Breath of Heaven, page 41
Colin thought of his own mother, who had kept Diermani’s cross alongside her own vow. She had been faithful as well, more so than his father.
First Karen, now his parents…even this small sanctuary that smelled of rosemary reminded him of the cathedral he’d entered once in Portstown, before the fateful confrontation with Walter. The old memories churned in his chest, producing a dull ache.
“How does it work?”
“The journals and notes I read only said that patri and the GreatLords could use them. They didn’t reveal why.”
“Perhaps because the patri possessed the power.”
“But what about the GreatLords?”
Colin shook his head, leaning forward. “What is swirling around inside the orb? It almost looks like—”
“Blood.” Both Colin and Laurelen straightened and turned toward the door, where the guard stood with another man dressed in the dark gray vestments of one of the arruli. His hands were clasped in front of him in disapproval.
His gaze shifted to Laurelen. “You brought him here?”
“He is a guest, Arrulis Cuneo. And he does have his own…history.”
“Yes, he does.” He moved deeper into the room, the second guard entering behind him. “Some of that history causes concern.”
“But he is still our guest.”
Cuneo fixed his attention on the orb without comment.
“You say it is blood,” Colin said. “Whose?”
“That would depend on who has activated the Hands.”
“How do we find out?” Laurelen asked.
Cuneo glanced up. “We touch it.”
And he reached out and set his hand on the orb.
19
Colin expected a reaction from Cuneo when he touched the Hand of Diermani—a gasp, a flash of light from the orb, perhaps a surge of power rippling away from the arrulis like a gust. Instead, the arrulis simply frowned in annoyance.
“What is it?” Laurelen demanded. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing is happening. I can hear someone talking though. No... arguing. But it’s from a distance, as if they were behind a closed door.”
“What does that mean?” Colin asked.
“It means,” Cuneo said impatiently, “that they’re in the room with the Hand of Diermani, but no one is currently touching it. Now shut up and let me listen.”
Laurelen pressed her lips into a thin line and shot Colin an apologetic look. Colin didn’t respond. He’d lived long enough, and encountered enough people, including men of the church, not to let the arrulis’ words or attitude affect him. He wanted to seize the Hand of Diermani himself. He thought it would respond to him, even if the lore surrounding it said that only those within the church or the GreatLords could use it. He could sense its power, as he could sense the Lifeblood in the Wells, or the white fire that the Alvritshai called Aielan’s Light. This didn’t feel quite the same as either of those, though. Nor like the healing powers of the Confluence. It was new, with a flavor that was vaguely familiar. As if he’d tasted its power once before.
“They’re arguing over whose turn it is to watch over the Hand. If they’d simply touch it, we could speak to them!”
“We need to catch their attention somehow.”
“I know that. But I don’t know how to reach them from here. I could shout, but unless they’re physically touching the orb, they won’t hear me no matter how loud I bellow.”
Colin looked to Laurelen. “May I try?”
The lady of Yhnar hesitated, suspicion wrinkling her forehead briefly, but nodded assent.
Cuneo stepped aside. “I think this is a mistake. You trust him too freely.”
“He has done nothing to warrant my distrust, as yet.”
“History proves that death follows in his wake.”
Laurelen’s eyebrows rose. “Does it? My interpretation is that he has always attempted to help.”
Colin settled his palm over the Hand, felt its power surge up his arm and into his chest, warm, like sunlight, prickling beneath his skin as if he’d stepped suddenly from the cool shade of a portico. A memory of the ocean flashed through him, the scent of salt strong, the startlingly blue waters of a harbor in the background. Yellowed stucco buildings with red tiled roofs stacked on top of each other rose up along cliffs to either side. A breeze blew into his face, fresh with the hints of a storm.
He staggered slightly as the image faded.
“What happened?” Laurelen asked.
“Nothing. Just…just a sudden, sharp memory of when I was a child. A vivid image of the harbor of Trent, in Andover, from a few days before my father grabbed me and my mother and we boarded a ship for New Andover.”
“What caused it?”
“I don’t know.” He suddenly heard voices. As Cuneo had said, they were muffled, as if Colin’s ears were stuffed with rags. Only a few words stood out, loud enough to understand. The more he focused on the thread of the conversation, the more his connection to the room in Yhnar blurred as well. He heard Cuneo speaking, but the words meant nothing. Laurelen said something in response, but then their voices grew more tenuous. It almost felt as if he had shifted from the Hand in Yhnar to wherever this second orb was resting, as if he were inside the orb itself. The light within swirled around him, its essence tainted by the signature of blood. He didn’t know who that blood belonged to, but he tasted its metal, slick and acidic against his tongue.
The argument in this other room began to fade, as if those arguing were moving away.
Reaching out, he seized the power of the orb flowing around him, gathered it, and threw it outward. He acted on instinct, afraid that whoever was in the room would leave and not return. They needed information. Short of having him Travel to the west to scout, which would drain him and still take time, this was their quickest option.
If those they could hear through the Hand were even in the west.
Outside the Hand, the voices had fallen silent. He couldn’t hear anything.
Gathering the power around him again, he flung it outward a second time, then a third, and held his breath.
All he could hear was his heartbeat.
Then, an incomprehensible exclamation.
He repeated the gathering and flung it out two more times.
A presence approached. A shadow fell across the orb, as if a lantern had been shuttered.
And then a palm fell down on the Hand of Diermani in the unknown city. Colin was wrenched back to the room in Yhnar, flung back into his own body so hard he cried out. Both Laurelen and Cuneo jerked back, startled, and one of the guards at the door stepped forward. But Colin’s attention fixed onto the man in priest’s robes who now stood before him. The youth—he couldn’t have been more than twenty years old—stared at him in shock. Both of them were reaching for the Hand of Diermani, but where they touched the orb their hands overlapped, making Colin’s skin crawl. He couldn’t feel the youth’s hand, but it appeared to be inside his own.
Not only could he see the young man, he could see the room he stood in and a second priest, red-headed. The chamber looked formal, as if it belonged in a palace, not a church. The Hand of Diermani rested in the center of an ornate wooden table, nestled in an intricate iron cradle. The walls of the room were adorned with banners and tapestries, the table surrounded by multiple chairs, a few decorative urns, another table with a platter of mostly eaten food, and a nearly empty decanter of wine.
The room looking vaguely familiar. Colin’s gaze locked onto the young priest. “You’re in Corsair, in an audience chamber of the palace. Who are you?”
The young man swallowed. “Gregori. My name’s Gregori.”
“Who are you talking to?” the other priest demanded. “Is someone else touching the Hand?”
“Can’t you see them?”
The other priest stepped forward. “Them? I don’t see anything.”
“I can see and hear both you and your friend,” Colin said. “I assume you can see me and those behind me.”
Gregori nodded. “Who are you?”
“My name is Colin Harten, and this is Laurelen, the Lady of Yhnar, and Arrulis Cuneo. This room is the private sanctuary of the GreatLord. Why did you activate the Hand of Diermani? What’s happening in Corsair?”
Gregori shook his head before Colin could finish. “We didn’t activate it. It was Lord Kobel in Temeritt. We were trying to reach him to find out—”
But the other priest hissed a warning and lurched forward, slapping Gregori’s hand away from the orb. Gregori, the second priest, and the audience chamber vanished on the echoes of Gregori’s startled outcry.
Colin’s shoulders slumped.
“What happened?”
Colin turned toward Cuneo, surprised the arrulis had spoken first. He didn’t remove his hand from the orb. “I made contact with two young patri in Corsair. It was obvious they were set to watch over the Hand of Diermani, in case someone chose to communicate with them. They claim the Hand was activated by GreatLord Kobel. They were expecting someone from Temeritt to respond.”
“Where are they now? Why did they break contact?” Laurelen asked.
“I think one of the priests is simply being wary. He slapped the first priest’s hand away from the orb. I suspect they’re going to find someone with more authority who can deal with us. As I said, they were young.”
“So we wait?”
“I don’t think it will take long. They were in the palace in Corsair. And they’ve been hoping for contact.”
“But for how long? When was the Hand activated?”
Power washed up through Colin’s hand and the audience chamber blurred into existence again, but this time with an elderly man in much finer robes of state than the two patri. The two younger priests stood behind him on the left, a third priest—older than the others, but younger than the nobleman—stood to his right.
The nobleman glared at Colin, his frown tight with appraisal, then shifted his gaze toward Laurelen, Cuneo, and the guards behind. He relaxed when he recognized Laurelen, bowing his head slightly. “It is good to see you, Lady Laurelen.”
“She won’t be able to hear you,” Gregori said, then flinched when his fellow patri slapped his arm. “I mean, she isn’t touching the Hand. Only someone touching the glass can see or hear the others in the chamber. Your grace. I mean, Councilor.”
“Shut up already,” his friend hissed.
The councilor had turned slightly to listen, but now faced Colin. “Is this true?”
“As far as I can tell, yes. I haven’t used the Hand of Diermani before. Who are you?”
The man’s eyebrows rose. “I believe, under the circumstances, that you should verify your own claim first, Colin Harten.”
Colin pulled back his sleeve, revealing the blackness roiling beneath his skin.
“So you are touched by the Lifeblood, as the legends say. But how do I know you aren’t one of the Wraiths, posing as Colin Harten?”
Colin drew breath to respond, but suddenly realized that his usual proof no longer applied.
He exhaled. “Normally I would claim that I was within the protection of the Seasonal Trees, but they are all dead.” The councilor’s eyes widened in shock. “Without them…I’m not certain how I can convince you I am Colin Harten.”
“I see.” The man’s eyes flickered toward Laurelen again. “I suppose, given your current company, I am forced to take you at your word. I am Tyrik, councilor to King Justinian. We thought GreatLord Kobel had activated the Hand of Diermani, not Tarken Sohn.”
“It may have been Kobel. Tarken Sohn received a messenger from Temeritt warning him the city is under siege by the Wraith army. GreatLord Sohn has taken his Legion to Temeritt to see if he can be of help, but the reports we have received are not encouraging. The Wraiths have apparently already destroyed Borangst. That city’s GreatLord and his family are hanging from the charred remains of the Autumn Tree.”
“I see. You say the Autumn Tree is dead?”
“The Summer Tree and Winter Tree as well.”
“We had not heard. The dwarren came to us, but we did not listen.”
“What do you mean they came to you? What has happened to the dwarren? What’s happening in the remaining Provinces?”
Tyrik hesitated, then straightened, as if he’d come to a decision. “The dwarren sent an envoy, warning us that the Wraith army had attacked them to the east. They asked for our aide, under the auspices of the Accord. We…hesitated. Councilor Matthais wanted verification, so we sent an escort back with the dwarren envoy. But they never returned.”
“Because the Wraith army had attacked them! You signed the Accord. You should have sent aide immediately. That was at the heart of the agreement. That was practically its sole intent!”
“King Justinian wanted verification! We needed to know it wasn’t some kind of trick!” But after his initial outburst, Tyrik hung his head. “But you are correct. We should have done more. Commander Roland did prepare the Legion all along the coastal Provinces. In fact, after more significant signs of an unknown army’s presence on the plains, and then the warning from Kobel through the Hand of Diermani, he and King Justinian have taken the bulk of the Legion south, to Goran.”
“What about the Alvritshai?”
“We have had no communication from the Evant at all.”
Colin clenched his jaw in frustration. At least he now knew that the Legion was headed toward Temeritt. “Send word to the king. Warn him of what he and the Legion are marching into. Tell him of Borangst’s fall, and the deaths of the Seasonal Trees. He will be facing the full wrath of the Wraiths and their armies. And tell him that GreatLord Sohn is waiting outside of Temeritt. He doesn’t have enough men to break the siege himself.”
“What of Yhnar? Is it under attack?”
“Not yet. But if Temeritt falls...”
“I understand.”
“You should also prepare yourself for the arrival of refugees or aide. The dwarren are a proud race, as well as the Alvritshai, but if the Summer Tree and Winter Tree have fallen, either one may arrive in Corsair or the Provinces seeking sanctuary. Or the help they didn’t receive before.”
Tyrik’s shoulders slumped at the reprimand. “If they do appear, Corsair will welcome them.”
“Good.” Before Tyrik could say anything more, Colin broke the contact, pulling his hand away from the orb. The audience chamber in Corsair, along with all of its inhabitants, vanished.
“What did you learn?” Laurelen asked.
“They know less than we do. But King Justinian and the Legion are headed toward Temeritt as we speak. They thought the warning came from GreatLord Kobel. I assume it did as well, although I suppose it could have been the GreatLord in Borangst. We’ll have to leave someone here to monitor the Hand in case those in Corsair have news they wish to share.”
“I’ll have the patri attend the orb in shifts,” Cuneo said.
“They’ll have to be touching the orb. I doubt any of those in Corsair will figure out how to catch anyone’s attention here as I did with them.”
“But what can we do here in Yhnar?” Laurelen asked. “There must be something more that can be done, some way that we can help.”
He thought a moment, then met Laurelen’s gaze. “I don’t see what else Yhnar can do but continue the harvest. Gather as much food and supplies as you can inside the walls. Fortify the battlements. Prepare yourself for refugees from Temeritt. If King Justinian and his Legion do not arrive in time, then Temeritt will fall, and the Wraith army will turn its attention to Yhnar next.”
Laurelen drew in a sharp breath as if to protest, but she stifled the words, her face hardening, chin lifting. “Very well. Yhnar will be ready.”
She headed toward the door with purpose, motioning her guardsmen around her, one of them sprinting out ahead of the group at her command to find Commander Renolds. Colin watched her go, seeing again the echoes of Karen in her stride.
“And what of you, Colin Harten? What will you do?”
Colin started at the voice. He had forgotten Cuneo was there.
“I intend to stop the Wraiths.”
* * *
Tyrik lifted his palm from the Hand of Diermani, his skin tingling with warmth and the same residual pain from when he’d touched it initially and Vorati had done whatever the patris had done so that he could use it. He frowned at the swirling blood inside the orb, shuddered at the thought that his own was now mixed in with whoever had activated the Hand in the first place. Vorati claimed that the blood would fade over time and the orbs would eventually be clear.
Unless they continued using them, of course.
He heard a rustle of cloth as one of the priests behind him. “What did they say?” Vorati asked.
“The situation is worse than we thought. The dwarren were correct. There is an army, and it’s already attacked Borangst. It’s currently laying siege to—”
He caught himself abruptly, realizing who he was speaking to, what he was revealing. He mentally cursed himself. What he’d learned had rattled him, enough that he was speaking to the patri of the church as if they were lords or councilors. None of them were even arruli, let alone caddoni.
“It doesn’t concern you. Continue monitoring the Hand. Report to me immediately if those in Yhnar have new information to pass on. Or if any of the other Provinces report in.”
All three of the patri straightened. Vorati bowed slightly. “Of course, councilor.”
Nodding at the restoration of formality, Tyrik made for the audience chamber’s door, stepping into the hall before hesitating. He needed to inform Matthais, but Colin’s reproachful voice still prickled the nape of his neck. Because the legendary figure was correct—the Accord had been designed with exactly this situation in mind, and when the time had come for it to be implemented, the Provinces had failed.
