Rift by Andrea Cremer
“And what message shall we send to Conatus? How shall we repay those who sent a witch into our midst?”
The mob swarmed over Sorcha.
Eira bowed her head and stole from the village, carefully making her way back to the road and taking care not to draw notice. Alistair pushed back the hood of his cloak at her approach. He’d been waiting at the edge of the road, holding the reins of two horses.
“Is it done?” he asked.
“Yes.” She took her horse’s reins from him and mounted. “But this night is only the beginning.”
“He told us that someone must die. That death begets life,” Alistair said reverently. “The old must collapse so the new can rise.”
“Bosque Mar is as wise as he is powerful,” Eira said. “And you’ve been listening carefully to his words.”
Alistair nodded, watching plumes of oily black smoke rise into the sky. He shook his head regretfully. “Sorcha was a fine warrior. I’m sorry to lose her.”
“So am I,” Eira told him. “But her mind clung to the old ways. She closed her ears to my pleas.”
“She couldn’t be saved,” Alistair murmured.
“No,” Eira answered. “She could not. But she was only one. After tonight the others will seek the shelter we offer from the coming storm . . . including Lady Morrow.”
“Yes, my lady.” Alistair smiled at her as he swung into his saddle. They set off at a gallop, bearers of urgent news for the knights of Tearmunn.
Much later—long after the fire had died and the woman’s charred corpse was taken down—the villagers would not be able to recall the name of the man who’d discovered the witch, nor how he’d known she hailed from Tearmunn—proving at last that the rumors of Conatus consorting with evil spirits, even the devil himself, were true. They all agreed, however, upon their good fortune that such a wise man had been sent among them so that they might be delivered from God’s wrath.
THIRTY-ONE
BODIES KNOCKED INTO Ember as she made her way toward the manor’s great hall. Conatus had assembled to celebrate the ritual of Fidelitas, but Ember couldn’t imagine any ceremony taking place in this mob. The packed corridor was abuzz with whispers.
Ember might not have been able to reach the hall, but she was following Barrow, keeping so close she almost trod on his heels. His tall, strong figure parted the crowd, and Ember took advantage of the path he cleared before the throng closed in again.
Barrow pushed people aside until they stood before those members of the Circle who’d made their way here: Claudio, Ewan, Fionn, and Cian. The great cedar loomed behind them, waiting for its annual tribute. Still absent were Eira, Thomas, and Father Michael. Ember’s chest contracted. If Eira was still missing, it meant she and Sorcha both could be in danger. Ember hadn’t spotted Alistair anywhere in the crowd either. Looking up, she saw that the gallery was filled with anxious observers as well. They were all waiting, speaking in hushed tones that flooded the room with a steady drone. Her eyes continued to search for her friends; she hoped to catch a glimpse of them.
“This is no way to sober up.” Kael came up beside her, rubbing his head. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know yet,” Barrow said. “Did you hear of the attack?”
“Bits and pieces,” Kael told him. “I made my way home when the rain hit; finding my bed seemed like the best option at that point. It was all the commotion that woke me up.”
“Did Alistair go with you?” Ember asked.
“No,” Kael said. “I haven’t seen him.”
Her skin went cold.
“Don’t be afraid for him,” Barrow said quietly. “The creatures were attacking villagers, not us. We may not know why, but it’s enough to know that Alistair should be unharmed.”
Ember nodded but knew she wouldn’t shake her fears until she saw Alistair.
The mood of the crowd was growing restless. What had been whispers transformed into muttered complaints and soon grew into shouts demanding answers.
“Ugly room,” Kael said. “It’s not helping my headache.”
New cries poured in from the corridor beyond the great hall that sent ripples of motion through the gathered mass. The crowd parted and two people came striding into the hall.
Ember threw herself at them. “Alistair!”
“Are you all right?” he asked, catching her in his arms.
“Yes, yes.” She embraced him tightly. “When you weren’t here, I feared the worst.”
She released him, stepping back. “Where were you?”
“When the downpour started, I took shelter in the woods,” he told her. “I met Eira on my way back to the village. She told me what happened.”
Though Alistair had stopped at Ember’s call, Eira had continued on to the Circle. She turned, raising her arms.
“Peace, friends! You mustn’t be afraid. We will soon be free of this menace!”
Shouts answered her:
“What are they?”
“Is it true they cannot be killed?”
“It’s said they are living shadow!”
“How many villagers are dead?”
Eira raised her voice again. “You will have answers, but now I must beg for your patience. The Circle must convene. Leave us to deal with this matter. Go about your business and keep the work of Conatus under way!”
The crowd stirred restlessly, unsatisfied with her words.
Another voice from the back of the hall called out, “Obey the words of your wise councillor.”
Ember rose on her tiptoes and saw Father Michael weaving through the crowd. Lukasz’s massive form loomed behind him, warning off any who might think this crisis somehow undermined the priest’s authority. “Return to your tasks or seek your bed. Pray for deliverance from this evil if you will, but do not remain here where you will only stir up fear—the tool of Satan. Have faith in your elders.”
Though the murmuring continued, the crowd began to disperse. Slowly the room cleared.
“I shouldn’t have gotten up.” Kael groaned. He turned to go.
“Hold, Kael.” Eira came toward them, lowering her voice. “There is news you must hear.”
The relief Ember had felt upon seeing Alistair began to drain away. Eira was here, but Sorcha was not.
When the great hall was empty save the Circle and the members of the Guard Ember had seen at the ceilidh, Eira nodded to Alistair. He left them to close the broad doors, sealing off the hall.
“Eira, what’s happened?” Cian asked her sister. “Are the rumors true?”
Eira nodded. “And there is more to tell that is much worse.”
“Where is Sorcha?” Lukasz frowned at Eira.
“Dead.” Eira turned her back to them, walking a few steps away.
“Dead?” Kael lurched on his feet. “How?”
When Eira faced them, her features were drawn. “After you left, the creatures vanished. I don’t know why or how, but they disappeared.”
“What does that have to do with Sorcha?” Lukasz stood rigidly, his eyes full of rage.
“When she tried to save that child, she threw herself in front of one of the shadow creatures,” Eira told him. “And when she did so, it disappeared. All of them did. Some of the villagers witnessed it . . . and took it to mean that they were under her sway.”
Cian drew a sharp breath. “Are you saying they thought she was a witch?”
“Without question,” Eira said. “They burned her.”
The group went quiet, all eyes fixed on Eira in disbelief.
Slowly Lukasz said, “Why didn’t you stop it?”
“I couldn’t,” she answered. “They overwhelmed her before I could intervene. They were mad for blood. It would have been suicide.”
“You should have tried,” Lukasz hissed.
She glared at him. “You don’t know what they were saying. They knew she was one of us. They burned her with cries of heresy. Our heresy.”
“May God have mercy on us.” Father Michael made t
Ember had begun to cry softly. Sorcha, burned? She felt sick with grief.
Beside her Alistair stood stiffly, his face betraying no emotion.
Lukasz kept an unrelenting gaze on Eira. Barrow and Kael’s faces mirrored their commander’s.
Claudio stepped between Eira and the knights. “This is a great tragedy, but we must look to the future. What can be done?”
“Her death must be avenged,” Kael said.
“Make war on the village?” Claudio’s eyes widened. “That would serve only to confirm their fears. We claim to be here by God’s will. We are supposedly their protectors.”
“The sword is not the answer,” Fionn added quickly.
“They burned her.” Lukasz turned his glare on Claudio and Fionn. “Will you do nothing?”
Father Michael sighed. “Sorcha’s death is a horrible blow, born of an unknown evil. But to seek vengeance begets only more wickedness. We must forgive.”
“There can be no forgiveness for this outrage.” Lukasz’s voice shook. “She was one of us.”
“If we attack the village, we bring about our own destruction,” Claudio said.
Cian nodded, though her eyes were bright with tears. “We cannot do anything for Sorcha now other than pray for her soul. The true cause of her death was the attack—the arrival of this new enemy.”
“Cian speaks true,” Eira said. “We must fight our true enemy.”
“An enemy that manifested from nothing and then vanished without warning?” Lukasz said through gritted teeth. “How are we to find, much less fight, such an enemy?”
“We have a way to seek them,” Eira told him. “We can find the source of this evil.”
Barrow frowned at her. “You mean the source the prisoner speaks of?”
She nodded.
Thomas rubbed his short white beard. “We’ve agreed that pursuing that route is futile.”
“Do you still believe that?” Eira asked. “Given what’s transpired this eve?”
Thomas’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t answer.
“We know nothing of this source if it even exists,” Barrow said. “That search could lead to nothing.”
“I agree with Barrow,” Lukasz said. “We must grieve our fallen companion, but the wisest course is to wait this out. The villagers have sated their bloodlust. We have the resources to pull behind our walls and defend against any assault. Their anger will abate with time.”
“Unless there is another attack,” Eira countered. “Will you risk that?”
Lukasz glowered at her, but Claudio answered, “I believe you to be right, Eira. Perhaps this incident is a punishment for our failure to act on the prisoner’s bidding.”
“You believe God sent Sorcha to the stake to teach us a lesson?” Barrow growled.
Claudio took a few steps back and Father Michael placed a gentle hand on Barrow’s arm. “A poor choice of words, perhaps.”
Fionn quickly came to Claudio’s defense, saying, “He only meant that we must consider the course Eira suggests more seriously than we once did. I agree.”
“Is there another option?” Ewan, who had hung back, pacing beneath the Conatus crest, finally spoke. “Can we not call for aid?”
“From whom?” Cian asked. “We cannot ask our brothers and sisters of the order. We’ve all sworn to deal with domestic conflicts on a local scale in order to keep our connections secret. To bring foreign knights into Tearmunn would violate that code.”
“From Rome, then?” Ewan said, turning to Father Michael.
“What say you, Father?” Claudio asked.
Father Michael shook his head. “There will be no aid from Rome, for there is no Rome to call upon. As long as the schism divides our Church, we have no one to turn to.”
“Let me speak with the prisoner,” Eira said. “If he does not reveal the source of the attack, if he can give us nothing of use, then we shall follow Lukasz’s plan and seal ourselves within these walls until the danger is past.”
Claudio nodded. “I see no other way.”
Thomas and Ewan murmured their assent, though they exchanged a worried glance.
“Father Michael?” Cian asked. “Fionn?”
The priest smiled sadly. “I am no warrior. I defer to the will of the Circle.”
“I agree with my peers,” Fionn answered. “We must seek the cause of this tragedy. And Eira has offered the most plausible means to do so.”
Cian turned to Lukasz. “I won’t agree to this course of action without the support of the Guard.”
Lukasz sighed. “If it must be so, I will consent.”
“And the rest of you?” Cian’s gaze swept over the other knights.
“We serve at the will of our commander,” Kael answered.
“Thank you,” Eira said. “I am humbled by your trust.”
She looked at Lukasz. “By your leave, Commander, I would take Alistair with me when I interrogate the prisoner. It would be wise to have another sword at hand.”
“As you wish,” Lukasz murmured. Though he faced Eira, his gaze was somewhere distant.
“For now we must protect our order from the wrath of the villagers,” Cian told them. “Spread the word that none are to leave Tearmunn until further notice. Any person from the village who begs entry must be unarmed before being given leave to pass through our gates.”
“Will our defensiveness aggravate their fears?” Thomas asked.
“I will send messages of goodwill,” Father Michael said. “It is my hope that we may use words rather than weapons to settle this matter.”
Thomas nodded.
“May we take our leave?” Lukasz asked roughly. “I must inform the rest of my knights that we have lost a sister.”
“Of course,” Eira said.
“I will accompany you,” Father Michael told him. “To share in your grief and offer prayers for her eternal soul.”
Cian took the priest’s arm. “As will I.”
Lukasz bowed to the Circle and left the room with Kael trailing after him. Father Michael and Cian moved quietly to the door, speaking to each other in low tones. Barrow followed, but Ember hesitated. She glanced at the departing knights and then at Alistair.
“Will you come with us?” she asked him.
It was Eira who answered her. “I don’t want to delay our new mission, Lady Morrow. I’m afraid I must ask Alistair to remain with me.”
Alistair nodded, taking Ember’s hands. “I’ll speak with you soon, Ember. Be well. I thank God for your safe deliverance from this terrible night.”
Ember offered him a weak smile, finding his formality strange and out of character.
With a much more confident smile, Eira said, “Indeed, Ember. We rejoice in your health and safety, for in the coming fight you will be greatly needed.”
Frowning in confusion, Ember forced herself to murmur, “Thank you, my lady.”
Alistair squeezed her fingers and pulled her closer, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “Remember, Eira is coming to speak with you soon. Our world is changing and you must be ready. Eira’s way is the only way.”
He straightened and dropped her hands.
Unsettled by his words, she stepped back, wanting to run to the door. Instead she forced herself to depart at a dignified pace. Alistair walked with her, bidding her good night and closing the doors to the great hall behind her. As she stood alone in the corridor, Ember heard the doors’ massive bolts slide into place. The groan of metal against wood echoed around her and Ember was gripped by a sudden, cold sense that something had gone awry in the way a tiny fissure in a lodestone could bring down the greatest of buildings.
THIRTY-TWO
THOUGH HER FEET were moving, Ember wasn’t conscious of walking. Tears stained her face, yet crying had also become an involuntary reflex. Grief numbed her as she trudged from the manor to the barracks, but she walked on. There was nothing else to do.
Once inside the ba
These were questions to ask her mentor. Of late her teacher had been Sorcha. Now Sorcha was gone. When Ember closed her eyes, she saw flames leaping toward the sky, heard the crackle and hiss of kindling being consumed by fire, and gagged as the tendrils of smoke curled upward, encircling Sorcha like the ropes that bound her to the stake.
Ember’s mind too quickly fixed on these horrible visions. She couldn’t face them alone.
If she went to Barrow, what would he do? Not only had he relinquished the role of mentor, but after what had happened in the forest . . . Thinking of his touch, his warmth offsetting the cool rain, made her head spin. She didn’t know what any of it meant.
Silent tears were coming again, these brought on by frustration as well as sorrow. Needing to clear her thoughts before facing any of the Guard—even to mourn—Ember climbed the stairs. She would seek her cell and solace, weeping for Sorcha alone before she joined the others.
Before she reached her cell door, the sound of a ragged sob, very close, pulled her up short. The door to the cell on her left was ajar. Ember crept up to the door. She could see the narrow pallet and Kael sitting on it with his face buried in his hands. His shoulders shook.
Though muffled by his hands, his mourning filled the room with a broken sound that made Ember’s throat tighten. She watched him, wondering if she should go to him. No one should be left to drown in this depth of sorrow. As she decided to slip inside and sit with Kael, someone else—someone who’d been hidden by the partly closed door—came into view.
Ember pressed herself against the door frame as Lukasz knelt in front of Kael. The commander took Kael’s hands in his own, pulling Kael’s fingers away from his face. Lukasz’s strong jaw was outlined by the glistening of tears, but he wept silently. He placed his hands on the sides of Kael’s face, running his thumbs along Kael’s sharp cheekbones.
“We will endure this. We must,” Lukasz said.
“How?” Kael asked him.
Lukasz slid his strong arms around Kael’s shoulders, drawing him down until their lips met.