.
Both Servants launched forward with unnatural speed. Ralen intercepted one, his blade meeting the Servant’s weapon with a shower of sparks. The other closed on Ellie.
“Go!” she shouted to Zaren. “We’ll cover you!”
Zaren, despite his weakened state, moved with surprising efficiency. His massive fist shot out, connecting with the nearest Servant’s jaw with a sickening crack. As the man crumpled, Zaren seized his weapon—a short staff made of dark metal—and swung it in a brutal arc that caught the second Servant across the temple.
Both attackers lay motionless on the floor. The entire exchange had taken less than five seconds.
“Together,” Zaren said, his breathing barely elevated despite the exertion. “We leave together.”
The fae woman continued watching. “The song has faded here, and there is very little that you will be able to do to bring it back.”
“I’m not the one restoring it,” Zaren said.
“The other is lost,” she said.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know more than you can—”
Ellie darted at her. She didn’t know what motivated her. Maybe it was the way that her body, and her different abilities, reacted as one. Regardless, a surge of anger filled her, leaving her drawn toward violence. She jammed both blades into the woman’s shoulders, then pushed out with her Blade ability but not her Kindling. If the Kindling was tied to the fae, she knew better than to use it. She did, however, think that the Blade ability was something the fae at least feared.
The woman’s eyes widened, and she sucked in a sharp breath.
She staggered back, collapsing.
“Come on,” Zaren muttered.
They made it through the door and onto the spiral staircase, descending as quickly as Zaren’s condition would allow. No pursuit came immediately, which struck Ellie as both a relief and a concern. The pale woman’s confidence suggested they weren’t escaping so much as being allowed to leave—for reasons she couldn’t fathom.
“Who was she?” Ellie asked as they reached the first landing.
“Frisa,” Zaren replied. “One of the Quell’s servants that made it to this land. She has been directing the Servants. She has been watching.”
“Why?”
“In case another returned.”
Ellie understood. Garridan. That’s who they feared.
They slipped outside, finding the area around the tower strangely deserted. The Watchers had vanished from the sky above.
“This feels like a trap,” Ralen muttered, scanning their surroundings with growing unease.
“It is,” Zaren confirmed. “But not in the way you’re thinking. They’re letting us get to the mandolin.”
“Why would they do that?” Ellie asked.
“Because they can’t use it themselves,” he explained as they moved cautiously away from the tower, heading toward the path that would lead them back to the sea cave. “The mandolin responds only to those who understand the First Song. They need someone who can play it.”
“Or someone who has fae power,” Ralen concluded.
Zaren nodded. “Garridan is beyond their reach in the fae realm. They believe by letting us escape, they’re simply moving their plan forward through different means.”
“Are they right?” Ellie asked.
A ghost of a smile touched Zaren’s lips—the first she’d seen since their reunion. “Not entirely. There are aspects of the mandolin’s nature they don’t understand. Its connection to the boundaries between worlds is more complex than they realize.”
They reached the path leading down to the sea cave, moving as quickly as Zaren’s weakened condition would allow. Ellie kept alert for signs of pursuit or ambush, but the headland remained eerily silent.
“What happened to you, Zaren?” she asked as they descended. “After you left Busal. Where did you go?”
He was quiet for a long moment, seeming to measure his words carefully. “I found evidence that the boundaries between realms were weakening—not just in isolated locations but systematically, across the entire network of seals. I tracked the pattern to its source and discovered that the Quell had been working to undermine the First Song for centuries.”
“And Garridan?” Ralen prompted.
“I’m not exactly sure, but he’s been looking for something else. Something of power, and—”
“And he went over, from what we understand,” Ellie said.
Zaren nodded. “He did. I keep waiting for him to return, but he hasn’t. I have been trying to protect the mandolin, to keep it safe for when he returned, but with the different failings…” He shook his head. “I can’t help but feel as if they waited for his departure before taking action.”
“Well, if they fear him, then it makes sense.”
“They do.”
“Where is the mandolin?” Ellie asked again.
Zaren’s expression hardened. “Somewhere safe. We need to reach Busal before the Servants. That’s where everything converges—at the Apex Gate.”
A sound from the cave entrance made them turn. Tabitha stood there, soaking wet and breathing hard, relief washing over her features.
“You found him.”
Ellie moved toward her friend. “What happened?”
“I was captured,” Tabitha explained. “The fabrication worked too well. But I escaped when all the guards suddenly abandoned their posts.”
“Then we have less time than I thought,” Zaren said. “They’re already heading for Busal.”
“The sphere I’m carrying,” Ellie realized. “It’s what they need for the Apex Gate.”
Zaren’s eyes narrowed. “They’re using us to complete their plan. Unless we move faster than they anticipate.”
“The ship is waiting in the cove south of here,” Ralen said.
They moved quickly through the tunnels, back toward their entry point. As they traveled, Ellie found herself watching Zaren—the mentor who had disappeared from her life years ago, now returned under the worst possible circumstances.
Despite his obvious exhaustion and the marks of captivity, he moved with purpose, his massive frame still imposing. Whatever the Servants had done to him hadn’t broken his spirit or his resolve.
She had so many questions for him—about his disappearance, about the mandolin, about everything he’d discovered in the years since he’d left. But those would have to wait. For now, what mattered was reaching the ship and setting course for Busal City before the Servants could put their plan in motion.
Ellie began to cycle her power, and nearby, she noticed Zaren trying something similar, but he was too weak. Not necessarily diminished, but drained, almost.
“Let us,” she said to him, then she looked over to Ralen, who nodded. Together, they cycled power, using a similar rhythm and working in sync as they hurriedly began to disrupt the storm that had formed overhead. She could feel the power fighting, but she also could feel the way she could work against it. Thankfully, as she expanded her energy outward and they worked together, she felt the resistance crumble until there was nothing left.
“Let’s go.”
They rowed with desperate energy, fighting the increasingly choppy waves. By the time they reached the ship, rain had begun to fall—fat drops that stung the skin on impact, carrying a strange metallic scent.
Her father met them at the rail, helping Zaren aboard.
“Blade,” he said simply.
Zaren nodded in acknowledgment. “We need to make for Busal City immediately. Full sail, best speed.”
“The storm—” Karishel began.
“Is meant to delay us,” Zaren cut him off. “The Servants are already moving. We have to beat them to the Apex Gate.”
Orders were shouted, sails unfurled despite the worsening conditions. As the ship turned toward the open sea, Ellie stood at the rail. Ralen moved to stand beside her, his shoulder pressing against hers in silent support.
“We’ll make it,” he said quietly.
She wanted to believe him. Had to believe him. The alternative was too terrible to contemplate—the Servants reaching the Apex Gate first, using it to break the boundaries between worlds completely.
“Do you really think we can find it in time?” she asked, her hand finding his.
“I do. I’m certain that we can.”
Ellie hoped that he was right, but wasn’t sure that he was.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
They had been sailing hard and fast for the better part of two days, time that Ellie could feel the energy slowly building all around her, as if that lingering sense that still pulsed inside her began to coalesce with the power that existed everywhere else. She didn’t know if the sphere remained active, and she didn’t know if other Servants had somehow gotten involved with it, but she could feel that power.
She sensed Zaren’s approach before she heard him, that familiar energy signature as distinctive to her as a voice.
“We’ll reach Busal harbor by nightfall,” he said, coming to stand beside her. His weathered hands rested on the rail, fingers tapping a rhythm that matched the waves breaking against the hull. “Weather’s holding.”
Ellie nodded. “They’ve been trying something, but we have managed to keep it at bay.”
“You are always strong,” he said, his voice soft. “Stronger than me.”
“Not stronger than you,” she said, turning to study him. The last few years had etched new lines around his eyes, deepened the creases around his mouth. His dark hair was more silver than she remembered, and there was something almost haunted in his gaze that had not been there before. “You could’ve told me where you were, and you could have asked for help.”
“It was better this way.”
“Why? If you left the mandolin in Busal City, why? Why not take it with you?”
He smiled, and there was something very much like her old mentor when he did. Very much like the man she remembered. It was almost playful in a way. More than that, she found herself irritated in some fashion.
“Because it was safer where it was,” Zaren replied, turning to face her directly. “Because you were in Busal.”
Ellie blinked. “Me? What does that have to do with—”
“Everything.” His voice was quiet but intense. “The mandolin… responds to certain people. People with your particular combination of abilities.”
A cold weight settled in her stomach. “My combination of abilities. You mean—”
“Blade and Kindling together. Yes.” Zaren looked down at his hands, flexing them slowly. “I suspected what you might be capable of for years, though I couldn’t be certain until recently. Something about the way your abilities manifested was… different from the beginning.”
The revelation shouldn’t have surprised her—Zaren had always known more than he’d shared—but it still stung. All those years of training, of struggling to understand her powers, and he’d withheld this crucial piece of information.
“You should have told me,” she said.
“Would you have believed me? Before you met your father, before you understood what the Kindling was?” Zaren shook his head. “You needed to discover that part of yourself on your own terms.”
A gull cried overhead, wheeling against the brightening sky. In the distance, Ellie could make out the faint silhouettes of fishing boats returning to Busal with the morning’s catch. Home, or what passed for it these days.
“The mandolin,” she said, redirecting the conversation. “What is it, really?”
Zaren was silent for a moment. “It’s a key,” he finally said. “And an instrument in the most literal sense. I remember when I first met Garridan, and how I suspected that he had fabricated power on him, never realizing that he was the fabricated power.” He shook his head. “He was always potent. I think that has been something I’ve known about him from the very first moment. But it wasn’t until I realized his connection to such greater workings in the world that I came to truly understand what he did. Does?” Zaren scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Regardless, he plays an important part.”
“Because of the Guild?”
“The Guild was something else. Personal, I think. He doesn’t talk about it. And it’s not just that which is important. It’s more that he has used it. Used it as a way to gain access to those who know about the Quell.”
“And you think Garridan can stop it?”
“I think he thinks it. Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t know that it matters.”
“So, we’re supposed to stop a power like that.”
“No,” Zaren said. “We’re supposed to stop what the Servants are doing.”
The ship lurched suddenly, timbers groaning as a wave struck the port side with unnatural force. Ellie grabbed the rail to steady herself, her senses immediately alert for danger.
“That wasn’t natural,” she said, extending her awareness outward. The sea around them felt wrong—currents moving against each other, layers of water at different temperatures mixing in patterns that defied normal tides.
Zaren’s expression had gone hard, his eyes scanning the waters. “No. It wasn’t.”
Karishel appeared on the quarterdeck, his form easily visible as he called orders to the crew. The sailors moved with practiced efficiency, checking rigging and adjusting sails as the ship righted itself.
“We’ve got company,” her father called down to them, pointing toward the southwest. “Two vessels, moving fast against the wind.”
Ellie followed his gesture and saw them—sleek ships with black sails, cutting through the waves at an impossible angle. No normal vessel could move like that, especially not against the prevailing wind.
Ellie looked back. “Servants. Apparently they’re tracking us. Maybe me.”
“Not you.”
Zaren’s hand went to his breast pocket, where something bulged beneath the fabric. “It’s the bridge I carry—a connection to the mandolin. It resonates with the primary instrument, and they can sense that resonance.”
“You have a piece of it with you?” Ellie stared at him in disbelief. “You just said you left it in Busal because it was safer there!”
“The mandolin itself is safer there,” Zaren corrected her. “This fragment”—he patted his pocket—“is what allows me to find it again. Think of it as a compass needle, always pointing to its other half.”
