Soulkeeper Page 42

  Faint light poured forth from her hands, sealing off the muscle and bone with a thin, pale layer of scar tissue. Adria gasped as vertigo lashed her mind. With each prayer she was starting to feel… something within the bodies of those she healed. A lurking power that responded to her prayer and then latched onto her soul, drawing strength out of her and into itself. This deep ache was far beyond anything she’d felt in her life. It was like a thousand nights spent awake without sleep coming together into one singular moment of exhaustion.

  “Lyra be praised,” the previously wounded man said. He didn’t sound too worshipful, but no doubt he was still in shock. He lay on his back with his eyes closed, sleep rapidly overtaking him. “Lyra… be praised.”

  Adria nearly toppled over when she tried to stand. Faithkeeper Maria grabbed her by the elbow and guided her to her feet.

  “Stay strong,” she said. “There are only five left. Will it help if I bring them to you instead?”

  Adria nodded.

  “Yes. I would be grateful.”

  She slipped back down to her knees and focused on keeping her breathing calm and meditative. The first arrived, carried in a blanket like a stretcher. Adria set her hands over the person’s chest. She didn’t look to see the wound, nor the look of hope and pain on his face. Her mind was struggling just to focus on her prayer. She couldn’t risk empathy.

  “Precious Lyra, at my touch, heal this man.”

  One by one they came wounded, and one by one they were carried away healed. Some sang praises to the Sisters. More sang praises to the Mindkeeper who healed them. When the last of those injured by Janus’s attack was lifted away she dared hope that would be the end, but more were starting to gather at the ring of guards. The crowd was swelling, and the first of many cried out for Adria’s attention.

  “My leg,” shouted one. “It’s broken and healing wrong.”

  “My mother’s dying,” shouted another. “Please, if you could just…”

  “The water lung’s taken hold of my father…”

  More voices. More in need. There weren’t enough guards to shove them away, and several of the Mindkeepers and Faithkeepers had to join them in holding the line. Adria could feel the desperation in the air. How many lives might she save with just one more prayer? How much suffering could she unburden the people from?

  One cry in particular pierced through her haze.

  “Adria? Faithkeeper Adria? Your brother swore! He swore you would help!”

  She looked up at an older man with a shaved head and a black beard holding a young girl. He pushed against the arms of a guard attempting to keep him at bay. The limp gaze of the girl gave Adria an ill feeling.

  “Bring him,” she said. Maria heard, and when she asked who, Adria pointed to the older man. “Him. With the girl.”

  The man hurried over, and the moment he found an empty spot of ground he set the girl down. Adria noticed how rigid the girl’s body was, how still her chest.

  “She… she tripped,” the old man said. “People were running and screaming. I tried to get to her, I tried, Adria, I tried, but no one listened. Arleen, she…”

  The rest broke into sobs. Adria knelt closer for examination. Dark bruises covered much of the girl’s body from being trampled by the crowd. She put her fingers against Arleen’s temple. No pulse. What a cruel fate. Others with shattered bones and ripped flesh she could save, but a young girl who hadn’t even been there when Janus attacked, with only bruises to show how much internal damage she’d suffered, was beyond her.

  “I’m sorry,” Adria said. “She’s gone.”

  “No,” the older man said. Then, louder, “No, she can’t, she can’t be! Pray over her, please.”

  “But…”

  “Try!” he shouted. Tears streamed down his face. “We lived through so much, Adria. The Goddesses cannot be so cruel.”

  There were many different prayers within Lyra’s Devotions, but none dealt with returning the dead to life. Adria wanted to argue that, but what argument could stand up to the overwhelming power of grief? She turned her gaze to the young girl. So beautiful. So full of promise, all stolen by the monster Janus and his unexplained hatred toward servants of the Keeping Church.

  Is it possible? she silently asked the Sisters. Can even the dead return if the soul remains within?

  Adria crossed her hands over the girl’s chest and closed her eyes.

  “Lyra of the beloved sun, hear my prayer,” she whispered. “Your children weep for your touch, and so I come, and so I pray.”

  No change. She continued the prayer, waiting for that sudden connection with the body and the faint drawing of power. It never happened. The prayer left her lips, her plea carried up to the heavens, but Arleen’s heart remained still as a stone. Adria pulled away from the body and now faced an act equally dreadful—breaking the hope in the older man’s eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can only heal. I cannot bring back the dead.”

  He let out a wail that surely could not have been human. It was too wrenching, too broken. Adria swallowed down her sorrow and forced words to emerge off her tongue. “Talk with Faithkeeper Maria when things have calmed down. She will put you in touch with a Pyrehand to handle the reaping ritual.”

  The man lifted Arleen’s body and walked away looking lost and dazed. Adria rested on her haunches, the sound of her breath weak and shallow in her own ears.

  “That’s it,” Faithkeeper Maria shouted to the city guards. “Get them out of here, all of them.”

  “No,” Adria said. Her voice was hoarse. When did that happen? “Let them come.”

  Maria listened, organizing the sick and wounded into manageable lines. She didn’t care how they decided who would be first, or how they kept the crowd orderly. Adria merely sat there and waited until a sickly-looking woman knelt before her with bowed head. Her skin was strikingly pale.

  “The consumption,” the woman said. Adria took her hands and shushed away any further explanation.

  “Precious Lyra,” she said. “At my touch, heal this woman.”

  The color returned to her cheeks. Life returned to her face. She flung her arms around Adria, weeping tears against her black-and-white porcelain mask. Adria kept perfectly still, simply waiting for the display to be over. She was too exhausted, too numb. Another came, and another, bearing broken bones, feverish bodies, and wet, bloody coughs. Prayer after prayer, she gave of herself to them.

  “Precious Lyra…”

  “Precious Lyra…”

  Precious Lyra.

  Precious.

  Precious.

  Hands grabbed Adria’s shoulders, catching her from a fall she’d not known she’d started.

  “I’ve got you,” Devin said. “It’s time for you to come home. Your body cannot withstand more.”

  To others it might have seemed like nothing, but to Adria it meant the world. She grasped her brother’s hand and pressed it to the forehead of her mask.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. The world spun around her. “I don’t think I can walk.”

  “Then lean against me.”

  Word of Adria’s healing must have spread like wildfire throughout Londheim. How many sick and injured would come seeking relief?

  “What of the crowds?” Adria asked.

  “I shall handle the crowds,” Thaddeus said, his deep voice piercing the din. Adria hadn’t realized her Vikar had arrived… but then again, she was hardly aware of the location of her own hands and feet, let alone others. “You deserve your privacy and rest, Mindkeeper.”

  More and more guards had filtered into the area over the past half hour, and by the looks of it a rather large entourage of both soldiers and physicians had accompanied her Vikar. With their spears and shields they pushed back the crowd, indifferent to their cries of intermixed frustration and need. Adria leaned on Sena and did her best to watch. There were at least six Mindkeepers in the area now, and at Thaddeus’s insistence they gathered around Adria.

 
; “You’ll each have an escort of soldiers,” Thaddeus said. “Return to your churches. The physicians can handle those that Adria healed.”

  “A miracle,” one of the Mindkeepers said.

  “The Sisters bless you, Adria,” said another.

  Adria smiled at them to show her appreciation, then remembered she still wore her mask. Well, hopefully they’d understand.

  “It is indeed a miracle,” Thaddeus said, and he glanced at Adria. “And may the glory and praise be sung to the Sisters amid the stars for what they have done this day. Now return to your church. Answer no questions on your way there. Leave the people wondering which of you is Adria so they know not whom to follow.”

  The guards shouted for the people to disperse. Shields slammed against bodies that, for whatever their reason, refused to move.

  “Adria!” cried the crowd. They shouted it in protest of their dispersal. They cried it out in worship. They spoke it with fear and reverence in equal measure. “Adria! Adria!”

  “Just ignore them,” Devin said as he shielded her. “You’ve done everything you could.”

  Adria clung to her brother’s comforting frame. Her head tilted as she settled her jaw on his shoulder. Her tired eyes drifted to the rooftops.

  A man knelt on one knee at the edge of a distant shop. His clothes were long and dark. Half his hair was a bright green, the other a deep black. There was no doubt that he was watching her. Smiling at her. He could be but one person. One terrible, cruel, wretched being. If Adria had any strength left in her she’d have shrieked the name and sent the soldiers after him, but instead she had but a single whisper before her legs gave out beneath her and the dizziness inside her skull blanked out all thought.

  “Janus?”

  CHAPTER 38

  An interesting choice for a meeting place, Janus thought as he stood before the Hive-Tree in the center of Londheim. The sun had already set, so the tree’s many leaves had returned from their day of feeding upon the nectar of flowers to share with the greedy heart at the center of its enormous trunk. Janus had watched the morning eruption of leaves and color twice since Viciss granted him his freedom. Both times he’d been resentful of the many gawking humans, of their childish pointing and dull gasps of surprise and confusion. Such beauty was better than they deserved. There had once been an entire forest of Hive-Trees before humanity had come westward with its axes and torches. Now only one remained, a curious amusement for the race that had wiped out its kin.

  “I suppose I should not blame them,” Janus told the Hive-Tree. He lovingly brushed the tree’s black bark. His mind could sense the minute vibrations of the beating heart, and he closed his eyes to absorb the welcome presence. “Humans are little more than locusts. Eat, breed, and destroy is all they know how to do.”

  “You are wrong, Janus, as you often are.”

  He turned and fell to one knee with bowed head.

  “You bless me with your presence, dragon.”

  The featureless shadow that was Viciss approached the Hive-Tree with his arms crossed behind his back. Janus wondered what form humans would perceive him as. Human, perhaps? Or would he be a shadow to them as well, a void given form, a sentient mass of heavenly bodies and distant stars? The similarity to his black water was inescapable, and sometimes Janus wondered if the demigod’s presence went out with it when he breathed across the land.

  Whatever the form, though, it hardly mattered. The streets of Londheim were dead at night. Already the dragon-sired had begun reclaiming the city back into their rightful hands.

  “Your contempt toward humanity is undeserved,” Viciss said.

  “Perhaps,” Janus said. “But it does make the killing easier.”

  Viciss ignored the comment, his attention instead focused on the last Hive-Tree in all the Cradle. He put a hand upon the tree, his swirling black digits sinking into the bark as if it were liquid.

  “My poor, lonely child,” he whispered to the tree. “Stay strong amid your isolation. Perhaps one day I will spare you from this city and make your race anew. For now, take my blessing, and let your beauty be magnified tenfold.”

  Veins of gold spread from his touch throughout the bark. The deep green leaves fluttered as if preparing to take off. Their edges spread wider, fuller. Healthier, Janus knew. The trunk’s color steadily brightened from its deep black to a vibrant copper. Viciss withdrew his hand. The branches swayed as if in a heavy wind, and then all simultaneously lowered in the Hive-Tree’s best approximation of a bow.

  Janus’s heart panged at the display. There was a time when the five dragons walked the Cradle without fear. There was a time they created merely for the beauty of creation. It might take blood and fire, but Janus swore to use his power to make that time return.

  “I witnessed your spectacle at the marketplace this morning,” Viciss said, breaking the silence.

  Janus’s instincts cried warning. He kept his voice passive and pretended not to notice.

  “A bit messier than I’d prefer,” he said. That, too, was a partial lie. If he had his way the entire city would be drowning in blood. “But the many Faithkeepers and Mindkeepers throughout the city have been far too confident in their duties. I wasn’t inspiring the necessary fear. Now I am.”

  “And the human civilians?”

  “Collateral damage.”

  Viciss himself never moved, but his rage slammed Janus to the street. An unseen weight pressed his neck to the cobbles, and another closed around his throat, denying him breath. The demigod knelt before him and softly lifted his chin with a single finger. Viciss bore no eyes or mouth, but Janus could sense the seething anger toward him.

  “I said no wanton killing.”

  The tension eased about his throat so he might answer.

  “I had… reason,” Janus gasped. “Killed Faithkeeper… as asked. The rest were… part of… the art.”

  The pressure on his throat and neck relinquished.

  “I know your obsessions drive you, Janus. Consider this your lone warning. Another moment of self-indulgence like that and I will unmake you to your core.”

  “Forgive my arrogance,” Janus said. “Is your displeasure why you have summoned me?”

  “No,” the dragon said. He rested against the Hive-Tree as if it were the curved body of a sleeping lover. “I have need of your wisdom, should you have gained any during your excursion through Londheim.”

  “Ask it, and I shall answer,” Janus said. Now was not the time for disrespect.

  “The Sisters appear weak and uninterested in this world. Our imprisonment taxed their strength, but I wonder if the centuries of watching humanity falter sapped their resolve. No matter the reason, they have not made a move against us and we must act accordingly. Preparations near completion, but one aspect still requires consideration.”

  “And what is that?”

  “I require a member of the Keeping Church. They may be from any sacred division, and of any rank, so long as they are beloved by the people. Humanity’s faith in the crumbling establishment must be broken if they are to evolve, and I need a replacement.”

  “And what will the fate be of this lucky chosen? I presume it involves that starlight tear I fetched from the faery village.”

  Viciss pressed his forehead to the Hive-Tree’s bark and then withdrew.

  “Not yet, Janus. We are close, so very close, but this is a secret that cost us our freedom all those centuries ago. Bring me my chosen. The future we dragons desire shall soon come to pass.”

  The demigod vanished without a shimmer of color or vibration of movement through the air. Only the Hive-Tree’s somber drooping of its branches signified Viciss’s departure. Janus felt a sting of sorrow that he could not share the simple creature’s adoration of the demigod who granted him life.

  As for the newly given task, he didn’t need to give it much thought. Throngs of worshippers had already chosen for him.

  “A keeper beloved to the people?” he wondered aloud as he began the process
of changing his face and body. “I believe I know just the woman.”

  CHAPTER 39

  How’s she doing?” Jacaranda asked as Devin shut the door to his room.

  “She’s still asleep,” Devin said. “These prayers must take a lot out of her. It’s like she’s suddenly come down with a fever.”

  “I’m sure she’ll pull through,” Jacaranda said. She sat on the couch, an empty cup in hand. She should have put it away, but she needed something to keep her hands occupied. It seemed when her anxiety and worry heightened, her fingers gained minds of their own. “If she has any of your stubbornness, she’ll be up and about in no time.”

  Devin laughed as he settled into the chair by the fire. Night was approaching, and no doubt he was relaxing before going out on patrol. Hopefully Jacaranda could dissuade him of that notion. She didn’t know how loyal he’d be to the Soulkeeper organization, nor the troubles that might befall him if he didn’t keep his post.

  “Hey, Puffy?” she asked. The little firekin’s eyes emerged from the heart of the flames. “Might we have a moment alone?”

  Puffy bobbed its eyes up and down twice. Its form expanded while flattening, becoming more like a blanket or kite. After a few seconds it whisked up the chimney. The fire on the logs dwindled in the creature’s absence.

  “Is something the matter?” Devin asked. He tilted his head slightly, and though his voice remained light, almost carefree, she could tell he was carefully guarding his emotions.

  “Devin… I need to ask you a favor.”

  “Whatever it is, ask, and I will do my best.”

  Jacaranda struggled for the right words. Requesting his aid would require voicing traumas of the past she desperately wanted to forget. It felt humiliating to expose what had been done to her, like an admission of being a lesser human. This wasn’t her fault, she told herself. Stop feeling shame for what was done by evil men.

  “Devin, my role in Gerag’s estate was… complicated,” she said. Her shoulders pulled inward, and she found herself sinking into the cushions of the couch as if she could shrink herself down to nothing.