Page 42

Silas, however, had watched for years as the flesh of our leaders grew gangrenous, helpless to do anything.

He had been called to be Father too young, and it gave the sitting Council unheard of strength, dangling him like a puppet in front of the people.

They overplayed their hand when Silas was 20, though.

His closest friend, someone he considered a brother, was named Offering by the Council at only 18 — a strange choice, as Protectors, Renders, and Reapers were almost never chosen.

The moment sparked something in Silas that forced him from child to adult.

From what Silas has said, he argued vehemently against it, but was still fighting to claim his position as Father, and was outvoted.

Lorcan’s loss was devastating to him, and set fire to a long dormant flame inside him.

He vowed at Lorcan’s Guiding to correct the course of our village, and to put nothing before it; no friendship or love, no family or feeling would supplant that single, driving goal he had sworn in blood over the empty body of his only friend.

He was clear with me from the start — if for some reason it saved our people, he would slice my throat himself, friendship be damned.

I would die for our village, but Silas would let himself be consumed by the Everfire.

We’ve been plotting and planning ever since, taking careful, cautious steps on ground that constantly shifts beneath our feet.

There have been few things that are consistent, little we’ve been able to depend on.

Staring at the girl curled on the ground before us, skin almost grey and glistening with cold sweat, it’s unnerving to realize even those things we thought would never alter have started changing.

“How–” Silas speaks, then stops, studying Ceridwen’s still face with a furious dawning realization. “When she has been sick in the past, how has it presented?”

Shaking my head, I shrug. “She bars her door, and is unreachable for two or three days. Then is weak, but in her right mind. There are rumors of it being a falling sickness, or fainting spells.”

“Rumors,” he scoffs. “Of course. Started by whom? I don’t even have to wager a guess. Always when an Offering is to be named?”

Nodding slowly, I inhale, long and low. “As far as I know, initially yes. Though not for years, at least for an Offering. Not since the miller’s daughter. Not since –”

“Not since she was able to bar her doors and windows, hmmm?” He grimaces. That had been a battle between the Council and the Keeper — the right to personal privacy, and I try to remember the last time she’d been sick.

“Yeees…” I reply, thinking back. “She was allowed to start locking her home at, what, 12 or 13? And the last Offering named by the Council was just after…She’s taken ill since — just rarely. But never for a Rending or Reaping. You can’t think….”

“Poison,” he whispers to himself, surging to his feet and leaning over her face, inhaling deeply through his nose. “I can only smell herbs.”

“She prefers her water scented — it’s a common enough practice. Most of the village, if they have time and stores enough, lace it with sweet grass or rosemary, or chamomile. Something to help mask the taste from the cisterns. ”

“Something that would mask henbane, or nightshade.”

I nod.

“Who gave her water tonight?”

“I don’t know. Not me, or you. Or Raek or Nickolas. She would never accept it from their hands.”

Sighing, he rubs a tired hand over his face.

“But having her incapacitated during these discussions of the Blood Tree, of her actions, of her claims….Gods. It doesn’t looks good.

She accuses them of feeding the Ender–” His words are cut off by a sudden rattle from far down the tunnel and we exchange panicked looks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I wasn’t thinking. ”

Nodding, I quickly light all the torches in the small room, and the sound subsides. “What happened after I left?”

“A lot of arguing, a lot of placating. I’m sending Raek out with the Hunters past the southwestern wall for a week.”

I can’t help letting a bitter bark of laughter escape. “How hard did he fight leaving his comfort and privilege?” It’s rhetorical, but Silas answers anyway, face darkly satisfied.

“Hard. Until I made him expedition leader. Which he wore for several minutes with a puffed chest before realizing I wouldn’t let his brother go with him. I’m sending a few of ours as well. And a second party to the southeast.”

“Nickolas?”

“No. Just a few of their supporters. We’ll have Nickolas in the village, and five others. So six of the Council here for when the Traders come. Plus you and I. As long as they stay on course, Raek and his crew shouldn’t be back until they are already welcomed into the village.”

“Silas.” I don’t even know what to say, but he hears the question anyway.

“I don’t know. I don’t understand it, Rann.

We leave on hunt, the silos are full and dry.

Full enough that we’ll make it through the winter, in any case.

We return and half is gone, lost ‘to mold and rot’?

How? How ?” He stands, pacing, and for a second I’m reminded of how young he really is, how long he’s been shouldering this burden, how much he hates the weight of being the Father to these people.

“And they would turn away the Traders, too, if they could. After the last visit…” We exchange looks again.

Yes. After the last visit, and the Council’s rash decisions to block the path.

With our stores barely enough to keep half the village alive through the winter months, this trade could mean the difference between life and silence for thousands. Thousands.

Raek was on the Council when the trail was blocked, when the avalanche was loosed to prevent anyone from outside the Upper Kingdom from entering. A secret none but those on the Council know.

“We need this, Rann.” He is certain and desperate all at once.

The Keeper moans quietly, and we turn as one towards her. Her jaw is locked tight, eyes fluttering beneath her thin lids, and Silas presses his lips together. “I don’t like this. Something is bothering her. Her breathing is too shallow. Did it get worse when you came down here?”

I take a second to think, then nod. “Yes. And ever since.”

“She’s too close to the mountain’s heart, perhaps? It’s almost dawn. Do we risk moving her now?”

At his words, the ground vibrates, and I sense, more than hear, a sound I’ve never heard before. It’s almost a child crying for help, and I take a step immediately toward the open door.

Help me, please, help me… It’s words and not words, some wail of pain pressing against my skull.

“Rannoch!” He’s sharp enough that I stop, and he shakes his head. “We’ll move her now. Right now. It’s close enough to light that the blood moths should be returning, but even if they’re not, we’ll have to chance it. The tunnels shouldn’t be singing. We’re risking too much.”

Shaking my head roughly, the sound fades, and I frown. “Did you hear that?” I ask, and he nods grimly.

“Yes. And it is heralding nothing good. Something is happening, Rann. And if we don’t figure it out…” His voice drifts off as he bends over the Keeper and picks her up. “Let’s go.”

Extinguishing the lights in the small room, I lead the way, acting as his eyes and ears as he walks silently after me. From far down the tunnel, beyond the second wall Silas and I made when we discovered this opening, a little voice sings and cries, calling and pleading, alluring and promising,

It is surprisingly hard to walk away.