THE REFORGED TRILOGY: BOOK 2 — SWORD OF DREAMS
Chapter 21: The Blooming House
“We learn just as much from our mistakes as we do from our successes.”
– Scallan Hu, Cyrus consul (10 MA)
That afternoon, Duaal sat on his cot with his head in his hands. The latest headache was beginning to fade now, but he still felt as fragile as glass. Normal glass, not the Arcadian stuff. One poke, one stray thought and he would shatter into a million pieces. He rubbed his fingers across his forehead. Did he have a fever?
“Duaal?”
He sat up slowly to find Xia standing in the flap of the tent with dust in her pristinely white hair. She stepped inside and came over to where Duaal lay.
“Aren’t you supposed to be guarding the dig today?” she asked. “After all that fighting the other day about wanting Tiberius to give you work…”
“Yes, I do,” Duaal said. “I do. I swear I do.”
“Why are you in here, then?”
“Tiberius’ orders,” Duaal said. “He’s covering for me now.”
“He sent you here? What’s wrong? Headaches again?”
Duaal started to nod and then thought better of it.
“Yes,” he answered instead.
Xia stripped off her muddy coveralls and checked Duaal again, but could find nothing more than on her first examination.
“It’s just about time for dinner. Maybe some food will help,” she said, shaking her head.
Duaal was about to agree — the meds that Xia had given him certainly weren’t helping very much — when the tent flap flew open again. Gripper ducked inside, carrying a huge bouquet of flowers the same bright blue as the sky. They were damp and wrapped in a sheet of paper from the archeologists’ tent. Gripper was smiling hugely, brightly.
“Silver, I…” He trailed off when he saw that Xia wasn’t alone. His smile faltered.
Duaal held up his hands. “Go ahead. Don’t let me stop you.”
Gripper swallowed and nodded. He held the flowers out to Xia. “I… I got these for you, Silver.”
Xia blinked and accepted the oversized bouquet. Duaal could just see her antennae over them.
“What are these for?” she asked.
“Oh… you know…” Gripper stammered.
Xia’s antennae twitched, but Duaal couldn’t see her expression behind the wall of flowers. “Thank you, Gripper. What are they? What species?”
“Species? I… I have no idea. They grow on the west slope.”
“I see,” Xia said. “This high up, they probably have corrupted redprints. At altitude, solar radiation becomes a real issue. Oh, my… Look at the petal distribution. Is this a cyst?”
Gripper stared at her in horror, then turned on his heels and fled the tent. A frigid wind swirled into the tent as he left, making Duaal shiver until the flap fell closed again and the magnets along the bottom sealed it shut once more.
The mage sat up a little and looked over the flowers at Xia.
“The redprint?” he asked. “Really?”
Xia laid the bouquet on a stool and went looking for something. A vase or a scalpel, Duaal couldn’t guess.
“Aren’t you curious?” she asked.
“Not even a little bit,” Duaal said. “You’re missing the point with Gripper, don’t you think?”
Xia paused her rummaging and gave Duaal a curious look.
“What?” she asked.
“Gripper likes you and God knows we could all use a little break from this. It’s bitter cold and barren up here. I know I sure could use a nice piece of Prian to keep me warm at night…”
“The Prians are stern and demanding people, Duaal,” Xia said. “I think you’ve had enough stern and demanding for one lifetime.”
“You mean Gavriel.”
“Yes, I mean Gavriel,” Xia agreed.
She found a jar and poured some water inside, but had to unwrap the paper before she could make the flowers fit.
“I’m not talking about anything involved,” Duaal told her. “Just a little fun. You should think about it, too.”
“I’d look somewhere else,” Xia said. She smiled at Duaal with smooth silver lips. “Somewhere warmer than Prian glaciers.”
Maeve sat on the crag of crumbling granite that she had come to think of as her perch, singing quietly to herself. She could smell dinner cooking. Just petrimeat and rehydrated vegetables, but after a long afternoon alone in the cold, it smelled delicious. She would fly down there soon and eat, but only after a visit to the single vacuum latrine enclosure set off to one side of the base camp.
Three people just weren’t enough to keep two sites protected at all times, especially when Duaal was the third guard. Between his debilitating headaches and Tiberius’ unwillingness to let him work during the dangerous nights, the mage was almost no help. Ava and Darius provided some relief, but not enough.
Maeve shook herself and realized that she had lost her place in the song again. It was getting harder and harder to stay awake.
A shadow passed over the sun and covered the camp in shadow. There had been a few white lines of clouds early that morning, but had grown thicker over the course of the day until they shaded most of the mountain. Only a couple of patches of sunlight still sparkled off the frost.
If this expedition was going to take much longer, Maeve would have to convince Xen and Kemmer to hire some more protection. Tiberius had received a few calls from Captain Cerro, but nothing to indicate that the mountains had become any safer. The updates seemed only to serve to keep the lines of communication open, in case one party could find a way to better help the other.
Maeve scrubbed at her dry, aching eyes with the heels of her hands. When she opened them again, she found Gripper climbing the rocks beneath her. He clambered up over the edge of the outcropping and plopped down beside Maeve.
She was just about to ask him if he was supposed to relieve her for dinner — it should have been Tiberius’ job, but Maeve hadn’t seen the old captain all day — then stopped. There were tiny blue petals stuck to Gripper’s furry arms.
“Did you give Xia the flowers you collected?” Maeve asked.
Gripper leaned in, almost toppling the much smaller fairy.
“Yeah,” he whispered.
“Did she take them?”
“Yeah.”
“Then what upsets you so much?” Maeve asked. “Your gift was accepted.”
Gripper groaned and then flopped back onto the cold ground. He waved his long arms in the air. They cast no shadows in the dim, diffused light sifting through the thickening gray clouds. Something else soft and pale was gathering in his green fur — it was beginning to snow.
“Silver took the flowers, sure, but then she started talking about their genes!” Gripper said. “She said that there was more radiation up here and stuff…”
Maeve furrowed her brow. Whatever Phillip was cooking still smelled good… But if Gripper climbed all the way up here just to talk, she could put off dinner a little longer.
“Did your gift offend Xia?” Maeve asked.
Gripper groaned. “I don’t know, but if… if she can’t even look at some flowers without seeing the weird genes, what does she see when she looks at me?”
Maeve had no idea what to say. She was certain that there was nothing wrong with Gripper’s genetics, but they were alien. Maeve could only imagine the outrage if a coreworlder tried to marry into an Arcadian noble house. Their lineages were cared for and cultivated as painstakingly as the elaborate gardens of the Sua’ii Na, the Blooming House. And to the Ixthians, all bloodlines deserved such protection.
“You are worthy of Xia’s love,” Maeve said at last. “Even if you never win it.”
Gripper looked over at her. “Thanks, I guess…”
They sat together in silence for a long time, until the needs of Maeve’s body finally forced her to ask the unhappy Arboran to watch over the mountain camp until she could return. He sat up and nodded.
Maeve spread her wings and leapt from the outcropping. It would have felt good to fly a little more, but the Prian wind was like icy needles between her feathers. After a visit to the latrines that helped her mood even more than flying, Maeve landed in the ring of heat lamps. Phillip was alone there, carrying a canister toward one of the glowing tents. He waved when he saw Maeve.
“The weather’s turning pretty cold,” he said. “Dinner’s inside tonight.”
Maeve thanked Phillip and then followed the geologist into the large central tent. Most of the equipment had been cleared away and plates set out for dinner. It was a little crowded, but pleasantly warm after a long afternoon out in the elements. Maeve paused in the doorway.
“Where is Tiberius?” she asked.
Phillip set the container down on a table and unscrewed the lid. It was filled with mashed potatoes.
“The captain’s outside, watching,” Phillip answered.
“Why? He always joins you for meals.”
“He says a big storm is coming,” Phillip said. “The snow’s really going to come down tonight. Good cover for anyone who wants to break into camp.”
Maeve shook her head. If the snow was going to be that thick, then Tiberius wouldn’t be able to see anyone coming. But the old man was nothing if not stiff-necked and stubborn. She collected a plate of food for herself and another for Tiberius. Panna excused herself from the archeologists’ table as Maeve headed for the exit.
“Wait,” Panna said.
Maeve waited. What did the girl want?
“Are you going back out there?” Panna asked.
“Yes.”
The young archeologist hesitated, twisting the hem of her shirt between nervous fingers. “You’ve been watching the dig all afternoon. Are you going to be out there all night, too?”
“I am. Duaal is not permitted nighttime watches. Why?” Maeve asked suspiciously.
“Well, I…” It wasn’t like composed and personable Panna to falter like this. “I thought that I could help out tonight, if you want.”
Maeve’s brow furrowed in surprise. “Do your daily duties fail to hold your interest? Why would you volunteer for this?”
Panna blushed.
“I just want to help,” she said. “Please.”
There was something in the way she asked it, as though Maeve would be doing her a favor by accepting. Maeve looked over at Xen and Kemmer. The archeologists were diagramming something on the tabletop, using biscuit crumbs and gravy to draw it out. Phillip had joined them and was shyly flirting with Ava. On her other side, Darius teased his sister until she punched him hard in the arm.
“We could use your help,” Maeve agreed slowly. “Come speak to Tiberius about contributing.”
Panna colored again, but a bright smile lit up her pretty face. She carried one of the plates Maeve had prepared and the two women ventured back out into the twilight. The snow swirled through the darkening evening in large, fluffy flakes. There were no stars in the sky, and Maeve could only barely distinguish the dim light of a single lumpy moon.
Tiberius sat in the lee of the Blue Phoenix teams’ tent, huddled beneath a heated blanket. Orphia perched on his knee with her feathery head tucked under one silvery fold. Both master and hawk looked up at the women’s approach. Tiberius shined a flashlight at Maeve and Panna.
“What are you doing over here, doves?” he asked, gruff but not angry. Simply curious.
“We brought you some dinner,” Maeve told him. “You are surely hungry by now.”
Panna handed a plate to Tiberius. He flipped out a small stand on the flashlight and set it down on a flat rock. No longer blinded by the light, Maeve could see how tired Tiberius looked. His cheeks were scruffy as ever, but they looked hollow under his bristly beard and there were dark circles under his eyes. When Tiberius took the food, he raised his bushy brows at Panna.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked her.
“She would like to help us tonight,” Maeve said. Panna nodded.
“Absolutely not,” Tiberius said at once.
“Please, Captain Myles,” Panna said. “You and Maeve have been up for a week with hardly any sleep. And Xia told me that you’ve been on since about noon today.”
Maeve had not heard that.
“Is this so?” she asked.
“Yes,” Tiberius grunted in answer. “Duaal had another one of his headaches.”
“You have been working too long,” Maeve said.
“I’m fine, dove.”
“You are not,” Maeve said as sternly as she could. As first mate of the Blue Phoenix, she had some authority, didn’t she? “You are overtaxing yourself. You must accept Panna’s help tonight.”
Tiberius scowled and turned an alarming shade of red. Maeve was wondering if she should go get Xia when he finally answered.
“Fine. But only for a few hours, Panna,” Tiberius said. “I don’t want you exhausted at work tomorrow.”
Panna nodded. “That’s fair, Captain Myles. What about Maeve?”
“I will survive tonight,” Maeve said. “But I will be glad to accept your help tomorrow.”
Panna’s expression was uncertain, but she didn’t argue.
“Why don’t I come out here at about four?” she asked. “I can get about five hours of sleep before that and be fine tomorrow.”
“Alright,” Tiberius said. “Go to your tent then. I’ll see you again later tonight.”
The scarred old Prian pulled his scarf tight around his neck and settled down for dinner. Panna waved nervously at Maeve and then vanished through the swirling snow in the direction of the Tynerion team tents. Maeve bade Tiberius a good night, and then flew through the snow back to her post.
Gripper had turned on the yellow-striped spotlight and sat beneath it, idly inspecting the generator. He had the access panel open and picked at the wiring, muttering to himself. The Arboran started and almost overturned the light as Maeve emerged from the snow.
“There you are! I was getting worried.” Gripper gestured to the lamp. “I got it started for you. It’s getting pretty frozen out here.”
“I am prepared,” Maeve said. She shook another heated blanket from her pocket. “You should go to your supper now.”
“Do you want me to stay? I could cover you for a few hours.”
“I will be fine, Gripper. Besides, it is cold and this will not cover you,” Maeve pointed out as she pulled the shiny blanket around her shoulders. “Panna will be assuming a part of my watch tomorrow night.”
It was hard to tell in the darkness and falling snow, but Gripper looked surprised. “Panna? Really? I thought she didn’t like you.”
“So I believed, too,” Maeve said. “But I suppose that only makes her offer all the more appreciated.”
“Why isn’t she helping out now?” Gripper asked. The Arboran’s teeth chattered loudly.
“She will be relieving Tiberius tonight, who has been working overlong because of Duaal’s headaches,” Maeve said. She swept a thin layer of snow from the base of the spotlight and set her meal down. “I have my dinner, Gripper. Return to camp. I will survive the night and I will see you tomorrow.”
Her friend offered a few more arguments, but finally climbed back down into the base camp. Maeve cinched the blanket tighter around her. It was just big enough to wrap around her wings if she kept them very close to her back. Folding them so tightly was uncomfortable, but far better than the cold.
Dinner was cold by the time Maeve managed to get at all comfortable. She considered putting the plate up on the spotlight for a few minutes — a trick she had learned after the first few frozen nights — but decided against it. Freeing her arms enough to reposition the light meant unwrapping the blanket and cold food was far better than cold skin.
The storm was picking up, whipping the snow into swirling flurries and every bite of food came with a mouthful of wind-tossed black hair. Maeve spluttered and spat, but was surprised by her own good mood. She was tired and cold, but it was good to be working again, to earn her own keep. And Panna actually wanted to help with the protection of the Waygate and the camp. Surprising.
The Waygate… Maeve finished her dinner and wedged her plate under the lamp to keep it from flying away in the rising wind. She couldn’t begin to guess what the Waygate’s presence on Prianus might mean for the core. What could it mean for the Arcadians? It had been a hundred years since the fall of the White Kingdom. The Devourers were gone. It was too expensive to take the fairies home by ship, but what if they could simply step through the Pylos Waygate and return to Arcadia?
Perhaps they would no longer be the cast-away refugees hated by the Alliance. No longer homeless. No longer broken…
Broken. Maeve remembered what she had told Tiberius. Even if the Arcadians could somehow return home, all of their worlds were in ruin. The dryads and nyads — the species that had served their winged masters since Cavain’s time — were gone. The Arcadians were only a tiny fraction of their former numbers. Numbers which, Maeve had to admit, were never vast when compared to the trillions that lived in the CWA.
But it was something, a thin ray of hope where none had existed before. Perhaps Xen and Kemmer’s work would serve more than the academics on Tynerion. Did they guess that they might save the Arcadian people? Did they care? Maeve doubted it, but even that couldn’t spoil her good mood.
She shook the blanket hard to dislodge the layer of ice forming on it. Snow landed on the plastic, melted in the heat and then refroze when the wind chilled it again.
Maeve squinted. The glow of her single light bounced uselessly off the snow, surrounding her in an unbroken wall of bright white. It was almost like being in one of the meditation cells of Morningfire Court. There were few other places on an Arcadian world not open to the wind and sky.
How many hours had Maeve spent in those white rooms, deep in daydreams? How many more spent stealing away with Orthain to tug one another out of their glass armor and feel skin against skin? Or just to find a quiet place to talk to Caith about his studies as he struggled through classes at the Ivory Spire?
Maeve shifted her numb backside on the stone beneath her, making the plastic blanket rustle like leaves in the wind. How long since she had been able to think back to her home with anything like joy?
It seemed like lifetimes.
There was a sound, not unlike the crinkling of Maeve’s blanket, but she hadn’t moved. Maeve held her breath and listened. She heard the moan of the wind and the slow, low grumble of snow settling on stone. A few distant, muffled bird cries and even further off, the creaking of the trees dancing in the storm. It was probably just one of the tents shifting, noise carried on the erratic wind…
No. Maeve heard the sound again, closer this time. She jumped up and grabbed the handle of the spotlight. Those were footsteps, and from more than one pair of feet. Something moved in the darkness, a blurry silhouette against the blizzard. Maeve cupped a hand to her mouth and called out, but the shadows didn’t answer. She reached for Xia’s gun, but it was slippery and difficult to hold in her gloved fingers.
“Who is there?” she shouted.
No answer. Maeve finally managed to grab the laser and stood her ground in front of the spotlight. Her stark shadow stretched out across the rocks and ice. She could just make out more shapes. Four of them. They stopped just at the edges of the light.
“You will find nothing worth stealing here,” Maeve warned in a loud voice. “Return to Pylos.”
The shadows moved again. Maeve spun, but she was blind in the glowing snow. She went for her pocket again, searching for her com, but it was gone. Had she dropped it somewhere? Left it in the latrine? Maeve opened her mouth to scream down the mountain to Tiberius, but a man appeared out of the billowing white and kicked Maeve hard in the stomach. The air whooshed from her lungs and she doubled over, choking and coughing.
Her wings and one arm were still tangled up in the blanket and Maeve couldn’t aim the gun fast enough. She yanked on the trigger, but managed only to burn a steaming hole in a growing snowbank. Maeve aimed at the next shadow, but one of them was behind her and leapt at the fairy. She staggered as they hit her. Maeve managed to keep her feet, but the gun fell from her cold hand and vanished into the stormy night.
The nearest attacker grabbed her by the shoulders. She slid out of the reflective blanket and dove after the gun. The man — she could see now that it was a man, a bright-eyed Mirran — grabbed at her again. Even in the harsh, blinding light, Maeve could see that he was dressed from head to toe in bright, bloody red.
An Emberguard? Here?
Maeve pushed against him with her wings, and then lashed out with a kick in the other direction. Her heel connected solidly with the lamp. It wobbled and then fell into the snow, plunging the crag into frozen darkness. Maeve leapt into the air. She was unarmed and outnumbered, but wouldn’t be that way for long — if only she could alert the base camp.
A hand closed around her ankle and tugged Maeve back down to the ground. She lashed out with her other foot as she fell. It hit a tall Hadrian in a long Prian coat with seams splitting over his bulk. He stumbled back, releasing Maeve. She drove him back with a jab up under his ribs, a blow learned painfully from Logan Coldhand. It worked as well against the Hadrian as it had against Maeve and he fell back, tripping over the spotlight toppled in the snow.
Maeve spread her wings once more and shouted, but the wind whipped hair into her face and snatched her cry off into the empty mountains. Two more figures — a yellow-furred Lyran and a stout human — lunged at Maeve. They grabbed not for her body, but at her wings. She was trying to fly into the gusting wind and Maeve couldn’t pull away fast enough as her assailants snared handfuls of feathers. They yanked Maeve back down to the icy ground.
The Mirran in red was on top of her again. His fingers closed hard around Maeve’s throat. Was he trying to kill her? But there was a nanosword at his waist, still not drawn. Maeve reached for it, but the Emberguard twisted to one side and her fingers slipped from the cold metal. The striped man lifted her easily up off the ground. Maeve clawed at the hand around her neck and kicked at his body. The Emberguard grunted in pain, but didn’t let go.
The Hadrian had recovered himself. While the other two held her wings, he grabbed Maeve’s arms. She snarled and writhed, but held by four larger, stronger opponents, Maeve couldn’t get free.
She tried to scream out, but could only wheeze past the Mirran Emberguard’s choking grip on her throat. He reached into his robe with his free hand and pulled out a short syringe. It was full of a thick, dark substance. As he leaned close, Maeve recognized the cloying, syrup-sweet smell.
“No!” she shouted.
Maeve thrashed as hard as she could. The Emberguard yanked up her sleeve and stabbed the needle of Vanora White deep into her arm. He thumbed the plunger down. Maeve screamed in fury and a hand clamped down over her mouth. She bit and kicked as hard as she could. The emptied needle went flying and disappeared in the snow, but it was too late. The Vanora White flowed through her veins, stealing away the cold and fear and rage, drowning it all in a thick, viscous lassitude.
Maeve’s body went slack in her captors’ arms and her thoughts vanished into the bottomless white fog.
