CHAPTER THIRTY
O ne full day later , in the heaviest part of the night, the battlements signaled that the Bessarabites had been seen. Petra needed no words from Rand when he woke her. His eyes were brighter than the fire in their room, alight with urgency.
With care, Petra moved to lift Lindy into her arms and carry her back to Clemence, but Rand shook his head and whispered she get dressed. There was no time to waste; he would carry the girl back.
Kissing her own fingertips, Petra placed them on the girl’s forehead and then moved aside. Rand scooped up the slumbering body and stole out of the room.
Her fingers shook while fastening her dress, but her thoughts were ordered. Although her teeth chattered, she found nothing sat on her chest, making it hard to breathe. Simultaneously, she felt capable and small. One did not outweigh the other and it left her body oddly suspended from her mind. She felt weightless.
The mark, however, continued to sizzle.
“I won’t be distracted,” she mumbled aloud.
Deciding to leave her hair unfastened, in the hope that it would give her small stature gravitas, Petra finished dressing as Rand returned.
They had gone over the plan countless times. Rand’s men were prepared. At first sight of the enemy, an agreed-on signal would go up from the battlements. A soldier on the ground would immediately saddle Loom.
Meanwhile, she and him would go to the fort’s small prison. There, Rand would be shackled to a wall. His feet would be bound and around his waist more rope tied at the end of which were large building bricks. Half of his men would wait around him in the hope of holding him back. Even though a crutch would be under one arm, Yates had promised he would take his sword to Rand and use all of Shivalry upon him.
However, the men had been informed that Rand was, essentially, blind when Sacrifice overtook him. Violence should not be used on him. They were to use their bodies like weights and force their captain to push them aside.
With Rand restrained, Petra was to run. At the gate, the soldiers would ensure she was safely mounted on Loom, and the gates opened. Petra was to ride hard, trusting the animal to understand her rudimentary guiding of the reins.
Rand did not know how far she would get before he ceased to be in pain and transformed. Petra did not know what would happen when she invoked Eternity. They both agreed, however, that her level of danger would affect his might.
I must give them a reason to capture me if I cannot persuade them that there is a force stronger than human muscle in my wake.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Ready me, then, for I am not.”
Petra put her arms around him. “We cannot linger!”
He grabbed her by the back of the neck. “I know.”
Instead of letting go, his mouth crashed down on hers. He deepened the kiss and stole her air, lifting her up and crushing her body into his. Mercilessly swift. She staggered to find her balance when he set her down, winded, and her muscles aflame for more.
“I love you,” he panted, chest heaving.
“We have to go!”
“Tell me you love me before I lose my mind and myself this night!”
“You know I love you or how could I do this?!”
He snarled, grabbed her wrist, and kicked open the door.
She barely felt the steps diminish beneath her feet. His grip was harsh, but she relished the pain. It felt like the only connection that could be between them right now.
Hurt me so I can feel you when I ride out. I want mottled skin so I can look down and know you are with me, suffering like me.
Out into the square, Petra saw Loom, saddled and ready. One of the soldiers held a lit torch. The other was rubbing the elk’s legs, warming him from days and days of standing in a stall. Loom pawed the ground and grumbled, sensing the energy around him.
“Pin your knees to his sides,” Rand said. “His gait is smooth, but it will feel strange to you.”
“Alright.”
“Don’t dwell on how to use the reins. It’s more intuitive than you might imagine.”
“Yes.”
He spoke over his shoulder. She was fairly running to match his pace, yet they were talking about the basics of riding as if it were a pleasant spring afternoon. In just a moment, she would watch her husband be shackled like a criminal so she could tear at his insides by leaving in the name of...what? Hope? Desperation? Pride?
It might be pride. I couldn’t accept that Aldney was gone. I walked into The Cloistered City like I had a right to know a truth he tried to keep hidden from me. I pushed against my brother, and it led me to uproot the life of someone I loved without knowing. I’m doing it again. This time with my eyes wide open. Yet now there’s no turning back. Eternity has seen me shake my fist and waits for me to make good upon my word.
At the entrance to the prison, Yates met them. He saluted Rand and bowed as best he could to Petra. He led the way inside.
Only necessary lanterns had been lit, bringing enough warmth into the air that Petra smelled dust, urine, and the decaying aroma of straw. It turned her stomach, and she concentrated on her husband’s iron grip.
“What signal will she give?” Yates asked.
“Signal?”
“Yes,” Rand answered. “The men must know when they can attack. I won’t be able to give it.”
Another of the men stepped forward. Bowing, he held out a small, tied, cloth bundle not bigger than the size of Petra’s palm.
“My lady. This is pulverized stone we have colored red. Throw it up with all your might. Two men on the battlements will be looking. When they see it, all of Mynydd will ride forward.”
“Forwin is in agreement with this?” Petra asked, tucking the pouch between her breasts with care.
Yates cleared his throat and winked at Petra.
“Forwin has come down with a strange fever that has left him unconscious.”
Petra looked at all the men. In turn, they looked at the ground.
“I was not privy to the origins of Forwin’s fever,” Rand stated.
Yates shrugged. “More important things are on your mind.”
“Vastly important,” he replied, pulling Petra’s hand to his mouth and kissing it as if a fever stirred within him. “It’s come to it.”
“Yes,” she managed.
“I will come for you.”
Tears blurred her vision and poured over her cheeks.
“I know.”
“Go, now. Do not watch them restrain me.”
“Rand...”
“Take her from here!” he commanded.
Before she could protest, one of the men cuffed her around the waist and put her over his shoulder. Her husband turned away. Chains rattled. She heard Rand groan. Then the prison door was slammed shut before the groan turned into a roar.
Jostled and having difficulty breathing with the soldier’s shoulder digging under her ribs, Petra shut her mind’s eye to imagining Rand. His roar echoed in her skull. The wild state of her thoughts envisioned his eyes rolling back in his head, his teeth clenched together, as he dropped to the ground, writhing in pain.
What if he tried to mask the pain by inflicting harm on himself?
I can’t do this! I can’t!
“Put me down!”
“I have orders, my lady!”
“Put me down so my husband and your captain does not die!”
“Steady yourself, my lady.”
She screamed. She pounded on his back and kicked with all her might, but the soldier followed orders.
Astride Loom’s back he placed her. She slapped his face, and he handed her the reins. Her bones felt bruised, and the mark rumbled. Petra saw herself take the leather straps as if she hovered above a woman whose throat was swollen, making it hard to swallow. A woman who could hear her blood pulse and see darkness creeping in at the outer rim of her vision.
This woman did not acknowledge the dagger that was thrust at her. It was strapped to her leg and there was a command for her to use it any way she needed.
Then Loom was smacked on the rump. The gates of Mynydd were opening and the elk’s hooves cobbled against the stone. Her body jolted under the sudden shock of speed. Instinct forced her to yank on the reins so she wouldn’t fall off and, suddenly, she was back within herself.
I cannot fail. He is sacrificing for me. Now I shall do the same .
On the horizon, the full force of Bessarabiah’s army loomed. Rows and rows of men astride horses, dozens deep. This might be every able-bodied man in the nation, armed and ready to fight.
All of them could trample her until her body was part of the earth. She was foolish but there was no turning back. She was rebelling against the emperor. Because of her, his plan would be for naught. What if she triumphed here only to be beheaded later? And Rand with her. Would all of this be worth it?
Yes. Lives will still be saved. I cannot fear the cost .
Clods of frozen dirt flung up behind her, hacked free by Loom’s hooves. In the frostbitten air, devoid of any scent, Petra wished she could have a moment to bury her nose in the ground and smell the soil.
Before she was old enough to wield a hoe, she remembered sitting at her mother’s feet, playing in the upturned ground. Often her mother would turn over her shoulder and tell Petra she mustn’t disturb the soil. The ground would give them food and they must give the ground seeds and freedom from weeds. Earth and people lived much closer than they realized.
The hoofbeat’s rhythm, rollicking and rolling, drove her memories further. Petra recalled complaining when her mother wiped her little hands clean. This was usually when Aldney would call his sister a dust-clump calf. And when she giggled, about to throw a fistful of soil at her brother, her mother reprimanded them both and reminded her children that nothing begets nothing.
Like now, if she gave up. Without trying an entire community would be without their lives.
The trees seemed like dark sketches of coal on white crumpled paper. Straggled bushes were barren sentinels, watching her from their starved vantage points. Loom left them all behind. The cadence of her heart aligned with his gallop, pounding fear and anticipation.
She might be fired upon before she was close enough to be heard. Already, there might be eyes trained on her; she was the only moving shape on the barren ground. Through the hollow howl of the wind racing past her ears, Petra tried to hear if voices raised. She tried to decipher flashes of hand guns, despite her jostled vision.
Do I stop if they warn me? Do I obey their warning in the hope they will obey mine? Or am I more likely to be taken seriously if I push forward?
“Could you dodge a shot, Loom? Rand says you are the very best.”
At length, her knuckles frozen around the reins, she was able to make out faces. Of course she had been spotted. It did not seem as if weapons were trained upon her, but her vision was in pieces.
At the front line, four men carrying flags flanked a man seated on a dappled horse. The shoulder pads on his armor were bigger than his subordinates. He wore no crown, but his face was wide and flat with the upward turn of a man accustomed to his own way. His was also the pace all the others kept.
Doing her best, Petra pulled the reins slightly off to one side, not wanting to jerk Loom’s neck but direct him towards the leader. The elk snorted at her attempt but veered his direction.
“Good boy. Just get me there.”
A silent arrow zipped by. Petra saw it the moment it would have been too late. The miss was on purpose. Her throat constricted and she coughed on her own saliva.
Two more whizzed past.
Will they hit me before they know why I’ve come? If I ignore their warning, will they let me approach? What do I do?
Petra shook the reins from her right hand and thrust it into the air, fingers outstretched.
“Who goes there?” A voice shouted. “Halt!”
Petra waved her arm. The command was repeated but she saw the leader raise his hand in acknowledgement.
Leaning back, Petra pulled on the reins and Loom came to a stomping, snorting stop.
“I bear a warning for Bessarabiah!” she croaked, the sound of her voice erased by her dry, shriveled throat.
Now, please hear my prayer! Now I need what you burdened me and Rand with. I want to use it as a blessing to save lives. Help me, Heaven!
She cupped both hands on either side of her mouth. “I bear a warning for Bessarabiah! Hear me!”
The leader glanced at his guards and the flags waved from side to side. Then, like a machine from the West powering down, rows and rows of horses and riders drew to a stop.
“What say you, wench? Does Mynydd send a woman with word of their surrender?”
Do I come nearer? If I shout from here, will my words have weight?
Somewhat ungracefully, Petra nudged Loom’s flanks. The elk looked back at her but obeyed.
From a distance, they had looked imposing. Now, less than one kilometer from her, she could hear their horses neigh and paw the ground. She could hear the heavy clank and chink of armor. Surrounded by a rocky tundra, she felt infinitely small.
The smell of animal sweat, human sweat, and the general aroma of body odor moved like a cloud towards her. Halved by the frigid air, it still curled under Petra’s nose. If she made a face, it might be her last.
“I come to warn you as no one else can!”
The leader stared at her without reaction. His attendants tipped their heads. One grinned and snorted with derision. A woman with a warning? What a joke.
Clearing her throat, Petra spoke on. “Hear me! Your women and children must be weary of this fight. I can tell you, without shame, that Mynydd is weary, too. Bring comfort to your families and go back. For though Mynydd is weakened, a...a monster is waiting to be unleashed!”
“A monster, say you? Pray tell, what kind?” one of the attendees gibed.
“Days ago, three of your men were sent out for reconnaissance. They never returned, did they?”
Eyes darted left and right but no one replied.
“I assume” she continued, “men were sent in search of them. Tell me, what did those men find?”
One of the flag men’s mouths fell open and the ruddiness in his cheeks from the cold drained away. Petra locked eyes with him.
“You saw, didn’t you? Those scouts were mangled and bloodied beyond recognition. Beyond the weapons of man or the claws of a predator.”
Bessarabiah’s leader’s eyes narrowed. “Are you a sorceress? How can you know this?”
“Those men encountered a woman and child. I am she and the men were killed by my husband. I am Lady Petra Ondise Tsenturian, and I bear the mark of Sacred! My husband is my Sacrifice. If trouble nears me, he becomes more than a man. I tell you, go back! Do not force his power. It comes from Eternity.”
“Witch!” shouted a voice.
“She cries falsehoods! Kill her!”
“’Tis a bluff! Ignore her and ride on!”
The leader gaped at Petra as if he would discern her soul. On either side, his men barked. She must be a witch. She was lying. It was a threat. No magic but a bigger weapon than they could face, and the mere act of warning was a merciful insult, after rejecting Sunniva.
“Do not let your women bury more men!” Petra yelled. “Do not make your sons and daughters orphans!”
The man whose complexion had dwindled called out. “My king, I saw the bodies...”
“She bluffs!” cried another. “Mynydd sends a woman to warn an army? It’s an insult!”
Cheers and hoots rippled up. Phlegm was spat in her direction. Genitals grabbed. Burps and flatulence. Offensive gestures like knuckles and wrists being bitten. They cursed her and shouted vulgar things.
All the while, though, their ruler remained motionless and silent.
Petra did not look away from him. In her mind, she willed him to believe her. In her mind, she told him of the damage their attacks had done. She told him of the little girl who lost her mother, and the man crushed by their catapult. As if he could read her thoughts, Petra told him her husband was currently chained and suffering.
“Prove it!”
“What?”
The king shouted louder. “Prove it, she-herald! Show us what Eternity has done to you!”
Petra shook her head. “You will only see a scar that looks like a tattoo. It racks my body with thunder, but you will see a burn mark!”
“Prove it or take your last breath!”
They won’t believe it. They will see but not believe. The only way to prove what I say is to initiate this final fight. So be it. This must end.
From herself, she flung her cloak. She pulled out the pouch and held it between her teeth. Then, with difficulty, she grabbed the hem of her dress and yanked it over her breasts. The bite from the air was a shock against the way her insides pounded but almost a welcome relief. She pulled the dagger around her leg free before she sliced her skin open just above the mark. Blood spilled over and immediate dizziness drenched her.
Petra flung the pouch in the air and spoke with a voice beyond her body. It rang clear as a ginormous bronze bell.
“Upon this mark I lay my hand and claim the unpayable debt! Heaven hears me as I twist the words written on the Antediluvian! I am Sacred, created to his price of Sacrifice. I speak the words of claim. In me set bone and blood lain. I take the price of my husband’s sacrifice!”
Thunder erupted and lightning split the sky. A force flung Petra off Loom and pinned her to the ground. In the distance were the cries of soldiers, flooding out of the fort gates. Ahead of them, though, roaring like a beast from times forgotten, light moved in the shape of a man. The height of a tree, each step shook the ground, and the figure’s arms swung like gusts of wind.
There were terrorized screams. There were cries to ride forth and fight. Beneath her, the ground shook. Horses galloping. Elk charging. And the rhythmic thud of Rand’s colossal stride.
Petra tried to turn her head, but her body was paralyzed. Blackness crept further into her vision. Above her, the sky seemed to crystallize and shake. Clouds shivered and shattered, breaking down onto the earth in glinting shards. Many of them pierced her torso. Many more pinned her arms and legs. It should have been excruciating but she felt nothing.
The ink in her eyes bled on. Above and around her darkened. With every reserve of her strength, she tried to turn her head and see Rand. His eyes would be black as hers would soon be and she wanted him to be the last thing she saw.
Rand!
Too late. Her world drowned in black. She opened her mouth to scream but her consciousness was ripped from her.