Rise Page 6

  Alistair cast a grim smile at her. “He fell.”

  “He’s dead?” Cian paled.

  “He may well be,” Alistair answered. “His horse went down and rolled over him. He lay ashen and unconscious when I left them.”

  “Whether Barrow or his corpse travels to the coast is of no moment,” Bosque told them. “Another matter must be attended to first.”

  He fixed his silver eyes upon Eira. “The ritual that we discussed.”

  “What ritual?” Cian asked.

  “Can we spare the time?” Eira ignored Cian’s question, speaking to Bosque. “If you truly believe they can be intercepted, we should leave now.”

  “There is no need to hurry,” Bosque told Eira. “Once they’re upon the sea, they are mine. When you’ve performed this task for me, we can even seek our beds and ride to the coast on the morrow.”

  Bosque’s smile reminded Alistair of an assassin’s knife blade flashing under moonlight. He wanted to ask what Bosque meant, and he feared for Ember’s life. Fists clenched, Alistair remained silent. After what he’d done, he could request no more favors without the risk of undoing Bosque’s pardon.

  As if sensing Alistair’s distress, Bosque laid a hand on the knight’s shoulder.

  “It seems fitting, Lady Eira,” Bosque said, “that these two—your most loyal knight and your own blood—are here to bear witness as you ascend.”

  Eira’s quick glance at Alistair told him that she wasn’t as assured of his fidelity as Bosque was, but she answered, “I suppose it is.”

  Cian moved warily toward her sister. “What is this, Eira? Of what does he speak?”

  “It is the beginning,” Eira answered.

  “Wait,” Bosque told Cian and Alistair. “And watch.”

  Cian lifted her chin in irritation at Bosque’s order, but Alistair’s pulse thrummed with anticipation as Eira took Bosque’s hand and together they walked to the sacred tree.

  Taking posts like sentinels on each side of the cedar’s massive trunk, Eira faced Bosque. She kept her gaze fixed upon him as she drew a dagger from her belt. Alistair heard Cian’s sharp intake of breath when Eira calmly drew the blade across her flesh. Blood welled instantly, filling Eira’s palm like a cup.

  Without breaking her gaze from Bosque’s, Eira began to chant:

  In sanguine nostri mundi concurrunt.

  Per sanguine porta patet.

  In sanguine remane.

  Turning her hand, Eira let her blood pour over the width of the dagger. The crimson liquid flowed over the blade and dripped to the floor. Without speaking, Eira offered the dagger to Bosque.

  Accepting the blade, Bosque likewise cut into his palm and echoed Eira’s chant.

  Alistair listened closely this time, silently translating the words from Latin to fully grasp their meaning.

  In blood our worlds meet.

  By blood the gate opens.

  In blood it remains.

  When Bosque finished the chant, he bathed the dagger in his blood, drowning the sheen of the blade in rich red hues. Bosque stepped toward Eira, and she moved to meet him. They laced their wounded hands together upon the hilt of the dagger and turned to face the tree.

  Moving in unison, Eira and Bosque suddenly thrust the dagger into the base of the tree, where the trunk split into roots. A sound filled the room that set Alistair’s teeth on edge. It wasn’t the crack of splintering wood, but a strange tearing of tightly woven fabric. Along with the ripping noise came a low wail, building into a screech that drove nails into Alistair’s ears. Beside him, Cian doubled over, wrapping her arms around her head to block out the tree’s scream—if that’s what it was.

  Then suddenly, silence.

  Eira and Bosque stood beside the tree, but the sacred tree was no more. The golden bark had blanched—the surface of the cedar was white as the bone trees the Guard had come upon near Dorusduain. But more striking than the transformed skin of the tree was the wound at its base.

  From the place where Bosque and Eira had stabbed the tree, stretching up to a height just above Bosque’s head, was a gaping hole. It was wide at the base and tapered at its highest point. What had once been a living tree now appeared to be dead and hollow. Peering into the black gap in the trunk, Alistair perceived more than a simple hole. Strange lights moved within the darkness, illuminating the shadows with the dull green of an overgrown swamp.

  Eira grasped the dagger in her left hand while she offered her wounded palm to Bosque. He covered her hand with both of his, healing the cut. His own injury had already disappeared.

  “What have you done?” Cian spoke in a ragged voice that was much too quiet for anyone but Alistair to hear.

  A bit shaken himself, Alistair looked at Cian. Her face was calm, and he wondered if he’d misheard her. They waited quietly as Bosque and Eira walked back to them.

  “A task well done, my lady,” Bosque said to Eira.

  Unable to contain his curiosity, Alistair asked, “What is it? What happened?”

  With a smile, Bosque nodded at Eira. “Show them.”

  Eira lifted her hand and traced a shape in the air. Flames trailed in her fingers’ wake until a fiery symbol was suspended before her. The symbol shuddered, expanding, then contracting before a dark shape burst out of the flames, consuming the fire as it was born.

  Alistair swore, jumping back from the shadow guard.

  “How is it possible?” Cian’s hand was on her sword hilt, but she stood her ground. The wraith hovered beside Eira, giving no sign of imminent attack.

  Eira admired the creature of smoke and shadow. Her smile was full of pleasure while she gazed upon the thing she’d summoned.

  Cian spoke again. “You command these creatures now?”

  “As she should,” Bosque answered Cian. “The power was hers to take and mine to give.”

  “But she gave you something in return,” Cian said slowly. “Didn’t she?”

  “Your sister simply strengthened the bond we already share. In doing so, she opened a door between the earth and the nether,” Bosque told her, gesturing to the split trunk of the sacred tree. “Now we may enjoy a true alliance.”

  “An alliance?” Cian was gripping her sword hilt now, her knuckles bloodless.

  “An end to this war we’ve waged for so long, dear Cian.” Eira spoke calmly, but a new fever burned in her eyes. “For that which we’ve toiled against now serves at our pleasure.”

  Cian released her sword, but her shoulders remained tense. “I don’t understand.”

  “Then I shall explain,” Eira replied. “But let us speak alone, as sisters.”

  “And will your creature accompany us?” Cian asked. Alistair assumed she referred to the wraith, but Cian’s eyes flitted to Bosque.

  “I said alone.” Eira waved her hand and the shadow guard vanished.

  Cian drew a slow breath. “You’re powerful.”

  Eira’s laugh was almost girlish, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration. “What’s mine shall be yours, too. Come with me and learn.”

  Taking Cian’s arm, Eira drew her sister to the door and into the corridor.

  Still marveling at what he’d seen, Alistair moved as if in a trance. He thought to seek his bed and quiet his mind.

  “A moment, Lord Hart.” Bosque’s call stopped Alistair from following the sisters from the hall.

  Alistair waited for Bosque to approach. Just as Eira had seemed more wild and alive, Alistair saw that the tall man had been changed by the ritual. The silver of his eyes gleamed brighter; the air around him shimmered as though moved by a fire that burned within Bosque’s form.

  Seizing on an unexpected surge of courage, Alistair said, “There’s more to it, isn’t there?”

  Bosque didn’t answer, but watched Alistair calmly.

  Encouraged that he’d met no resistance, Alistair continued. “Lady Eira can summon your creatures now, and can do so without your aid.”

  “Is her new talent something you envy, Lord Hart?”


  It was Alistair’s turn to remain silent.

  With a stiff smile, Bosque told him, “Opening the rift imbued Lady Eira with power drawn from the nether. She can command some of those beings I rule.”

  “Only some?” Alistair asked.

  “Eira is still human,” Bosque answered. “Of this world. Though she’s mingled her blood with mine, there are creatures who would overwhelm her. Those beasts can be summoned and commanded by my will alone.”

  Alistair considered Bosque’s words, then said, “The Lyulf. Did I truly command them?”

  Bosque’s laugh was a low rumble. “You’re clever, Lord Hart. That is why I see so much potential in you.”

  “The fire wolves obeyed me only because you ordered them to do so,” Alistair said, a bit crestfallen. “And Eira would not be able to summon them to serve her.”

  “No,” Bosque said. “The Lyulf are too purely linked to the nether to be ruled by a mere human.”

  Catching Alistair’s flinch, Bosque quickly added, “Even one so great as Lady Eira or one so perceptive as you.”

  Alistair nodded and Bosque spoke again. “Opening the rift frees me to move through your world without being tethered to the one whose will first brought me.”

  “If you’re free to leave Eira, why would you remain to aid us?” Alistair asked, taken aback.

  “This is your world, Lord Hart,” Bosque said. “Not mine. An alliance with an order as powerful as Conatus may serve Eira’s purpose here, but it also serves my own purposes in the nether. That is my home, and while I will give all that I can to see Eira rule as she should and Conatus take its rightful place in this world, my aim is to secure my legacy in my world.”

  “I see,” Alistair said quietly, though he was quite overwhelmed by the picture Bosque had painted of another world that existed—once separate, now connected to the earth.

  “The rift offers another advantage,” Bosque continued. “The Lyulf and my wraiths would have been the best weapons I could offer if Eira had rejected my offer of an alliance.”

  “You need yet greater tools of war?” Alistair balked. “No weapon can destroy Lyulf or wraith.”

  Bosque frowned. “None of your weapons, but that isn’t the concern. Terrain is.”

  “Terrain?”

  “Though in substance and power my world differs from yours, its landscape would have some familiar features,” Bosque told him. “There are mountains of fire, deserts spotted with boulders clear as glass and sharp as razors, forests of choking vines. And the seas… with waters the color of the night sky.”

  Murky visions of this place swam in Alistair’s head, as if Bosque were a painter filling the canvas of Alistair’s mind with some imagined hell.

  “Wars are fought on land and at sea,” Bosque continued. “The wraiths and Lyulf serve no purpose when the battle takes to water.”

  Alistair’s throat constricted as he remembered what Bosque had told Eira just before the ritual.

  Once they’re upon the sea, they are mine. When you’ve performed this task for me, we can even seek our beds and ride to the coast on the morrow.

  “What will you send after them?” Alistair asked hoarsely. Fear for Ember’s life needled him.

  “In the morning you will see.” Bosque gave him a measured look and said, “I would speak with you further about Lady Morrow. And the choices you made today.”

  Alistair’s jaw clenched, but he nodded. It was like the man could read his mind.

  “I’ve already shown my faith in you. You have a place of honor in this new order, and I would see you rise even higher.” Bosque offered what almost looked like a gentle smile, though beneath his silver eyes, the expression was more frightening than reassuring. “But your passion for the girl sways you. It puts your future at risk.”

  Alistair turned his face, shame and outrage churning in his blood.

  “I understand better than you surmise,” Bosque told him. “You need her to come to you. It is not enough to simply take her.”

  Alistair looked up, his eyes suspicious, yet grateful. “Yes.”

  “That choice shows you to be more man than child, and merits respect. For your pains, I hope the lady finds her way back to you.” Bosque paused before he added, “Should she not, you must let your love follow its natural course, allowing it to transform as it will. You’ll be the stronger for it.”

  “Transform?” Alistair’s brow furrowed.

  “If your heart’s wish is not fulfilled, the heat of your passion will instead burn as a cold fire.” Bosque tilted his head, regarding Alistair with amusement as a father would a naive child. “That is what happens when love turns to hate.”

  ALL THE TALK EMBER had heard of sailors described them as sour, drunken brutes. The crew of their ship, however, overturned those tales. Whether it was a reflection of their usual nature or an exception made out of respect for the holy mission of their current passengers, the burly men who occupied the ship were subdued and sober.

  Ember learned quickly that she much preferred standing on the deck, where she could taste salt air and listen to the ship sluice through the dark sea. Belowdecks she suffered through the ongoing argument between Kael and Lukasz about whether or not they should actually join the pilgrimage upon reaching Bordeaux rather than seek another ship to carry their party east.

  Their bickering tired her, but Barrow rested belowdecks as well. As much as Ember enjoyed the wind in her face, she didn’t want to leave his side for long. Taking another deep breath of sea-tinged air, Ember sighed and descended to Barrow’s berth.

  Kael and Lukasz were there, still arguing. Sawyer was making do with the cramped space. He’d sorted through the herbs in Barrow’s saddlebags, along with additional ingredients that Kael and Lukasz offered, rendering them into tonics that might bring Barrow some relief.

  Occupied with crushing herbs and mixing them with water and a touch of whisky, Sawyer worked happily, oblivious to the bitter voices that floated in the air nearby.

  “I’m not asking that we go all the way to Constantinople with them,” Kael said. “But if we join them on the route south through France, you know they’ll stop at Sainte-Eulalie-de-Cernon, where we can remain.”

  “Or we can hire a ship and sail directly to Krak des Chevaliers,” Lukasz answered brusquely. “Why delay?”

  “It won’t be a delay if the clerics at Cernon weave us a portal,” Kael replied. “Walking through a door to the east will be much faster than sailing around Italy.”

  Lukasz stood up, shaking his head. “If we appear at Cernon requesting a portal, word will get back to Eira. She has many friends in France and fewer in the Holy Land.”

  “Barrow would benefit from the Hospitallers’ skills,” Kael said. “He doesn’t need to spend another week aboard a ship.”

  “And carting him across the French countryside would be better?” Lukasz shot back.

  Listening to the pair bicker, Ember wondered how their dispute could be so contrary to the tenderness she had seen them share the night of Sorcha’s death. The secrecy Lukasz and Kael were forced to maintain must be a heavy burden, particularly now that death chased their every step. Perhaps arguing over their mode of travel offered the only release of the frustration they surely felt to be so close as they escaped from Tearmunn, yet to be unable to take comfort in each other because Sawyer had been placed in their care.

  Ember doubted her resolve would be unshaken without the reassurance of Barrow’s strong arms enfolding her and the warmth of his kiss to keep fear’s cold embrace at bay.

  Looking at Barrow where he lay in his berth, Ember gasped. His eyes were open and he was watching Lukasz and Kael as their fight droned on.

  “I’ll not be taking a cart anywhere,” Barrow said, voice groggy.

  “Thank God.” Lukasz knelt beside Barrow. “How do you feel? Is there pain?”

  Barrow pushed himself up onto his elbows, wincing. “There’s pain. But not worse than I’ve had before.”

  “Good
,” Kael said from behind Lukasz. He glanced at Sawyer. “Is that tonic almost ready?”

  “Yes, my lord,” Sawyer answered without looking up from his work. “In a moment.”

  Coming fully awake, Barrow frowned as he took in his surroundings. “A ship? What happened? How long have I been away from you?” He gripped the sides of the wooden berth, eyes going wide. “Where is Ember?”

  Ember rushed from where she’d been hovering in the doorway. “Here. I’m here.”

  She knelt opposite Lukasz, resting her hands lightly on Barrow’s forearm.

  Barrow tried to reach for her, relief etched on his face, but the movement made him draw a sharp breath of pain.

  “You must be still, my lord.” Sawyer stood over Ember. She looked up at the woodcutter in surprise, never having heard such strength in the man’s voice. “And drink this until it’s gone. I don’t want to hear complaints about the taste. Just drink it.”

  Lukasz’s eyebrows went up, but he told Barrow, “Our friend Sawyer has been ministering to you. He has some knowledge of the healing arts.”

  “Then I am in your debt, Goodman Sawyer.” Barrow took the cup Sawyer offered, though his eyes stayed on Ember’s face.

  “Tell me what happened,” Barrow asked her. “All I can remember is Toshach stumbling.”

  A lump formed in Ember’s throat, painful as she swallowed it. “Toshach fell and rolled over you. You lost consciousness.”

  Barrow took a sip of the tonic and made a face, but as Sawyer had requested, he made no complaint and continued to drink it.

  “They were on us before I could get to you,” Ember told him.

  “What was it?” Barrow asked. “Who pursued us?”

  “Alistair.” Ember took a deep breath and plunged into the tale. She struggled to keep her voice steady, watching Barrow’s face pale as she described the fire wolves. When she told him what Toshach had done, Barrow looked away.

  “The wolves would have killed you if Toshach hadn’t stopped them,” Ember said.

  Barrow didn’t answer. Neither did he ask how she and Caber had carried him to safety.

  “We’ll leave you to rest now,” Lukasz said to Barrow. “I’ll return later to further discuss our current predicament.”