Page 6 of The Garnet Daughter (The Viridian Priestess #3)

Chapter

Six

M y stomach drops as we reach the edge of the village. It seems like lifetimes ago when I said goodbye.

“What’s the plan?” August stops next to me, interrupting the strange sensation within my body from returning this way.

I stare at him for a long time, unsure of the reason. “We go straight to the elders,” I remember to answer.

“Will someone stop us?”

“I doubt it.” The villagers have known me since birth so rumors of my departure have likely manifested, but I am still one of them.

August is also known, first as a representative for the conjunction and again to transport Selene to Cosima.

His presence was cleared and welcomed by the elders on Selene’s behalf, who has great favor with them in all things.

I push out of the dense tree line and onto the soft plateau of grass that houses our village as if I have only been out for a single morning foraging and am now returning home.

I keep my focus forward, toward the middle of the cropping of homes, until the taller peaks of the elder huts come into view.

Some villagers ignore me completely, but the moment I am recognized, my heart sinks.

August is close, this time not following behind in the hostile terrain, but next to me, the back of his hand so near it brushes across mine as we walk in unison.

The closer we get, the more familiar faces tease at the corners of my eyes, their questions to one another so loud on either side, but they do not stop us. They know our destination and who we must speak to first upon arrival.

The wooden door of the main elder home opens with effort, the hinges rougher than I remember.

We step into the spacious gathering room, smaller than the one in my and Selene’s home but still upholding the tradition of a welcome area for anyone to enter and take company.

Fragrant teas and medicines for the elders fill the space.

Their loved ones and assigned helpers are busy with their tasks; it’s an honor and respected position among our people to care for an elder and bask in their knowledge.

We stop in the middle, observing like outsiders. The truth of that hits me so hard, I take a step back, nervous my voice will crack when I announce myself.

A young woman whispers in the ear of Elder Oona, who sits with her heavily lined eyes closed next to her even older brother, Elder Isaac. I’m familiar with both of them. They are of sound mind, unlike some others who approach dusk on this life.

“Calliape.” Elder Oona smiles. “And the Viathan pilot . . .”

“August.” He steps forward and bows his head, unsure.

“Elders.” I climb down on my knees when she gestures with her hand to do so, then bump my shoulder into August’s leg for him to follow.

“My eyes do not fall upon Selene,” Elder Isaac says in Frithian, and it is only then I realize I have not addressed them in their tongue.

“Forgive me,” I reply in Frithian and bow my head, embarrassed.

“You are of our village, and this Viathan is a respected guest. You are forgiven. We will speak in the guest’s tongue. Now, of Selene?” Elder Oona asks.

Her words hurt, even if I chose to leave. The pain I left behind in Selene, one that likely reverberated throughout the village. I should understand, but it does not stop the sting.

“Selene remains on Cosima,” I tell them, and both scowl at me.

A few of the other elders now listen, though some still bask in the steam from brewing tea as if we are not even here.

I roll the truth of our sudden presence here around in my head, trying to find words of how we ended up in the forest so they can understand.

Some are Mother blessed, but they rarely practice in solidarity to the hierarchy they hold within themselves as elders.

“It was not our intention to leave Cosima.”

“We knew nothing of your arrival,” the elder replies.

“We did not travel by ship, elder. The distance was covered . . . I folded us here unintentionally, and we need help returning.”

Her expression changes as she sinks back into her seat before she gives her brother a look that seems to convey something between them. She dismisses the elder helpers and waits for them to leave, shutting the door on their way out.

August watches them, the shift in atmosphere now that we are the sole focus of the elder council is palpable.

“I was not aware of such strength in your gift, young Calliape,” Elder Oona begins. “Did Selene have knowledge?”

“No, elder. Selene was not aware and neither was I until it happened, a mistake I cannot fix the same way it was made,” I explain, trying to hide my annoyance at the question.

“I see.”

“Forgive my directness, but we need to return to Cosima. We left during great conflict.”

“There is always conflict within Cosima,” an elder who uses two sticks to knot yarn into clothing quips.

“This will affect all three worlds. First Son attacked the Estate. The stones . . .” I glance at August. “. . . are in danger. I do not know what we return to, but we must.”

They observe me but say nothing.

“The highest priestess of Cosima is dead,” I continue.

Again, they seem unfazed. “What help can we offer?”

I stumble over my words, thinking they would ask for more information.

“Use of the beacon to call for a retrieval ship to return us.” I pause to consider how substantial Viathan ships are, how many one can hold.

Perhaps hold the extra aid we need to halt First Son.

I straighten and prepare myself to go down a path Selene would never permit if she were here, but she is not.

“The conflict is in Cosima, but if it is not snuffed out, it will spread to this world. Even to this very mountain if we do not stop them. There are many on Frith who could help protect the three worlds from destruction.”

My head snaps to August when I hear him speak. “Calliape is right. A war has begun, one like it not seen in lifetimes.”

His words terrify me, and even though he is correct, the elders will not appreciate that he has spoken on the matter.

Elder Oona raises a palm, commanding our silence before I can explain our need.

Both August and I pull back, an unspoken recognition crossing between us that at the least, we require them to permit us to use the beacon.

They whisper to each other, discussing in hushed Frithian tones before finally answering, “Who have you spoken with upon your arrival?”

“No one,” I say.

“Calliape, we grant access to utilize the beacon to return to your desired destination, but we close our eyes to the other matters you speak of. Do what you must, but Frith does not involve itself in conflicts of the other worlds. That has always been our stance, and we remain steadfast in it.”

August’s discomfort radiates from him. If the elders notice, they do not acknowledge it. I bow my head because I am not surprised. “Gratitude for safe use of the beacon.”

“It is in need of some repairs. The last time it was seen, there was significant damage.” Elder Oona gestures for us to stand. “And, Calliape, I expect your stay here to create as few ripples as possible.”

“Of course, elder. Thank you again.” I bow once more as we exit their home and veer to the path out of the village, toward the beacon plateau.

“You tell them there is war coming to the three worlds and they say they close their eyes to it.” August scoffs, striding at my side.

“To me,” I correct. “And there are families here. They do not want to send mothers and fathers to war when they have settled here for peace.”

“They were about as welcoming as I remember.”

“Selene would have gotten further with them.”

“Yes, I noticed that.” He rolls his eyes to the side.

“You should not have spoken.”

“Would it have changed their decision if I didn’t?”

The answer is no. We both realize it.

Although the day’s heat is rising, a chill runs over my skin as dark clouds blow in with the promise of another storm. But even that possibility is so peaceful here, so calm and silent. The air is crisp and so satisfying compared to the grainy breaths of Cosima, now thick with violence.

We walk until the path grows thin, only a line of dirt in the lush grass around it.

Berries, which only grow here for a short time, line the beacon plateau, and seeing them makes me instantly reach out to pluck some from the thorny leaves.

I continue to pick them as we walk and pass some to August. At first, he is cautious of the taste, but then collects his own in rough handfuls.

“The beacon, do you think you will be able to repair it?”

“I’m sure I can, but we will need to see what’s wrong with it first.” He throws me a grin and stands a little straighter, walking more confidently in the open air where the insects and animals of the deep wood are not present.

He even strides ahead as I follow, filling my empty stomach with the sweet orange berries.

The bushes near our destination are larger, the thorns bigger, but it doesn’t stop me.

As soon as August finishes repairs, we can call out for a rescue ship and return to our friends.

The sooner we are off Frith, the better.

I cannot stand knowing our friends are fighting across the space between and may need our help.

The sudden reminder of what the failed ritual cost Ferren sickens me, so I drop the last of my berries to meet August in the open field where they house the beacon.

“This is more than damage,” he notes, defeated.

Every part of the tower is in ruin, the wreckage spread out across the meadow. The structure that was our means to getting home has fallen to the Frithian ground in a useless heap.

My heart settles in my stomach as if the entire plateau is free-falling, taking me and our chance to return with it.

“What could cause this?” I weave through a tangle of thick hairlike wires.

“A lot of power. Do you think someone destroyed it?” August’s eyes dance around at the clutter of metal spreading across the flat plateau, large enough for one of Viathan’s fleet ships to land with room to spare.

“No, look.” I point. “Trees have fallen as well. It must have been a tremor and a tree knocked the tower down.” Even if the only damage were to the tower, it is unlikely a Frithian would do such a thing when the outside world is shut off by disabling it.

What reason would someone have to tear down the only means to communicate with the other two worlds?

“The tower split as it fell. A crew would take days to repair this.”

I hop over a few of the fallen pieces until I reach a sizable platform where the base of the beacon once stood. “We can’t do it ourselves?”

He hovers his hands over a massive metal box, charred and dented with damage. “I could possibly send a message from here. The planets are so close right now, it may go through without the tower.”

I breathe out a sigh and watch as he tries to open the misshapen box.

August’s knowledge of Viathan technology fascinates me. I don’t view it with the same forbidden eyes Ferren once had, as I have always seen it as a means to freedom. To conjure a metal bird to fly to any world you command it is a luxury my gift has never offered.

Until now.

August smacks the side of it when the door does not give way. “Jammed.”

Hope drains from both of us as we inspect the once proudly standing beacon as if the answers are just waiting to be found. And then as if brought back to life, August looks around the debris field, searching for something in the grass.

“Perfect.” He withdraws his answer, a thick branch with leaves still attached as if it snapped off the main offending tree.

“A stick?”

“A wedge,” he says with glee and slides the broken tip of the limb into the seam of the beacon box.

I step back as he pushes into the chard metal, the tapered end buckling it with the force he applies. He huffs and strains with purpose until the branch wedges fully into the door, as if it grew from the metal box itself.

“More rain is coming.” The storm is now almost directly overhead.

“I don’t mind working in the rain. Are tree leeches a problem here too?” he asks, a little breathless, before adjusting his grip and pushing his whole body into the branch with a heave.

“No, but there is fungi in this area that releases spores when it rains, not fatal but it causes hunter’s cough.”

“Hunter’s cough?” It comes out strained as he pushes into the wedge again, the metal groaning but still not giving way.

“Yes, and I should not get this wet again without dressing it properly.” I raise my arm, feeling a little vulnerable.

He pauses, eyes trailing to the angry red skin. The reminder seems to give newfound strength as he breathes through his nostrils like a feral animal, gathering all the air he can muster before switching to the other side of the branch and pulling it toward his puffed chest.

And then with a mix of wood splintering and metal yielding, the door pries open.

“Well done,” I praise and try to hide my smile between my teeth as he recovers.

But his face immediately drops when he looks inside, cursing under his breath and reaching in with careful fingers.

“We can’t send a signal as this is. The wires need to be repaired.” He withdraws a smaller square, not much bigger than a waterskin. The bottom has a dark streak across the grey surface like it has been scorched somehow.

“What do you need to fix it?” I examine the object in his hands with a mix of fascination and worry.

“Tools to open this. I have to assess the damage inside the receiver box.”

“Selene kept a small number of tools.”

I can’t remember the last time I saw them, but I’m certain they are within our home in the village.

I hoped to avoid it during our brief stay here, with every intention of camping on this plateau until a ship came for us, but even as I say that now, it would be uselessly dangerous.

The damage of the beacon has not only complicated our time here, but prolonged it.