The Rival (19 page)

Nicholas frowned.  Sebastian was a gentle soul.  He had never harmed anything, and never would.

"Why not join with us?" Nicholas asked.  "Instead of facing the Black King separately, why don't we face him together?"

The Shaman smiled and took his hand.  Hers was soft and wrinkled, the hand of an old woman who had never done any physical labor.  "He is not interested in killing your people," she said.  "He wants them and their land."

"But we won't give it without a fight."

"That is your choice, Nicholas.  But my people will not ally with yours for your sake."

"But you could use us," he said.

She shook her head.  "The Black King will slaughter us and all who ally with us.  We have little hope.  Joining with you will gain us nothing, and lose everything for you."

"And if my children fight him?"

"If your son-stone fights him, we have a chance.  We all have a chance."

"You've Seen that?"

She took her hand from his.  "No," she said.  "I did not even know what your Sebastian was until this afternoon.  I simply know that he has life for a reason.  It could be this."

Nicholas walked to a chair and put his hands on the back.  "What have you Seen?" he asked.  "Will the Black King conquer Blue Isle?"

"Rugad is a brilliant man, a fearless leader, and the best of the Fey," she said.

"But have you Seen him conquer Blue Isle?" Nicholas asked.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and bowed her head.  "I have Seen little beyond his arrival.  I suspect I will not live long enough to know the answer to your question."

"Perhaps you just haven't Seen what is going to come," he said, not wanting to believe her.

"Perhaps," she said, but there was no conviction in her voice.

"Ally with us," he said.  "We will fight him with you."

She shook her head.  "You are not all-powerful, Nicholas.  Do not believe that all Fey are as easily defeated as Rugar was."

Nicholas swallowed.  He did not think Rugar was easily defeated.

"We have conquered half the world," she said.  "We have defeated stronger people than yours, more battle hardened and some with small magicks.  A small island in the Infrin Sea cannot stop us forever.  If you are to defeat the Black King, you must embrace your enemies and sacrifice that which you love the most."

"I've already done that," Nicholas said, thinking of Jewel and of his father.

The Shaman watched him.  Her gaze held a deep compassion.  "No," she said.  "What you have lived through will seem simple compared with what you face.  Your god asks much of you, Nicholas.  You must be willing to do as he asks."

"I don't believe in God," Nicholas said.

"So you have told me," the Shaman said.  "But you are a direct descendent of his representative on this land, are you not?"

"If the stories are true," Nicholas said.

"And if they are not?"

"Then I am merely a man who happens to rule, who comes from a long and unbroken line of rulers."

"Perhaps," the Shaman said.  "Blue Isle is unusual in that.  I know of no other country whose ruling class has had such a long reign."

"Nor of any that are confined to an island," he said, with a smile he didn't feel.

"I do not believe that is the cause," she said.

"Oh?" he asked.  "What is it then?"

"Your Roca was an unusual man," she said.

"I don't know," Nicholas said.  "I think the stories were embellished."

"And if they were not?"

He frowned at her.  She was trying to tell him something.  "Sometimes," he said, "I am not good at subtlety."

She laughed.  The sound seemed to come from deep within her.  "Your honesty is one of the things I appreciate about you," she said.  "What I am trying to tell you is this: What is magick to some, Nicholas, is religion to others." 

"Are you saying that the Roca was a magickal being?"

"No," she said.  "I do not know enough about him.  But you must consider it.  Your children can do things no Fey has ever been able to do."

"The Fey have mated with non-Fey before," Nicholas said.  "It's supposed to make the magick stronger."

"Stronger, yes," the Shaman said.  "But not change it.  Your children do not follow the normal Fey patterns. Their magick is different."

"And you think that comes from the Roca."

"I think you must consider all possibilities."

"Why are you telling me this now?" he asked.  "Why not when they were born?"

"Because," she said, and her lower lip trembled, "this may be the last time I see you, Nicholas."

"Because of the Black King?" he asked.  "I don't think you should protect me that way.  We've been friends  — "

"We've been friends a long time," she said.  "I admire your courage, and your intelligence, and your flexibility.  I think you have been a savior to your people, my people and your children.  I think you are one of the best individuals I have ever known, Fey or non-Fey."

"Then why leave?" he said.  "I rely on you.  You're one of my only friends."

"It is not my choice," she said.

"Jewel said that Visions can be changed."

"They can," the Shaman said.  "But changing them must bring a better future, not a worse one."

"You're saying it is better for you to die?"

She shook her head.  "I am saying it may be better that we do not meet again."  She took his hands and pulled him close.  "I value you, good Nicholas."

He held her tightly.  She had saved Arianna's life. She had fought for Jewel.  She had given him advice when no one else would.  She had been his strength and his understanding. 

"I value you too," he said when he could trust himself to speak. 

She moved away from him, bowed her head, and started for the door.

"Find a way to come back," he said.

She smiled.  "Guard your children, Nicholas," she said, "and the rest shall take care of itself."

TWENTY

Gift wasn't sure how long the trek to Coulter's was, but he did know that they had to pass the Tabernacle at night. 

The Fey hated and feared that place.  It was the place where they had first died, where the Battle of Jahn had been lost.  This was all before his birth, and yet he knew of it as if he had lived it.  He even could recite the names of the dead.

Being on the bridge made him queasy.  It was a sturdy stone bridge, wide enough for several people to walk side by side, and still have room for a carriage to go through.  It did not sway in any wind, and was more solid than some of the buildings that stood on dry ground.

It still made him dizzy to be on it.

He blamed some of that on the run he had made that afternoon.  It had taken him a meal and more water than he cared to think about to fully recover from that.  The fear stayed with him, though.  His mistake had nearly been the largest made by a Fey.  He hadn't counted on his sister's misunderstanding and anger.  Nor had he thought she would fail to recognize him.

Cover was to his left.  She had gotten the meal.  He didn't know how and he didn't ask.  She watched their sides and back as if she expected something.

Leen was to his right.  She walked as tall as she could, her chin jutted forward, her eyes straight ahead.  She had one hand on her sword, and another with a ready dagger.  Her pride in being beside him was tangible.

He would have been safer with Prey.

From an outside attack anyway.   He didn't trust Prey, though.  He didn't trust many Fey.  They all seemed to find him lacking.

He and his companions were the only ones on the bridge.  He found that odd despite Cover's reassurances. She said that Islanders rarely ventured out after dark.  He didn't find it that dark.  The moon cast its silver light on the bridge, making the stones glisten.  It was a lovely evening. The heat of the day was receding, and near the river it was already cool.

Cover grabbed his arm.  "Keep moving," she said, her voice so soft that he had to strain to hear it.  "Be ready, Leen."

Leen nodded and moved closer to him.  Gift's heart started to pound hard.  He wanted to ask what Cover had seen, but he knew better. 

She had already disappeared into the soft light.  He didn't know where she hid, only that she was gone.  Then he heard the sound that had alerted her.  Footsteps.  Quiet ones, the barely audible pressing of feet on stone.

Bare feet.

An Aud?  A religious type?  They could kill him.  He had had enough near misses for one day.

"I can see you," a male voice said in Islander.  "You don't need to hide."

Gift started.  No one saw Spies.

No one.

He turned.

Leen hissed at him, grabbed his arm, tried to get him to continue moving.  But he stopped.

Behind him, an Islander stood.  The moonlight hit the back of his head, casting a shadow over his face, but reflecting his blond curls.  The man was tall for an Islander.  He wore pants and an open shirt.  His feet were bare.

In his left hand, he held a vial.  Gift could only guess that it contained the Islander poison. 

Cover stood near the far rail, her own face indistinct so that she couldn't be recognized.

"Fey on the bridge," the man said in Islander.  "Heading toward the Tabernacle.  What sort of scheme do you practice now?"

"No scheme," Gift said.  "We can move freely in this country."

"Anyone can move freely and risk death."  The man held up the vial.  "I don't like Fey."

"If you're going to kill us," Gift said, "at least let us see your face."

"Is that a Fey custom?" the man asked.  He didn't move. 

His voice sounded familiar.  Not the sort of familiar Gift heard every day, but the familiar of dreams or Visions.  Yet Gift was certain he had never Seen this moment. 

"It's courtesy," Gift said.

"Why are you going to the Tabernacle?"

"We aren't," Cover said.  "We're leaving Jahn."

The man moved his head slightly so that he could see her.  "Going south?" he asked.  "The Fey have no business south."

"We do," Leen said.

The vial had no stopper.  The liquid inside reflected the moonlight.

"Are you from the Tabernacle?" Gift asked.  "You seem protective of it."

"I don't need to be from it to want to preserve it," the man said.

"Only Fey with a death wish would go into that place," Cover said.  She had moved closer to the man.

He turned, and the moonlight hit his face.  Its features were round, but the nose was long and patrician.  Gift had seen him before, in both a Vision and a dream.

The Islander was younger.  He was wearing long red robes and the sword of the Islander religion. Behind him was a table with holy poison.  He placed a crown on Gift's mother's head.

And she screamed.

"I thought you were dead."  Gift took a step toward the man.  Gift was shaking. This man had committed murder and still he lived. 

The man started, and held up his vial.

"Gift!" Cover said.

"You killed my mother," Gift said.  "They told me you died for it."

"Your mother?" The man was clearly confused.  He held the vial close to his heart as if to protect it.

"My mother.  Fifteen years ago.  You murdered her."

"Jewel?" The man sounded shocked.  "Jewel is your mother?  But you're Fey."

"Of course I'm Fey," Gift said.  "My mother was Fey.  I'm Islander too."

"You're not Sebastian," the man said.  "Sebastian has no brain.  You're trying to trick me."

"It's no trick," Gift said. 

Leen had drawn her sword.  Cover circled behind him.  They obviously didn't know what Gift was about.  He wasn't certain he knew either.

Except that he couldn't let this man live.

"I am not as easily fooled as you people believe," the man said.  "You have nothing of Sebastian in you.  He looks like he were carved out of rock."

"Gift," Cover said, a warning in her voice.

Gift said nothing.  He wasn't going to say anything.  He was going to figure out a way around that vial, and then kill this murderer.

"I don't like Fey," the man repeated.  "And I hate Fey who lie."

He flicked his wrist, splashing the poison toward Gift.  Cover hit the man in the back at the same time.  Leen shoved Gift backwards.  He tripped, hit the stone wall, and climbed on it.  The man staggered sideways, and dropped his vial.  It shattered onto the stone, spilling its dangerous contents all over the bridge.

"Cover!" Gift yelled, warning her to stay away from the poison.  Leen crawled up beside Gift.

The man grabbed Cover and flung her toward the poison.  She landed in it, and screamed.  Gift ran along the railing, Leen yelling at him to stop.  He grabbed the man by his collar, swung him around and slammed him against the wall.  The man wrapped his arms around Gift's legs, and pulled them forward.  Gift lost his balance but maintained his grip.

As he fell off the bridge, the man fell with him.

The air rushing by him had the chill of river.  Gift tried to twist so that he wouldn't land on his back, but the man was clinging too tightly.  Gift shoved his knee into the man's jaw, breaking the man's grip slightly, then kicked the man in the chest.  The man let go.  Gift twisted  —

 —  and belly-flopped into the river. 

The breath left his body.  He felt as if he had hit hard ground.  Pain shuddered through him, from his groin to the backs of his eyes.  The water was warm and he sank.  His limbs were heavy, unusable.

He would drown if he didn't force himself to move.

The man landed beside him, and sank faster.  Bubbles floated around him as he lost whatever air was in his body. 

Gift felt the force of the water as the man passed him, sinking deeper.

The man would drown.

Gift would not.

He forced his legs to kick, even though the effort made his eyes bulge.  He didn't have enough air, and his body felt as if it would explode.  His arms fluttered beside him.  He made them push on the water.  Black spots floated in his vision.  He would pass out if he didn't get air soon.

Then he burst through and took a deep, shuddery breath.   The black spots in front of his eyes grew.  He thought they would go away as he was able to breathe.  But they didn't.  He treaded water in a circle.  The bridge was above him, looking impossibly high, and he was equidistant from both banks.  He would have to swim.