Voice of war, p.9
Voice of War, page 9
part #1 of Threadlight Series
The worst part of Anna’s death was that it left him back at square one. He was pretty confident he knew the rest of the Sapphire threadweavers in the list. So, who was she?
“That is unfortunate to hear. Do you know if there are any other records missing from this list? I’m looking for the record of someone I met recently, but I’m not sure who she was. Maybe you’d have an idea.” Chrys was wary to share more information with Father Jasper, not knowing who he’d share it with, but Malachus had said he was trustworthy. “Young girl, somewhere between fourteen and twenty-two, I’d guess. Blonde Sapphire. Fairly tall and thin.”
Father Jasper thought for a moment, rummaging through the vast library of knowledge he’d gained over his long lifetime. “Anna would have fit that description. Jessa is a brunette amongst the other classification issue. Do you know the Tarata girl?”
Chrys sighed. “I do. It wasn’t her.”
“Unfortunately, I cannot think of anyone else that fits that very specific description. But, as you can imagine, a blind priest might not be your best resource here. Perhaps many years ago when my mind still held its edge. It is possible that she’s not Alchean. I’m told that, so close to Alir, the light-skinned population in Felia is almost all blonde haired. Visitor, perhaps?”
That was exactly what Chrys feared. There had been something exotic about her. He remembered a small detail. “Are tattoos popular in Felia?”
The priest looked surprised and excited by the question. “I do not know. I’m told the people of Kulai are of tattoos, but I do not believe that blonde hair is common on those islands.”
Chrys thought hard, picturing her hair waving back and forth as she climbed up the ladder out of the dimly lit warehouse basement. He was pretty sure it was a tattoo. Large. Maybe multiple. “Perhaps. Anyway, I should be on my way. Father Jasper, you have been a wonderful help today. I can’t thank you enough for having all of these records gathered for me beforehand. I’m sure it saved me half a day’s work. Still not sure how you did it, but thank you. May the Lightfather illuminate the threads before you.”
“And may they never grow dim, General Valerian. It has been my pleasure to meet you. You are, as I’ve been told, an honorable man of great respect, and I pray the Lightfather bless you for that.” Father Jasper gave a small bow to Chrys, his long hair shimmering in the daylight. “Maybe you’ll humor an old man and pay me a visit when you come for the Rite of Revelation for your new child.”
“Of course, Father.”
Chrys left the room, pleasantly surprised by the easy conversation with the priest, but displeased with the lack of information he’d gained. Who was she?
The tattoo was the only thing he had left. It reminded him of the stories he’d heard when he was young. Stories meant to scare children. Stories of when gods walked the earth, and the corespawn fed on the minds of men. He’d loved the stories as a kid, each night asking his mother to tell a variant about corespawn attacking and a hero protecting the people. She’d made all kinds of variations. They ate minds. They ate hearts. They ate souls. The heroes could fly. They could turn to stone. They could disappear. In the end, the heroes always won, and they tattooed themselves, so they’d never forget the dark history.
Telling bedtime stories was one of the things he looked forward to doing with his own child. Unfortunately, he worked late most nights with his new position. He would have to figure out how to better balance that once his child was born. Though if he didn’t find the Bloodthieves soon, he might not be a high general much longer. There had to be something he could do. He was starting to believe that Jurius was right. Maybe Malachus had chosen the wrong person to lead the investigation.
Chrys needed help.
He didn’t want to admit it but, with no leads and no plan, he only had one choice. Jurius. He was well-connected and cared deeply about stopping the Bloodthieves. As long as his son was missing, Jurius wouldn’t be sitting idly by. Chances were high that he’d been running his own covert investigation, which meant that he might have information that Chrys could use.
Before he realized it, Chrys was out of the temple and well on his way to Jurius’ home. He spent the long walk rehearsing the conversation—he would start by telling Jurius what happened in the Bloodthief warehouse—and trying to predict how Jurius would respond to the request for help.
The sky dimmed as the sun began to set for the day. Chrys was only a few streets away from Jurius’ home when he saw the high general walking down the street. Chrys ran to where Jurius had been walking, but he’d already disappeared down another road. Chrys jogged up the road and caught another glimpse of him as he darted down a side alley. Odd. He was heading west.
Chrys knew he shouldn’t—if Jurius found out there would be hell to pay—but he followed him anyway.
Chapter 8
At first, Chrys thought Jurius was headed to the lower westside, but then he turned south. He had almost left the city proper by the time he slipped into a building, farmland visible just past the next street and horizon as far as the eye could see. Chrys had never been to this part of the city before.
What was Jurius doing?
He moved with caution around the side of the building, observing bricks, windows, and possible blind spots. Each window was locked tight and boarded up with no way to see inside. The building was small enough that, if he entered, Jurius would know. He doubled back over each of the windows, checking for any gaps he could see through, periodically looking over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching. But then he noticed a bit of smoke rising up from the top of the building.
Chrys opened himself to threadlight and leapt, pushing hard on the thread that bound him to the earth. His meager jump turned into soaring flight as he shot up to the rooftop.
It was late, and the dark red brick glowed softly with the falling sun. The building was shaped like a huge box, each side equal in width to the others. On the roof, a large chimney released smoke from a fire, and two small windows lined the rooftop floor to let in sunlight below. A bright fire blazed in the hearth below him, and candle light flickered in the increasingly dark ambience left over from the setting sun.
There were three people in the room. A woman, Jurius, and…his son.
Chrys backed away from the window. Jurius’ son was alive. But he’d been kidnapped by the Bloodthieves. What did that mean? Was this woman a Bloodthief? Was Jurius bargaining with her to get his son back? Or worse, was Jurius working with the Bloodthieves? Had he been working with them all along? No, Jurius’ emotions had been real. He hated the Bloodthieves. Chrys peeked back over the window and into the building.
The woman was in her late thirties, with dark hair slicked back behind her ears. Black pants and a tight-fitting tunic of curious design, like raven feathers, partially covered her collarbone. The shadows accentuated a strong jawline and high cheekbones.
Jurius and the woman spoke to each other, their mumbled words reverberating through the window. They were unintelligible by the time they reached Chrys’ ears. Jurius walked over to his son and embraced him with a sense of desperation.
He needed to hear what they were saying.
Chrys moved to the latch on the window. He laid on his stomach and slowly twisted the handle. When it started to groan, he paused, looking down at the three below him. None of them shifted their attention upward. He twisted the handle even more slowly, pushing down slightly to release the pressure. It stopped as he reached the end. But then, the pressure he’d been applying popped the window’s seal and it flung wide open below him.
Chrys reflexively opened himself to threadlight.
All three of them looked up.
Threads, like hungry tentacles, burst forth from the ground toward the ceiling. Chrys had never seen anything like it before. He dove out of the way, but they were too fast. The threads latched onto his body and pulled on him, multiplying the force of gravity. He tumbled down through the window toward the ground. Mid-flight, he gained his bearings and pushed down hard on his corethread, counteracting the wild threads, launching himself back up toward the ceiling. But then he stalled, suspended in the air like a drifting cloud. He pushed harder, but the opposing force grew stronger. When he looked down, he saw the woman staring up at him, dozens of tentacles of threadlight fastened onto his body, each one pulsing with profane energy. He pushed harder, but the sheer number of threads increased until he crashed to the floor, pinned down like a nail in wood.
It was impossible. What she was doing defied the primary law of thread physics: thread permanence. Somehow, this woman was creating threads.
His hands were bound near his feet, his legs trapped in a deep crouch. He couldn’t move, but he could still threadweave. As she approached, he pushed a chair at her, but a single thread appeared and fastened the chair to the floor.
“What have we here?” the woman asked. She walked around him, observing him with a wicked smile.
“Jurius! What the hell is going on?” It took all of Chrys’ strength not to collapse to the earth beneath the weight of the threads.
Mmmm. A foul voice rose in his mind. She should not be. Let me out! You cannot fight her. But I can.
He tried to ignore the voice, but it was right. There was no way to fight back.
Jurius clenched his jaw. “You shouldn’t have followed me.”
“You know him?” the woman asked.
Jurius nodded. “High General Chrys Valerian.”
The weight of gravity applied through the threads faded. Not completely, but the pressure was lessening over time. Chrys took a deep breath and turned to see Jurius’ son. He stood tall, a strong Emerald threadweaver like his father, but his eyes were so deeply set they were hard to see in the twilight. Jaymin. That was his name. He should be dead, or close to it.
“He’s strong. Good blood,” she mumbled as she finished a circuit around Chrys. He finally got a good look at her. Her eyes were yellow, like bright amber dancing near a subtle flame. They radiated, along with her veins, as if she were a threadweaver, but threadweavers were either Sapphire or Emerald, blue or green. There were no other kinds of threadweavers. Push and pull. The two halves of the Lightfather.
“Don’t get too close to him,” Jurius advised. “He is not one to be underestimated.”
“The boy is yoked. Until the threads fade there is nothing he can do.”
“If Chrys goes missing,” Jurius thought out loud, “Malachus will blame the Bloodthieves. He’ll send the entire damn army into the city searching for him. But, more importantly, he will almost certainly give me charge of the investigation. That would simplify things for you.”
She smiled, full lips parting like honey. “Pity to kill him. His blood would sell for a high price.”
Stones. Jurius was working with the Bloodthieves. But why? It explained how the Bloodthieves had been tipped off at the warehouse. It also explained why Jurius wanted to be in charge of the investigation. But, stones, his anger and worry had seemed so real.
Chrys fought against the threads holding him down, but they held him fast. His blood boiled as he strained against them, anger rising like a tide.
Mmmm. Don’t be a fool! Let me out!
For a moment, he considered it. It was foolish to leave a tool unused. He was outclassed. Overpowered. Like a thread-dead soldier fighting a threadweaver.
The spark of a memory lit in his mind. Thread-dead. He didn’t need the Apogee. He had another tool. The obsidian blade. If she couldn’t threadweave the knife, maybe he could surprise her with it. It was in his boot pocket, right next to his bound hand. If he could kill her, the threads might release him. He felt confident he could handle Jurius if it came down to it.
“You know, general, you ruined a perfectly joyous moment just now.” She stared down at Chrys. He continued reaching down toward his boot. “Jurius made two important realizations today. First, he realized that I am not the enemy. It was a long road, but the truth is that we all do what we must for a better future. And second, he realized that your Great Lord is unfit to rule.”
In that moment, the truth dawned on Chrys. Despite Jurius being one of the most powerful men in all of Alchea, this woman was in charge. After seeing what she could do, Chrys understood. What hope did Jurius have against someone with her power?
Chrys waited patiently. He could feel the force of the artificial threads continuing to ease, his arms and legs almost free. He tested the threads, pressing against them.
“How heroic of you,” the woman said with a smile. The yellow glow in her veins pulsed brighter, her eyes glowing like the sun. Chrys could see the jungle of threads morphing into each other, forming five thick threads attached to each of his limbs, and his head. “There, that ought to make you a little less bold.”
LET ME OUT! the Apogee screamed in his mind. SHE MUST PAY!
The strength of the fused threads was unreal, like his body was being sucked into the earth, each of his muscles straining to stop it from taking him under. The thread attached to his head pulled him back into an unnatural arch that he worried would break his neck if he didn’t resist. There was no escape. There was no hope.
But then he realized that, although his arm was bound, his hand was free.
He slipped the knife out of his boot and kept it hidden behind his wrist. With the blade in hand, his mind flashed to the steps outside the temple, the voice of the man in the wide-brim hat echoing in his mind. He remembered the words.
Use it to break the threads that bind you.
He thought of General Henna and her discovery, the thread-dead obsidian. Thread permanence dictated that no thread could be created or destroyed. Each thread was a permanent entity indicating the celestial bond between two terrestrial constructs. But this woman had just proven that it was a lie. She had created threads from nothing.
What if?
Chrys opened himself to threadlight and slid the knife toward the root of the thread latched onto his arm. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the blade slid weightlessly through the pulsing line of light. The thread popped out of existence just as the knife passed through its end. Then, like a chain reaction, each of the sibling threads burst apart in an explosion of threadlight.
The woman inhaled sharply, as if she could feel the destruction of her creations. She turned to Chrys and saw him freed from her yoke. “Heralds be—”
Moving before she could react, Chrys pushed with all his strength onto his corethread, launching him back up into the air toward the open window on the roof. Tentacles of light flung up toward him again, attempting to latch back onto his body, but he sliced through them with the obsidian blade. Her threads burst apart and disappeared in a mist of light. The woman hissed from below and Jurius came running up the wall after him, his veins surging with green threadlight.
Chrys landed on the roof’s edge and immediately pushed back off toward the inner city, leaping from roof to roof, his heart and veins burning. He turned back to see Jurius standing on the roof watching him, fists clenched.
After a dozen rooftops, Chrys dropped down into an empty street and ran, drifting with a light push on his corethread. He ran and he ran, his heart beating like a thunderstorm. Finally, he collapsed into an alley, vomiting forcefully. His head was pounding in concert with his chest, and the entirety of his skin sizzled with a deep heat.
He stood back up and forced himself to move. He had to get back to Iriel. A reckoning was coming. They were no longer safe.
Chapter 9
You should have let me out! the Apogee thundered in his skull. She is too dangerous to keep alive. She will come for you, and there is nothing you can do to stop her!
After an hour of running, vomiting, and vain attempts at muting the Apogee, Chrys finally arrived at his home. It looked so peaceful in the moonlight, but all he could see was red. The small garden blossomed against the cottage-style architecture, and candlelight flickered in the windows. He stumbled forward, still looking over his shoulder, sure that the woman, or Jurius, would appear at any moment. He had to get Iriel out. Somewhere safe. He had no idea where they would go. His mother’s? No. It had to be somewhere Jurius wouldn’t look.
“Chrys, is that you out there?” Iriel’s voice sang out from the kitchen window, her pregnant silhouette standing in the lamplight.
Chrys pushed the door open, the bright lights inside burning his threadsick eyes.
Iriel caught sight of him and hurried over. “Chrys, are you okay? You look terrible. And your eyes! How much have you been threadweaving?” Her hands moved across his cheeks and his forehead, feeling for temperature and signs of sickness. She used her fingers to look deep into his eyes, blue veins breaking out of a Sapphire iris.
He practically collapsed into her as they moved into the living room. Everything was spinning. The room. His thoughts. Their entire life was spinning out of control and Chrys couldn’t stop it. “We have to leave, Iriel. It’s not safe here.”
“Chrys, you’re scaring me. Tell me what’s going on.”
“They’re coming for me.” He couldn’t think straight. How could he possibly explain what he saw—what he experienced. It was impossible. And the more she knew the more danger she was in. That was the last thing he wanted. “The Bloodthieves. I know who they are, and they know that I know. They’ll come tonight and I don’t think I have it in me to fight.”
“How much time do we have? I can help fight. Stones, no I can’t. You’re sure they’re coming now? Can we send for help?” she asked, rambling until she broke down into tears. “I can’t deal with this right now. Not with the baby so close.”
