Voice of war, p.26
Voice of War, page 26
part #1 of Threadlight Series
Chrys took a step toward her. “When I found you in the basement of the Bloodthieves, I didn’t see a hint of fear in you. There aren’t many people in the world that react that way when they’re in danger. Trust me, it’s my job to find them. I’m that way too. That look in your eye right now, I know that look. So, go ahead and protest as much as you want, but you and I both know that there’s nothing in this world you’d rather do than run toward adventure.”
Laurel’s veins were on fire. With each word he spoke, she felt seen. Chrys understood her, heart and soul, and he was right. As much as she wanted answers from the elders, the truth wasn’t going anywhere. The coreseal could wait. They needed her, and she needed this.
“Gale take you all, but I’m in.”
Willow perked up. “It’s settled then. Laurel and I will head out first thing in the morning and we should make it to Alchea by nightfall.”
Chrys and Iriel looked at each other, both understanding that Iriel had won but neither letting it show on their face. Chrys turned to Willow. “Luther will be home. Laz is usually at The Black Eye tavern. He loves their milk stout. If he’s not there, you can ask around. I’ve never actually been to Laz’s place. Reina may be at The Black Eye as well, if you’re lucky. Otherwise, she’s living with a guy off Beryl Boulevard near the orphanage. And you already know where Pandan is.”
“Yes,” Willow added. “Unless they’ve moved him.”
Laurel already felt the rush of anticipation. She was going deep into grounder territory to rescue a spy. A huge smile crossed her lips. “So how do we get in?”
Willow smiled. “Ever heard of a skysail?”
Chapter 27
Dark clouds passed overhead as the sun set on the treetop metropolis. It was early in the year for rain, but not uncommon to have spouts of cloud coverage and light mists of rainfall. Laurel had spent the evening in one of the guest rooms of the elder’s lodge. After the arguments last time she’d been home, she still had no desire to return and try to smooth it over. They could come to her.
She awoke early to the sound of knocking at the door. Willow Valerian stood tall outside, clean again and brimming with nobility. Her dark hair seemed longer somehow now that it was clean. Laurel grabbed the bag she’d packed the night before and followed Willow away from the lodge. The sun was still rising far to the east, which gave off a blinding glare as they followed the wooden walkway.
A guard had been posted just outside of the city to make sure Chrys and his family didn’t leave. Technically they were not Chrys and his family so, with a little convincing, the guard let them pass and told them he’d deal with the consequences.
Laurel had wanted them to drift, but Willow was against the unnecessary use of their power. She understood the reasoning, especially for an older threadweaver, but their pace felt sluggish and lifeless compared to her normal speed. She’d been using her threadweaving a lot over the past few months, and the world was starting to feel dull without it.
She was most grateful for the quiet. Nothing but the sound of the passing wind and the occasional bird’s song as they followed the long wooden path to the edge of the Fairenwild. Laurel had been worried Willow would want to talk the whole way, but the older woman appeared to have her own thoughts to digest.
When they reached the edge of the Fairenwild, they dropped down to the surface, pushing on their corethread to soften the landing. The Alchean countryside east of the Fairenwild flaunted varying shades of green as far as the eye could see. Far to the east, the Everstone Mountains peeked their crests over the distant horizon.
Laurel thought about what it would be like to live in Alchea. The sheer number of people made it hard to imagine. Living in a city where you knew less than one percent of the population? It would be overwhelming. In Zedalum, she was one connection away from everyone. If she didn’t know someone personally, she knew someone who did. Something about the inherent anonymity excited her. She could be whoever she wanted. No one would judge her. No one would expect anything of her. She’d be free.
Willow broke the long silence without breaking pace. “Just so you know, after we’ve convinced the others to help, you are free to leave. The last thing we need is you getting stabbed by a stray blade.”
Laurel wasn’t sure how she should respond. Mothers were supposed to be soft and gentle, but Willow was hard. Maybe motherhood was different in the grounder city, or maybe she was just focused on rescuing Pandan. It made sense; he was Willow’s brother. If it were Bay in that dungeon, Laurel would do anything to get him out, no matter the consequence.
After passing a stretch of farmland, they reached the outer rim of Alchea proper. Small homes littered the barren streets. They passed by an elderly couple happily chatting as they hung wet clothing out to dry. Ominous rainclouds threatened to sabotage the process.
Laurel had never considered settling down. The world was too vast, she was too young, and her dreams were too grand to be dammed by a boy. It didn’t help that she had never had someone in that way but, even if she had, she wouldn’t throw away her dreams for it. She had everything she needed: ambition and threadlight.
Empty streets filled as they entered the westside markets. Inns and taverns nestled up next to barbers and clothing shops, all bustling with residents and guests. Laurel found the variety of clothing among the grounders quite strange. Some dressed like her in beige and browns, but others wore bright colors, flamboyant headwear, or dresses that seemed insufficient for the cold weather.
Laurel and Willow traveled with their hoods up. They followed Chrys’ directions toward a small tavern. Willow posted up in an alley out back, and Laurel stepped inside.
The Black Eye was full of drunken men, and men who were well on their way. It was nicer inside than she’d expected, especially given the name, but, then again, she’d never been to a grounder tavern before.
She spotted them immediately. Laz’s bright red hair stuck out like a bonfire in a field. The Alirian woman, Reina, sat on the far side of the table, straddling the line between drunkenness and sobriety. Three rough looking men and a pretty brunette barkeep sat at the table with them. One of the men, a scrawny man with a snarl to his lip, ranted about the whiskey having gone bad while the woman argued that it was impossible for whiskey to go bad. Laz sat back laughing as he sipped away at a mug.
She started making her way over when she overheard two drunkards at a table to her right, speaking as if they each were deaf.
“…swear it. I heard it from Gill who was posted in the temple when it happened. The General went into the altar room and slaughtered the recorder in cold blood! Then he snatched a priest and escaped out one of the back doors.”
“I still can’t believe someone would do something like that. Guess they called him the Apogee for a reason.”
“Aye. And I heard from Jaysin that they got the priest, but the general got away. Can’t ‘spect they are going to make it far in there, ‘specially with a baby in tow.”
“Wait, he escaped from Gen’ral Furious with a baby in his arms?”
“You’re an idiot. Ain't no one gonna start callin’ Jurius General Furious. Aint no one else dumb enough to risk their neck when he hears you say it!”
“Shut it. Let’s see what happens if Gen’ral Furious comes after me! I ain’t scared a’ him.”
“You should be if you know what’s good for ya. Old or no, he’s still a weaver.”
Laurel snapped her head back away from the table. She needed to focus. The first step was to get Laz and Reina to meet up with Willow outside so she could explain the situation.
She approached the table confidently and nodded to them all. “Good evening.”
One of the men at the far end of the table looked Laurel up and down. He was a scrawny gentleman with a smile far less charismatic than he believed. “Well, hello. Always room at the table for a precious gem like yourself.”
“Calm yourself, Roy.”
Before Reina could finish, Laurel had opened herself to threadlight, grabbed hold of the thread between herself and a half-full mug of ale, and pushed it. The cup catapulted itself across the table, colliding with Roy’s chest and soaking him with lukewarm fermentation.
He stood up, appalled. “Stones, girl. What’s your problem!? Are you insane!?” Dripping with ale and embarrassment, he grabbed his things and stormed off in a rage.
“Ha!” Laz’s deep, guttural voice burst out in laughter. “I like this one! Come, come. Anyone that offends Roy is friend of me. I am Laz. Please, please. Take seat.”
As they sat down Laz and Reina studied her. Laurel caught them both eyeing her pockets and inspecting her lower legs. When she realized that they were looking for weapons, it made her feel respected. They knew she was dangerous and awarded her the appropriate level of scrutiny. When Laz’s eye returned to her leg for a second time, she wondered if maybe he was just…ew.
“Do I know you?” Reina cocked her head to the side, bringing her hand up to her cheek as she observed Laurel. “Not many threadweavers I don’t know. You do look awfully familiar.”
Laurel turned to the other two men and the barkeep. “Would you three excuse us? I’ve a rather personal matter to discuss with these two.”
The two men stood up hesitantly, eyeing Laurel as they made their way toward the other side of the tavern. The barkeep scowled, rolling her eyes as she looked down at the mess made from the spilled ale under Roy’s seat. She left without a word.
“Stones.” Reina’s eyes lit up as reality dawned on her. “Lightfather be damned. You’re her.”
Laz looked to Reina. “Who? She is who?”
“From the warehouse.”
Laz whipped his head back toward Laurel and his eyes grew wide. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He pursed his lips and swore. “Stones.”
Laurel took a seat and raised a finger to her mouth. “Never had a chance to thank you. Reina and Laz, right? Chrys sent me. Said we could trust you. His mother is outside. We need your help.”
“Chrys’ mother?” Laz asked. “Ha! Is great news!”
Reina slapped his arm. “The guards are still watching. Don’t act suspicious. Where is Chrys?”
Laurel wasn’t sure the red-headed man was sane. There was just something about him that she didn’t trust. She continued to let threadlight swim through her veins, prepared for anything. The tavern had less than a dozen people inside spread out across the large room. Laurel watched each of them.
“Chrys is safe. Willow will tell you everything.”
Laz eyed the guards. “Problem is guards. Follow us everywhere.”
Reina nodded and looked at Laurel. “If you can distract the guards for a minute, Laz and I can sneak out and meet you out back. I think they’ve had a little to drink themselves. Shouldn’t be hard.”
Laurel looked at the guards, both taking occasional glances their way. “Just tell me what to do.”
Reina laughed. “You’re a pretty girl. And with blue eyes like that, just flirt a little. Those two will eat it up.”
Flirt? Threadlight ran through Laurel’s veins. Theoretically, she knew what she needed to do. Realistically? It couldn’t be that hard. “I can do it.”
No one moved. Reina and Laz sat staring at her with a twinkle in their eye.
“Wait,” Laurel paused. “Now?”
They both nodded.
Laurel rose from the table and took a breath. As she took a step toward the guards, she was grateful that they were both rather plain looking. They were also both much older than her, probably mid-twenties.
As she approached, one of the guards looked her up and down and nudged the other. She smiled and took a seat on a stool next to them. She opened her mouth to speak and realized she had no idea what to say or what to do. She froze.
“Can I help you?” the first guard asked.
“A drink maybe?” asked the other, leaning forward.
Laurel panicked and raised up two fingers.
“Two drinks? Stones, girl. With a frame like that?” He laughed and raised a hand. “Hey, Barb. Two drinks for my friend.”
The other extended his hand. “And what do I call you?”
“Laur—” She responded without thinking of using an alias. She switched mid-name and used the first alternative she could think of. “C—”
She stopped. Corian was a boy’s name. They’d never believe that.
After an uncomfortable pause, the first guard looked at her and raised a brow. “Lork? Like a Fork?”
“With a waist like that, I’d say she fairs better as a little spoon.”
It took all of Laurel’s willpower not to grab the nearest fork and stab them both. She’d distracted them long enough, right?
With the warmth of threadlight in her veins, she made a decision. Laurel stood up, grabbed her stool, and pushed it as hard as she could at the guards. It launched from her hands and crashed into both of their heads. They fell to the floor, and their drinks exploded into the air.
Laurel turned to the barmaid and smiled. “I’m…sorry about that.”
Then she ran.
Once outside, Laurel rushed around the building into the alley. Laz and Reina were waiting for her, and she led them around the next corner.
“What was that loud noise before you came out?” Reina asked.
Laurel kept her eyes forward. “They spilled their drinks.”
Around the next corner, Willow stood waiting for them. Her eyes lit up when she saw them. Laurel hadn’t seen Willow smile since they’d left Zedalum, but Willow knew that if she wanted to rescue her brother, she’d need Reina and Laz on their side.
Willow embraced them both. “It is good to see you.”
“We’re just happy that Chrys is okay,” Reina said. “We knew none of that nonsense about him rising up in rebellion was true.”
“No. There’s a lot we have to discuss,” Willow agreed. “I’m just glad you recognized Laurel. We worried the guards would know who I was.”
Laz gave a toothy grin. Laurel wasn’t sure the man had ever stopped smiling since she’d arrived. “I knew Chrys would find her! He is resourceful man.”
“Actually, I found him,” Laurel countered. “Half-dead and about to be eaten by my chromawolf.”
“Hold on a second,” Reina said, cocking her head to the side. “Your chromawolf?”
“Not now,” Willow said. “Chrys said you could help us.”
“With what?” Reina asked.
Willow leaned forward and smiled. “We need to break into Endin Keep.”
Chapter 28
There was something comforting about incarceration. Over the last few weeks, Alverax had grown accustomed to the warmth of cold steel and cold shoulders. His optimism wasn’t completely unfounded. If Alabella had wanted him dead, he’d be dead. In the end, it always came back to his grandfather’s prophetic words, “Us Blightwoods don’t die easy.”
Before they’d locked him away in his windowless cage, two people had been pulled out of Alabella’s carts. Even from a distance, Alverax could tell that both were threadweavers. Bulging, colorful veins lined their neck, arms, and chest. They were deathly thin, and their skin was an unnatural, pallid color. They were loaded into one of Farah’s carts.
He overheard some of Alabella’s crew talking about taking the pod of taractus and heading back to Cynosure just before a man’s scream cried out at the desert’s border. Alverax had no idea what was happening, and he didn’t want to. Finally, after some time, they left.
The journey north was uneventful. Alverax tried his best to eavesdrop, but the noise of the horse-drawn carts was enough to dampen their voices. The horses were disturbing creatures. He’d only seen them in paintings, but their mannerisms in person were much more unnerving. Every time he glanced at one, he was certain it gave him a judgmental eye in return. He’d prefer to be pulled by a dumber creature, like a taractus. Something that didn’t stare back.
They covered his window and told him to stay quiet. He wasn’t interested in disobeying. By the clanking sound of horseshoes and wheels on stone, he assumed that they had arrived in a city. He heard the occasional muffled voice as they wheeled down streets until finally the cart stopped.
A pair of men opened his door and let him out. They manhandled him through a large, thick door and into a sprawling warehouse crawling with people.
Alverax wasn’t sure what he had expected, but this wasn’t it. There had to be a hundred people in the warehouse lined up in rows washing, dyeing, hemming, and sewing a variety of clothing. The workers faced the northern wall on the other end of the building, and not one of them registered his entrance over the bustle of the job.
The men ushered him into a tight room in the corner where he found Alabella seated at a desk. She paid no mind as Alverax was led past her. The wall opened up into a hidden room with a staircase leading down into a dark, cavernous hole.
Heralds save me.
“Wait.” Alabella looked up from her papers and squinted her eyes. “Come here. We should talk before you see what’s down there. And take his shackles off. He’s to be treated as one of us from now on. He’s no slave.”
The men released Alverax and gestured to a chair on the other side of her desk. He reached a hand behind him and rubbed his back as he got a better look at the room. Three crates lined the northwest wall. An open box full of used parchment paper. A thick, black rug compressed under his feet as he took his seat. Across from him, a full-sized mirror was fixed to the west wall. He looked at himself and was shocked by what he saw. For the first time, he saw his eyes, and a shiver ran up his spine.
Alabella touched the end of a pair of Felian lightshades, lining them up with an ink bottle next to them on her desk. “I want you to tell me everything.”
Alverax rubbed at the stubble on his cheek. “Can you be a little more specific?”
She leaned forward, eyes bright with excitement. “How did it happen? What did it feel like? Does it still hurt? Heralds. You’re the first person to survive a ventricular mineral graft in Heralds know how long. The ramifications are immeasurable. If it is reproducible—which I believe it is—it could change everything!”
