Chapter 41 The Cloudgate #2
Wells had been drilled into her heartwood, tapping the chimeric that had once been her blood, and it broke my heart as surely as a rabbit under my mother’s blade.
This ancient tree was dead, felled by the Rhi’Ahr years ago to wage an endless war, and it was only the lingering, fading echo of a powerful spirit that had given the Touchstone her life.
Kirianae of the House WoodRaven, Guardian of the Cloudgate, Goddess of Lindurithain.
She was the Touchstone, as well as the Nil’hellyn and the Andomiehr and suns knew how many others.
She was all of them, and, in some ways, now me.
I touched the pendant around my neck. The House WoodRaven was here.
“Welcome to the Cloudgate,” came a voice, as Kier Gavriel Thanavar stepped out of the trees.
He was covered in blood, his gold-shot eyes fixed and intense, ignoring the others as he strode across the sand.
In his hand was a head, and he dropped it without care, like an apple core, to the ground.
I swallowed as he stopped beside me, chest heaving, jaw tight, and I could feel the runes pour off him in waves, deeper, more powerful than ever before.
“There are no more Rhi’Ahr on the island,” he said. It was the roll of distant thunder.
But he was different. His skin glowed in the early morning light, the threads of gold pulsing like my runescars, and I knew it was the chimeric burning him from within.
The truth struck me, sudden and merciless. The gold in his eyes had never been a trick of the light. He was more than a Priestlord. He’d always been more.
He was a Dreadmage.
Born of the old magik, bound to the chimeric, and—Forge help me—the keeper of my heart.
He bent on one knee beside me and touched trembling, chimeric-laced fingers to the bark of the Tree.
“Kirianae, forgive me,” he said, and he lowered his head. “Mey’mehr.”
Mother.
My breath left my chest in a shuddering rush, and I laid a hand on his shoulder, not fighting the tears that fell now. She had loved him for ten years, had saved him and raised him and taught him her ways. The goddess and the little boy she took as her own.
“I cannot hear her,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
I looked to the bay, where the Touchstone lay beached.
Touchstone? I asked, hoping against hope that I’d hear something. A warmth, a growl, a murmur of her sails. There was nothing, no echo, no sound, save the distant thrum of the Dreadwall a way off the shore. The island was holding its breath.
He turned his face to me. Tears streamed down his gaunt cheeks. I raised a hand to wipe them away, and he tried to smile at me.
“Forgive me,” he said. “But I must finish this. I must do what we came here to do.”
“I know,” I said. “We’re here to help you. Together, we’ll end this madness.”
“Aro’el,” he said. “My runechaser.”
“Kier Gavriel,” I said.
And he kissed me, so sad and so deep, full of longing and sorrows, at the same time hopeless yet pleading for hope.
I clasped both hands on his face, rose on my knees to meet him, to catch him, to hold him as he fell.
I was his kedge, his rudder, his keel. My runescars gleamed and his golden threads burned, and together, we beamed with chimeric and life.
Finally, he pulled away, his sea-deep eyes dancing, and he smiled at me. Suns. It was the suns.
He rose to his feet and pulled me up with him.
We turned to face the ironmages, the first mate, and the faun.
Dev stood with hands on hips, looking every inch a regal prince in the boots of a pirate.
His dark eyes were serious, his usually laughing mouth a tight line, and my heart swelled at the thought of him as king.
Bryn’nyd King of Oversea, the Stolen Prince Come Home.
With a deep breath, Kier looked over to the horizon. Between the flickering curtain of Dreadwater, I could see sails in the gap.
“Six Navy ships will be here within the hour,” he said. “But from the air, I could also see seven Rhi’Ahr warbirds bearing down on our shores from the south.”
He looked down.
“When I set to bring the Touchstone home, I did not think her mere presence would open the Channel. She is no longer the Tree and cannot close it.”
If she’s even alive, I thought darkly, and my heart ached in my chest.
“We will need to repair the Dreadwall,” he said. “But first, we must close this oldest of gaps.”
“Do not trouble yourself with the Channel,” said my mother. “It is now the responsibility of the Court of Sand.”
My heart stopped beating. Kier’s head shot up.
Forge.
“Our agreement is fulfilled,” said Tek, moving to stand at my mother’s right.
“You have brought us to the Cloudgate,” said Liskeel, shifting to her left. “You are discharged from your obligations and may return to your ships.”
Kier growled, but my mother raised her proud, elegant chin.
“We will repair the Dreadwall, Priestlord,” she said. “But the Channel will be managed by the Court of Sand.”
My stomach twisted as the realization hit me. This was always her plan. To control the Cloudgate. To control the power of the chimeric for the northern helm. I should have known. This was all my mother had ever wanted. Magik, power, and the authority to wield it.
I glared at her, and she smiled at me, as sly and cunning and deadly as a serpent.
“You serve the king,” I breathed. “You’ll give him the northern Channel and access to all the chimeric he wants.”
Kier squared his shoulders, eyes darkening, and straightened to his full height. I could feel the armor slide on, piece by steely piece. I could feel the runes gather like storm clouds as his fingers began to spark.
“I will not allow it,” he said.
There was a snarl from the tree line as a tusk cat slunk into view.
“What do you think it costs to save the life of a prince?” she asked.
The sand at our feet began to shift into spiders, into scorpions and snakes.
“This will never be the Court of Sand,” he warned. “And you will never be Priestlords.”
“We don’t need to be,” she purred. “We are ironmages.”
Suns and moons, this was their game. This great game, Kier had said so long ago. A vile band who bartered in loss and stolen dreams. My heart was racing, my thoughts tumbling like pebbles down a hill.
Driftwood began to lift, began to spin in deadly blades.
“No,” I snapped. “You’re wrong!”
All heads swung my way.
“This was not the agreement,” I said. “In the courtyard, when you tried to kill us all, you chose me as payment.”
I raised my chin.
“You said you wanted me, not because of the chimeric but because of my blood,” I said, hands crackling with rune. “So, you can’t make bargains without me, the original broker, the first and best prize. No deals, no trades, no whispers in the dark.”
Her eyes flashed at me.
“Such a stubborn child,” she said. “You never listened. So willful. So wayward. So wretched and proud.”
Words. Words. How they became knives.
Chaser, come home.
“I am, Mother,” I said, my chin beginning to tremble, my lips quivering and tight.
“I am willful and wayward, wretched and proud. But you made me this way, and for that, I’m grateful.
You were ambitious and hard, and I know that’s how life molded you.
You battled the world and fought for what you wanted.
I can accept that it wasn’t my father or me.
We were merely steps along your journey, nothing more. ”
Her expression had changed from fury to shock, as this time, my words were the arrows, hitting home one by one. I stepped forward, so close I could feel her warmth cutting against my skin.
“Valor,” I said, using her given name. “You’re relentless, and you’ve made me relentless in turn.
Relentless and bold and hungry and proud.
You did your best to shape me, to cut through this hard, cold world, and I will map my own stars the way you did yours.
I learned to run, and I learned to fight, and I’ve learned that those are not bad things. They’re not bad at all.”
I didn’t need to see him. I could feel Kier behind me, giving me strength by letting me lead.
And if I failed, he would catch me. Just like the Touchstone, he’d never let me fall.
“But I’ve learned that my stars aren’t made up solely of magik or pride or ambition or even duty. They include friendship and family and sacrifice and…”
My voice caught in my throat. I swallowed it back.
“And love. I’m no longer a wretched woman from a lost frigate, no longer a wayward girl run away from the Spits. I’m a runechaser, Mother. The vessel of Goddess Lindurithain, Kirianae of the Tree.”
Her eyes were brimming with tears now. I wished I knew if they were real.
“And what I’ve learned in these last months is that the Touchstone chose me, not in spite of my imperfections but because of them. I’m a mage because I’m stubborn. I chased chimeric because I am proud.”
I could feel Echo’s eyes on me, beaming with pride and gentle joy.
There was silence on the Cloudgate as the island held its breath.
“You are the most powerful mages in Oversea,” I said finally, and I glanced at the three of them.
“Magisters Tekamorian, Liskeel, and Valor Renn. But you are all wrong. Fear is not the best magik of all. You can’t be honored if you are without honor.
You can’t be respected if you respect none.
We need to repair the Dreadwall to give our helm a chance at peace… ”
I swept my hand at Devanhan Fahr, the Stolen Prince of Oversea.
“To give this man a chance to make the helms right when he takes the throne.”
He smiled at me. Foggin’ Bryn’nyd. Friend and future king.
“Because he will be king, Mother. And you can trust me when I say, it won’t go well for you to have these men, or me, as enemies.”
My legs trembled, and I felt like melting into a puddle between the rocks. Then Kier stepped up behind me, his hand steady on my shoulder. I felt whole with him there. Stronger with him at my back.
I lifted my chin. “The Channel is no more than another gap in the Dreadwall. And we will close all the gaps this day. We will end this ceaseless war. With or without you, Mother.”
Silence stretched taut as a bowline, but I didn’t look away.
I met her eyes—eyes that had raised me, shaped me, broken me—and I saw myself staring back.
My pride. My fire. My refusal to yield. She had made me stubborn so I would survive, and now that same stubbornness stood against her, facing her down.
My mother didn’t reply. Just turned her head to gaze out across the water, and I tried to ignore the sinking in my chest.
“So?” Kier asked. “Will you help us repair the Dreadwall and close the Channel? You may not have the power, but, now that you have been challenged by this glorious young woman, I wonder if you might have the will.”
I didn’t want to see them. I wanted to hide away in his shadows, tuck myself like a little crab under his wing. No shell for me, only heart. Only hope and pride and a stubborn refusal to crack.
“We will help you,” said Tek finally.
“We will repair the Dreadwall,” said Liskeel.
My mother settled her eyes on me again. They shone like the stars. Suns, she was beautiful.
“And we will serve…our future king.”
And she nodded slowly at Dev. He grinned at her, using his own charms to seal that alliance.
Forge, I knew it had to be useful sometime.
“Right,” he said, and he clapped his hands together. “It’s time to get down to work.”