Shattering the Ley (2 page)

She glanced up to find them standing in the door to the kitchen, watching her intently. Her mother’s mouth hung slightly open, eyes widened, but it was her father’s troubled frown that sent a sliver of fear into her gut. “What did I do wrong?” She glanced down at the gears of the nearly finished clock, then back at her parents. If she’d ruined the clock, the patron who’d hired her father to fix it would make him pay for it and they couldn’t afford that.

Her father grabbed her mother’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly before smiling and stepping forward. “Nothing, Kara, nothing. Everything’s fine. Are you almost finished?”

Kara glanced back at her mother—mouth now closed, but worry lines still surrounding her pale gray eyes—and then her father put his hand on the top of her head and drew her attention back to the clock.

“Ah, only a few more pieces left to go,” he said. “It looks like we’ll be able to go on that little trip after all. Let’s get this finished up, and then we can all have some dinner.”

At the thought of the mysterious excursion, Kara dismissed her mother’s concern—she was always exhausted after returning from work—and with her father’s help, placed the last of the inner workings of the clock inside the casing. They slid the casing into the wooden housing, attached the hands and spun them to the appropriate positions, then set the clock in motion before screwing the flat metal plate into place on back. Her father mussed her hair, then retreated to the kitchen with her mother and a final, “We can’t leave until your homework is done.”

Kara rolled her eyes, sat for a long moment listening to the clock’s motion, imagining the hidden gears inside ticking in precise, rhythmic steps. But finally she sighed, slid off her chair, and grabbed her books.

She had most of her work done—all except the rote mathematics—when her mother called her in for dinner. Her parents chatted as she wolfed it down, barely tasting it, watching the tension ease from her mother’s shoulders, until at one point her father said something stupid about the Baron’s court, his arms thrown wide as he flourished a mock bow while still sitting at the table, and she burst out in laughter, shaking her head. Her father caught her eye and she leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek before rising and setting her plate and utensils in a bucket, to be washed at the public fountain.

“Will you be coming with us?” her father asked.

Her mother considered for a moment, turning to catch Kara’s eye, then smiled and shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’m too tired. The Baron’s steward had us working like dogs today to get ready for the ball tonight. Most of the outlying lords are attending, as well as a few other Barons, which meant we had to get the tower and the surrounding grounds into tip-top shape.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t need you for the events tonight.”

“Ha! I’m glad I pulled the short stick on that one. I get to prepare for it, sleep during the celebration, and then clean up afterward.” She made a face and sighed dramatically. “No, you two go and Kara can tell me all about it afterward.”

“All right, then,” her father said, glancing toward Kara with raised eyebrows and a stern expression. “Homework all done?”

Kara hesitated, but knew she could handle the mathematics easily tomorrow if she got called to recite answers, so she grinned in excitement. “All done.”

“Then let’s go.”

Kara jumped off her chair and skipped toward the door, her father following more sedately behind her.

“Take a jacket!” her mother called from the kitchen. “It’ll get cold up there tonight!”

“You heard your mother,” her father said gruffly, then shooed her into the bedroom.

She flung back the lid of the trunk containing her clothes and rummaged through the layers, pulling her gray jacket free and slipping into it as she half ran back to the open door. Her father ushered her out, then down to the street, heading uphill, away from the University and Confluence and northward toward the new heart of Erenthrall and the Stone District. Away from Halliel’s Park. Kara hid her disappointment, frowning as she tried to figure out where they were going. Others were on the street, headed in the same general direction—parents with their children who were screaming and chasing each other through the streets. Her father nodded to a few of the other adults, chatting quietly. The Baron’s Dogs stood at every corner, eyeing the growing crowds, but generally hanging back. Kara thought of the priest in the market square that afternoon and shivered, pulling her long jacket tight against herself, but she didn’t see any of the white robes of the Kormanley anywhere.

A moment later, she caught sight of Cory’s dirty-blond hair and small form next to his own father ahead of them. She shouted, “Cory!” and caught up with him as he turned.

The look of confusion on his face broke with a smile as he saw her and, as their fathers shook hands, he urgently whispered, “Do you have any idea where we’re going?”

“No idea. But it must be outside since my mother demanded I wear a jacket.”

Cory snorted and tugged at his own short coat. “I think it has something to do with the sowing of the tower. My parents have been talking about it for days. They haven’t sown a new tower in twenty years.”

Kara smacked her forehead, even though her parents hadn’t mentioned the tower much. “I should have thought of that! My mother’s been working her fingers to the bone at the Amber Tower. If it is the tower, then that explains why we’re heading toward Stone. We wouldn’t be able to see into Grass from Green or Leeds.” And of course they wouldn’t be able to get into Grass and see it close up, not with the lords and ladies from across the plains coming to the city to witness the event. Kara felt her excitement escalating, heightened by Cory’s and the general feel of the crowd around them, like the energy in the air before a storm. She practically bounced on her toes.

Everyone was converging on Minstrel’s Park, situated at the top of the highest hill in Eld, at the border of the Stone District. Her father wormed his way through the crowd, trying to reach the highest point possible, although it was already packed with people, blankets thrown out on the ground, some with picnic baskets and wooden folding chairs or stools. The park was riddled with trees and a few of the kids Cory’s age had shimmied up the branches and were perched with legs hanging down from above. Low stone walls divided the park into sections, with obelisks at various points reaching to the darkening sky. It was nearing sunset, clouds skidding toward the east now tinged a burnished yellow.

Her father halted near one of the obelisks and Kara and Cory climbed up onto the wall so they could see above everyone else. The excitement built as the sun sank into the horizon and night settled, broken by the ley lines scattered throughout the city. From atop the wall, Kara could see the white bands of light forking in all directions, like a spiderweb, its center in Grass beneath the heights of the Amber Tower and the myriad other towers that had been sown around it since it was first raised. They couldn’t see the Nexus, but they could see the reflected white light from the towers. Even from this distance, it hurt to look directly toward the source, the light too intense. That light radiated outward, from ley tower to ley tower throughout the city and beyond, to Tumbor and Farrade and all of the other cities across the continent.

As the sun burned itself out in the west, the light from the ley lines intensified, flaring once before settling back to normal. Kara followed the rivers of light with her eyes for a moment, then turned her attention back to the still visible towers in Grass. “Where do you think the new tower will be sown?”

“I don’t know.” Cory craned his neck, eyes darting back and forth across the distance, face anxious. He was at least half a foot shorter than Kara, and at ten, a few years younger. “Do you see anything yet? Have they started?”

“Calm down, Cory,” his father growled. “You’ll know when it starts, trust me.”

And then, abruptly, the light of the Nexus intensified even more, forcing Kara to shield her eyes with one hand. A collective gasp went up from the crowd when the ley lines throughout the city’s districts fluctuated and dimmed, as if the Nexus were drawing energy toward it. Cory reached out and grabbed her upper arm and squeezed, but her own adrenaline dulled the pain. Her heart throbbed in her throat, in her arms, and her skin prickled, all of the little hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. A tingling sensation washed through her from head to toe, as if energy were passing through her and being sucked into the ground. She shuddered, drew in a sharp breath, tasted something on the air, thick and metallic, coating her tongue like molasses or blood. She fought the urge to spit it out, even as the energy spiked, feeding down and down into the earth—

Far out in Grass, the light of the Nexus flared, a fountain of white light spewing skyward, cascading back down, throwing all of the myriad towers in all shapes and sizes into stark relief, windows and balconies and terraces like black orifices in their sleek, multicolored sides. Kara saw people—lords and ladies and the upper echelons of Erenthrall—on some of the balconies, tiny figures ducking back and away from the sheaths of light seething upward like a geyser.

Then Cory shouted, “Look!” He jerked forward, dragging Kara with him, his fingers digging in even deeper on her arm. Everyone around them stilled, drew in a collective breath, and held it.

From the depths of the ley light, a thousand tendrils spiraled upward, writhing like vines stretching toward the darkness of night. As they rose, they wove together, the base growing more and more solid. Leaves sprouted from the vines, growing thick and large, and as the furious speed of the growth began to abate, the leaves began folding inward and flattening themselves against the outside of the forming tower like a skin. It rose, higher than most of the towers around it, but not as high as the Baron’s Amber Tower, the top bulging out as the tendrils wove together, forming what looked like a giant seed pod with holes pierced through its center. Leaves began encasing the seed pod, leaving the holes empty. As the growth halted, the top of the tower solidifying into a thin spire, Kara thought she saw a bluish glow emanating from the holes, pulsing like the coals of a banked fire.

And then the gouts of white fire surrounding the towers of Grass began to abate, sinking back down into the depths of the inner city, the network of ley lines throughout the districts increasing in intensity as it did, until everything had returned to its regular glow.

The crowd in Minstrel’s Park remained silent for a long moment, the newly sown tower shimmering a light forest green, appearing smooth from this distance, but threaded with veins, like those of a leaf held up to sunlight. Then, as if at some unspoken signal, people began to clap, men slapping each other on the back, conversations breaking out everywhere, punctuated by laughter.

Kara’s father turned to her, smiling widely, then said in a muffled voice, as if he were speaking through layers upon layers of cloth, “What did you think? That’s not something we’re likely to see again in my lifetime.”

Kara opened her mouth to tell him she could barely hear him, but a sudden wave of weakness passed through her. The tingling sensation against her skin had halted, but she felt drained, as if the stone and earth beneath her feet had sucked the life out of her. She felt her knees buckle, heard her father gasp in horror, heard Cory cry out, her arm wrenching as his hand was pulled away.

Her vision began to darken into a narrow tunnel of pulsing, jagged, yellow light, and the world receded. But before she could collapse, her father’s hands caught her and drew her to his chest.

A
LLAN GARRETT GLARED
down from the balcony in the Amber Tower, the sounds of the Baron’s Ball spilling out from behind him, light glowing in the intricate detailing of the solid amber railing he leaned over. Far below, the main gates of the Baron’s estate had been flung wide open and the ley carriages of the rich glided into the immense inner courtyard and gardens. They circled the stone fountain spewing jets of water skyward, jostling for position at the base of the wide steps radiating outward from the tower’s base like ripples in a pool of stone. From this height, nearly halfway up the Amber Tower, Allan couldn’t see individual crests on the carriages, but he could see the other Dogs lined up near the gates and outside on the streets and the wide square. They were inspecting the carriages as they approached, keeping the crowds of people in the square in check. Everyone in the city wanted to be near the Nexus during the sowing of the new tower, and everyone with an ounce of influence felt they deserved to be here in the Amber Tower, whether they’d been invited by Baron Arent Pallentor or not.

Forcefully, Allan shoved himself back from the railing. He deserved to be down there, containing the crowd, dealing with the rioters and protestors like the Kormanley, not trapped up here babysitting the rich and affluent as a useless honor guard. This wasn’t even the main party, where the Baron presided over his most influential guests. He was a Dog, damn it, not the gods-cursed city watch!

“There you are, Pup,” a voice growled.

Allan spun and glowered at his newest alpha’s scarred face. He’d only been assigned to Hagger’s pack that afternoon. “I’m not a pup,” he snarled.

Hagger’s eyebrows shot upward. “Oh, really? You’re all of what, seventeen?”

Allan narrowed his eyes. “Sixteen.”

“And you’ve been a Dog since . . . ?”

“Spring.”

“And I can tell by your accent that you’re from outside the city. A little bit of a slur on your S’s. That would be one of the western towns. Bandoley?”

Allan shifted awkwardly. “Canter.”

Hagger whistled. “That far west? Let me guess, you placed in the annual bout in swordsmanship and thought you were good enough to come to the city and become a Dog.”

Allan bristled. “What of it?”

Hagger snorted, straightened where he stood in the glass doorway of the balcony, and crossed his arms over his chest. His face was shadowed—backlit by the thousands of ley globes that lit the open hall behind him, the Baron’s lesser guests milling about—but Allan could still see the crisscross pattern of scars over his cheeks and neck. Not all of them were from blades; some had come from beatings, others from the practice pit, still others from skirmishes between the Barons’ armies on the battlefield. The scars contrasted oddly with the formal black, red, and brown of the Dogs’ dress uniform.

“Listen,” he spat. “I’ve served more than sixteen years as a Dog. More than twenty. More than you’re likely to survive. To me, you will always be a pup, Pup. Now straighten your uniform and get in here. The lords and ladies need supervision. The sowing is about to start.”

“How can you tell?”

“I can feel it. Now move!”

Allan didn’t feel anything, but tugged on the collar of his uniform and followed Hagger into the main hall.

It burned with white light, ley globes of every shape and size floating near the ceiling. The semitranslucent amber walls and floor reflected the light harshly as the guests flowed from one end of the rounded Great Hall to the other. Dressed in every style of clothing imaginable, they jostled and danced and mingled, the rumble of their conversations throbbing on the hot air, drowning out most of the music provided by the string quartet in the center of the room. As he entered, those guests nearest the balcony turned, caught sight of his uniform, and quickly turned away. But not before Allan saw their smiles falter, the shine in their eyes dim. Most tried to hide the reaction by sipping at their wine or with a forced laugh. Only one man, an older gentleman—back stiff, black vest and pants contrasting harshly with a pale blue shirt and vibrant yellow handkerchief tucked into one pocket—dared to look Allan in the eye. He nodded solemnly, glass raised as if in a toast.

Disconcerted by the direct look, Allan pulled the formal vest of his own uniform down to smooth the creases, then caught a hand motion from Hagger commanding him to move left and edge toward the black glass of the windows on the far side of the tower. Allan began circling the room, sticking close to the wall, where tall plants in urns and a few assorted chairs set up beneath huge tapestries interrupted the flow of the crowd. Nearly everyone shifted out of his way as he approached, the motions subtle. He wasn’t certain what Hagger wanted him to do except circulate. The Dogs were there in case the guests got rowdy, and to keep them from wandering outside onto the balcony overlooking the Nexus when the sowing started. But it was only a formality; no one wanted to draw that kind of attention to themselves, especially not the Baron’s. Allan scanned the guests as he moved, noting numerous minor lords from every part of the lower plains, as well as a few from the high Steppe, judging by the cut of their clothes. A boisterous laugh jerked his attention toward Baron Leethe, from Tumbor, Erenthrall’s closest rival. With a frown, Allan watched the Baron for a long moment—this party was for the lesser dignitaries, Leethe should have been at the main function with Arent and the other Barons—but then he caught sight of the dark skin, thick mustache, and trimmed beard of a Gorrani. A quick glance toward the man’s sheath found the usual blade absent. He sighed, then silently berated himself; the Dogs at the gates would never have allowed the Gorrani into the Tower with his saber.

He continued toward the windows. Another round of servants wove among the guests, trays of drinks and cut sandwiches held out before them, the excitement in the room escalating steadily as more of the influential members of Erenthrall arrived. The heat generated by so many bodies packed so close together caused sweat to run down Allan’s back. He wiped at his face, then turned—

And collided with a servant carrying a large wooden crate.

The crate fell, jostled from her grip, the woman biting back a curse as she tried to catch it. It hit the amber floor with a loud crack and splinter of wood, one side splitting and spilling a few long, white, tapered candles across the floor beneath the guests’ feet.

“Clumsy oaf!” a lord said as a candle rolled to a stop by his foot. “The Baron should dismiss you immediately for that!”

“I apologize,” the woman said, ducking her head before kneeling and scrambling to pick up the loose candles.

The lord snorted, then caught Allan’s dark frown. A look of horror crossed his face and he slid away without glancing back, lost in a heartbeat.

Allan knelt down, grabbed one of the escaped candles, and handed it over to the servant. She’d already gathered up the rest, stuffing them back into the box. “I didn’t see you,” he said as she took it. “I hope that lord didn’t upset you.”

“Oh, certainly not,” she scoffed, waving her hand. “I deal with that every day.” But Allan noted she was trembling as she stood, crate balanced in her arms so that none of the candles would fall out. He stood as well.

With a careful look, she said, “You’re new to the Dogs, aren’t you?”

Allan stiffened. “Since the spring.”

She smiled at him, one hand brushing her black hair back from where it had fallen forward over her face. “I thought so. You wouldn’t have stopped to help if you weren’t. Or been concerned if I’d been upset.” Her pale skin shone in the amber light, a small scar near the corner of one eye. A single gold hoop earring dangled from her ear. Her servant’s dress was amber, like all of the rest, simple but elegant, designed to blend into the background of the tower itself. But Allan couldn’t take his eyes off of the fine lines of her face.

When the moment stretched too long and her brow wrinkled in slight confusion, he glanced down toward the crate, frowning at the contents. “Why are you carrying around candles?”

She laughed, the creases in her brow vanishing. “They’re for the guests. I need to hand them out before the sowing begins.” She motioned toward the rest of the room and Allan saw other servants dispersing through the crowd. Nearly everyone accepted them with a small giggle or gasp.

“How quaint!” a woman nearby exclaimed. “The Baron must have something special planned.”

The man beside her snorted and took his taper reluctantly, holding it as if it were a particularly virulent snake. “I hope he doesn’t expect us to actually use them. I haven’t held a candle since I was a child.”

Allan turned back to ask the black-haired servant what the candles were for—Hagger’s short briefing hadn’t mentioned them—but all he caught was a flash of her hair as she vanished into the growing crowd. He swore under his breath, pushed forward after her, but she was gone.

Before Allan could begin a more serious search, a respectful hush fell over the room, the music cutting off sharply. He spun toward the darkness of the windows, expecting to see the first part of the sowing, his heart quickening in his chest—he’d wanted to be at the edge, where he would have the best view—but the windows were still dark. Nothing appeared to be happening outside at all.

Then he noticed that everyone’s attention was focused inward, toward the center of the room.

He shifted forward through the still crowd, until he saw where the guests were parting to allow three Prime Wielders to pass through. The men strode forward with purpose, ignoring everyone—lord, lady, and servant alike—intent on the closed doors opposite the entrance that led to the restricted higher levels of the tower. Their black robes swished about their feet, their hands hidden in the folds of the robes in front of them. They ranged in age, although the youngest couldn’t be less than forty, his hair streaked with gray.

They passed through the room without a word, only the youngest glancing to one side, catching Allan’s gaze, his mouth pressed tight, face lined with intense concentration. As they reached the far doors, opening them and slipping through, one of the guests stepped forward as if to follow them, eyes filled with hatred, then halted abruptly as if catching himself. The man—dressed in a loose green shirt with white ruffles near the neck and sleeve—darted a glance to either side to see if anyone had noticed. The silence broke, the quartet launching into a new aria, conversations resuming with a low murmur that steadily rose back to the same level as before, nearly everyone eyeing the doors where the Primes had gone. The man in the green ruffled shirt cast one last look around, then smiled and began speaking to a woman in a white gown who was holding a bamboo fan.

Allan’s hand slipped toward his sword hilt before he remembered he was wearing the ceremonial uniform and didn’t have a sword, only a knife. He settled back, shifting as the guests drifted around him, keeping the man in the green shirt in sight while he listened in on conversations. But the man appeared to be just another guest, talking to numerous courtiers, flirting with the women, joking with the men. Yet Allan couldn’t help feeling that he was moving with purpose, that he was maneuvering himself into position for something.

The man had stationed himself near the center of the wide bay of windows, Allan a discreet distance to the left, when a woman beside Allan gasped and held out her left arm. “Look! It’s starting! The Wielders have started the sowing!”

Allan frowned down at the woman’s arm, where gooseflesh had broken out, the fine hairs standing on end. The woman next to her shuddered.

“I feel it, too!”

“I only feel a prickling at the base of my neck,” a man said with a disturbed frown.

The first woman smiled and said, smugly, “Some of us are more sensitive to the ley than others.”

Gasps and small shrieks echoed throughout the room as the guests quieted, most edging toward Allan’s position. Allan snorted in derision and glanced down at his own arms surreptitiously. He hadn’t felt anything, but he couldn’t explain the gooseflesh on the woman’s arm or the reaction of the other guests either.

And then it didn’t matter, because the white ley globes hovering above suddenly dimmed. Men cursed, glancing up, and someone cried out, voice strained with fear.

“What’s happening?” someone asked.

A man standing to Allan’s right answered, voice calm, as the ley globes flickered again. “The Primes. They’re using the energy of the Nexus to sow the tower. It’s interrupting the general flow for the network that feeds the city.” He held up his candle. “That must be why they handed out these.”

As he spoke the last word, the ley globes died completely, the entire room plunging into darkness. More than a few of the gathered gentry shouted in consternation, cursing or muttering under their breath. But even as Allan’s eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness, he caught the flicker of flames spreading throughout the room. Servants appeared with lit tapers held protectively behind cupped hands, extending them to those who had taken candles. The tension brought on by panic subsided, women chuckling shakily as they used their own candles to light others, a few of the men looking sheepish as the flickering orange light—so different from the steady white of the ley globes—began to fill the room. The flame made the amber of the walls and ceiling glow as if lit from within, pulsing like a heartbeat. Lords and ladies marveled at the transformation in the room, voices hushed as they held their candles aloft, faces suffused with childlike wonder.

Outside, in the darkness beneath the tower, the first glow of ley light pulsed upward. Another gasp spread through the room, this one solemn, and everyone, including Allan, shifted toward the glass windows. Below, the ground between the myriad towers that made up the Grass District glowed with ethereal ley light, concentrated beneath the faceted glass structure that was the Nexus. Except the light of the ley was too fierce, too intense, obscuring the Nexus itself, as if somehow the light had broken free and spilled out into the surrounding land. The Dogs had cleared the paths and roadways below earlier in the day, setting up a restricted zone around the Nexus. Allan checked to make certain the doors leading out to the balcony were closed and locked. As he pressed closer to the glass, he noticed other people outside on the balconies of the towers across from the Nexus and shook his head. Idiots. Hadn’t they been warned? They were too close to the ley!