39. LEGACY
LEGACY
JACEN
Through a haze of shock, Jacen made himself nod. It might have been the last thing Ogden ever saw.
Seconds later, Ysira reached the old man and felt his neck for a pulse. With a wrenching look, she locked Jacen’s gaze. For a moment, neither could speak.
When Ysira finally managed, each word had a weight to it, as though it caused her pain. “Did you get what you needed?”
Jacen understood. He said quietly, “Yes.”
Ysira reached over Ogden’s body to grip Jacen’s wrist, tight enough to bruise. Her voice broke as she whispered, “Do not let this be in vain.”
More people clogged the entrance. Urien fought his way to the front, stumbling in the sand beside Ogden. He made no sound as he reached for his friend. He seemed as if he might rip off his armor, to the void with the consequences, just to hold Ogden’s still, glassy-eyed face with his bare hands.
Neri stood on the threshold. Behind him, a body lay on the ground. One of the knights? It was difficult to tell. He no longer had a head, the contents of his skull splattered across the floor. Neri’s black tunic was wet with gore, but he could only stare, frozen in horror, at Ogden.
Jacen stood and grabbed the nearest Disciple by the arm. “What happened?”
“Consecration marker,” the man stammered. “Under the scar. Squirmed under his skin like a worm, up his arm—” He had to stop. “Must’ve ripped right through him. Then his head—” He gestured helplessly at the mess.
Turil said they would kill one hundred every hour. This must be how.
Jacen was lightheaded, nauseous as he’d been as a drunk. He probably looked half-mad. He almost envied the Disciples their veils. He stormed out of the cell, whipping his head back and forth until he found Ged Semira.
“I know Ogden told you about the trackers,” Jacen spat. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell your knights to remove—”
But Ged was leaning against the wall, clutching his bloody forearm.
“The enemy already knew our location,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Didn’t see the point in mutilating ourselves before a battle.
And how were we supposed to know—” He took a breath.
Though he tried to hide it, he too was shaken. “Fucking thing’s out now.”
“Leave it here,” Jacen told him. “Tell the others to do the same. It might add to the impression we’re staying here, conceal our real plan.” “You didn’t give it all up, did you?” Ged demanded of him. “What happened in there?”
“The gods know nothing of the plan,” Jacen snapped. He prayed this was true. It had to be. “But Hesaya had a stroke. Ogden’s dead.”
“So, that was a waste,” Ged said. “And we lost another telepath.”
Jacen shook his head. “It wasn’t a waste.” Ged didn’t appear to believe him, but he was not the one who needed to.
Jacen turned to Neri, still motionless on the prison threshold. No time to wonder how much he’d overheard. Jacen bowed his head. “Var Naxal.”
Neri said quietly, “To Zal Fel.”
“You heard him,” Ged roared, much louder. “To the Gate!”
Jacen ushered them onward. As Disciples tried to carry out Ogden’s corpse, Jacen called, “Leave him. We’ll bury our dead when we’ve won.” He nodded to them and to the others who remained to guard Seth. “All of you, go. It’s not safe for you here.”
The Disciples didn’t need telling twice. They obeyed Jacen without question.
Only Nines remained, on her knees near Ogden’s body, arms wrapped tight around herself. Behind them, Seth hung limp in his chains. It made Jacen’s heart seize to look at him, so he tried not to.
“I’m sorry.” Tears still coursed down Nines’ cheeks. “I thought she wouldn’t be a threat in Seth’s body. I was wrong.”
“No.” Jacen knelt across from her. “You weren’t.”
“But she used offensive telepathic powers. She—she killed—”
“Turil did nothing,” said Jacen. “Not alone. She was the conduit for Tharanoth’s power.
” He spoke quickly, laying it out as he’d seen it.
“Turil is largely powerless inside Seth—you were right about that—but Tharanoth’s host is still a telepath.
Ileth’s, too. The two of them forged a channel to Turil, wielding their combined power—that’s why it was so strong.
Turil was just an anchor, showing them where to target.
” Whether that link was some inherent property of archdemons or something unique to the Six gods, Jacen wasn’t certain.
But he knew this much: “She could reach out to them from Seth but only to them.” He paused, giving Nines time to process.
“While Tharanoth and Ileth do this, it’s as if they’re in a trance. I saw them. They’re pinned down.”
Nines’ lips parted. Her eyes narrowed.
“If we can bait them into doing that again,” Jacen said, “our warriors on the station might complete their mission without interference. They could get Neri close enough to finish this without a fight. Now that we know the other gods can use their powers through Turil, we can plan accordingly and defend ourselves.”
“You want to do another exorcism?”
“Not exactly.” Jacen hesitated. “I think I can find that tether again. It lets me speak directly to Tharanoth. I don’t have to beat them—I only have to keep them in that trance long enough for Neri to beat them.”
Nines stared at him. “You need me. That’s why you’re telling me this.” “I’m so sorry, but after Hesaya—”
“I’m all that’s left.”
“Yes,” Jacen said, even as guilt ate at him.
He glanced back at Seth. “We’ll have to bring him through the Gate first, with Urien, Neri, and me.
Urien is Firstborn, so his people will trust him more readily, and .
. . this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve betrayed my own.
You’re my novitiate. We’ll say I persuaded you. ”
“I’m not a good liar,” Nines stammered.
“You don’t have to be,” said Jacen. “I’ll do the talking.
You focus on nothing but keeping Seth sedated.
Monitor his mind, make sure he stays oblivious to his surroundings.
I think Turil needs time to contact Tharanoth and Ileth.
She also needs her host to be clearheaded and focused—or else she would have used their power during the fight at the Gate, or contacted them while Seth was unconscious.
If she can’t reach the other gods, she can’t warn them. ”
But Nines was terrified, so he added, “These parasites . . . they depend on their hosts for everything. We can beat them. You were right, and what happened here was not your fault.”
Nines stared at the sand as though she meant to count every grain. “I don’t want to hurt anyone again. Not even someone like Mother Akkani.”
“I won’t ask you to fight,” Jacen said. “You have my word.” “All right.” Nines bit her lip. “I’ll help.”
Jacen stood and offered her a hand. She took it. But as he pulled her to her feet, she asked, “How did you figure this out?” She hesitated. “I think I’m stronger than you. And I didn’t sense anything like you described.”
“Right.” Jacen blew out a breath. “You’re not . . . incorrect. But I have twenty years of experience on you. Some things, I’ve just learned to notice.”
It was one of the worst lies he’d ever told. Nines seemed almost insulted.
“Hesaya didn’t notice, either,” she pointed out.
Did Jacen want to admit this out loud, to anyone? Of course not. But he was asking something terrible of Nines, which might well cost her life. He owed her nothing less than the truth.
And perhaps a part of him needed to say it, to hear the terrible truth aloud and make it real, so that—somehow—he might begin to make sense of it.
“I found something familiar,” Jacen admitted. “The psychic tether that opened the channel . . . I knew it when I saw it. I’d heard this sort of connection described but never thought I would . . .” He trailed off, shook his head.
Nines watched him, expectation tinged with dread.
“I think—” Jacen sniffed, wiped blood from under his nose. Hands in his robes, he looked past Nines at nothing in particular. “I think Tharanoth is my father.”
Jacen Kheris was, after all, an uncommonly gifted telepath.
He’d been told that all his life and never thought twice about it.
He had assumed it was because the gods favored him.
Because he was special. After a lifetime of wondering where he came from, now that he finally knew, he wanted to forget.
More than anything, he wanted to drink, to drown it all out once more.
Nines cocked her head, as though to examine him from a different angle. She finally said, “When I first saw you, I just thought you were Dalish.”
Despite himself, Jacen barked out a laugh. “That’s what the Church hoped everyone would assume.”
Back in that cell below the Cathedral, Akkani had told Jacen she was the one who found him. She must have known and chose to spare him as a child. Was he the first, or had there been others? Had he appeared any less human, would he have been allowed to live?
With a shudder, he banished the questions from his mind. He did not have the time, and he didn’t want to know.
“I would appreciate,” he said to Nines, “if you didn’t share that with anyone.”
“I won’t,” she assured him. Then her face contorted, and she looked like she might cry again. “Turil said my parents hated me, too.”
“She didn’t sound like she knew for sure,” Jacen said gently. “I doubt she pays close attention to every individual in the peninsula.”
The emotion that overtook Nines, though, was not grief.
Not anxiety. For the first time, it was anger.
Nines said, “She told me I’d always belong to the gods.
She was wrong. I won’t be what they tried to make me.
” Her eyes flicked up toward the ceiling, toward the library and whatever commotion transpired outside.
“I won’t be anyone’s weapon. Not the Church’s, not Naxal’s”—she shuddered—“and not even yours. I won’t be a part of anything like that again. ”
Her gaze bored through Jacen as she spoke into his mind, where one could not lie. They won’t do this to anyone else.
Jacen gave her a single nod. We’ll stop them.
She returned his nod, not exactly trusting, but determined. She followed the others upstairs.
Jacen lingered over Ogden’s body. When he was alone, he crouched and rifled through the old man’s robes. His fingers closed around a cold metal cube.
Even as he tried to bury them, the dead man’s words still echoed in his mind.
His skin prickled when he touched the cube, with an almost-physical aversion. He would not use it. He would not. But neither could he justify going into battle without it—if not as a weapon, as a bargaining chip.
Jacen forced himself to forget the potential consequences long enough to slip the cube into his own pocket. Though he did not yet know—did not quite dare imagine—that to which he spoke, he murmured a prayer.
He schooled his breathing into a steady pattern, steeled himself, and departed.