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CHAPTER TEN

GABE

When you meet together to worship Me, know that I can hear, even in the Shining Realm. And when you meet together to disparage Me, know that I mark your name.

A nother dream that wasn’t. Another memory.

Gabe was in that wrong body, alien angles, pushed to the back of an unfamiliar mind. Hestraon stood at the Fount, the wide sky above cloudless and perfect blue. He stared at the ground, at the three pieces of the broken Fount lying in the grass.

They didn’t look right. One of them didn’t, at least. There was the sun, the moon, the leaf and wind gust.

But on the end of the stone with the elemental carvings, there was another. A small lick of flame, the shape and size making it easy to mistake for a natural cleft in the rock.

Gabe could tell that this memory was old, not long after Hestraon’s ascent to godhood. Magic still felt foreign in the god’s body, sparks and embers flickering painfully along his veins, not yet settled. An earlier memory than the first one he’d seen, Apollius and Hestraon at the forge.

The ache in Hestraon’s heart wasn’t so great, not yet. There was still a shine of hope that he could become something Apollius and Nyxara could love the way they loved each other.

Hestraon weighed something in his fist. A hammer, handle sweat-slicked. He picked up the third piece and laid it carefully on the edge of the Fount.

Then He brought down the hammer.

His accuracy was impeccable. A crack appeared between the flame and the rest of the carvings; picking it up, Hestraon gently worked at it until the flame-carved piece broke off in his hand.

And what did you think that would accomplish?

A new voice, weak and distant, floating through the air.

Hestraon clenched his fist around the stone.

You are not like them , the voice continued. No matter what stones you split. They are a thing apart. More powerful. They drank twice, and offered you only a mouthful.

The god took in a shaky breath. He dropped the stone to the ground. He turned and walked away.

See? Hestraon’s voice came close, as if He whispered in Gabe’s ear. Present, not in memory, like He was watching this just as Gabe did. Loving Them is useless.

It doesn’t matter , Gabe answered. I can’t stop.

Hestraon sighed. Neither can I.

Slowly, Gabe woke up.

He’d never wondered why there was no flame on the elemental stone.

Maybe because somehow, he knew, by virtue of the god burrowing into his head.

Did that mean he would have to find it in order to surrender his power to the Fount?

One more impossible errand in a list of them.

He closed his eye, pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead.

Surrendering is not so easy , Hestraon said.

“I don’t have a choice,” Gabe murmured aloud.

You have more choices than you think you do.

Gabe didn’t reply.

“We should never have agreed to this.”

Caldien’s wealth of taverns made finding one to kill time in before their first meeting of the Brotherhood of the Waters an easy task.

This one was dirtier than most, on the outskirts of Farramark.

Everyone here was too drunk to remember their faces, which seemed prudent even with Eoin’s protection.

Gabe was half tempted to join them. But he mostly just stared into his beer, his stomach too unsettled to do more than sip it halfheartedly. “And you used to be an optimist.”

“All my optimism is gone.” Malcolm was on his second drink, his eyes going glassy. “Who knows if Eoin can actually help Lore and Alie? Or if he’ll give us the Fount piece?”

“There’s a chance,” Gabe said. “And we have to take it.”

Malcolm threw back the rest of his ale. His hands had stopped trembling, but there was still a faraway look on his face.

The same one he’d had since they were captured, the one that seemed to be about more than their present circumstances.

Gabe had known Malcolm for most of his life.

He could tell something was badly wrong.

“What happened last night, Malcolm?”

“Other than being chloroformed in an alleyway like a non-sanctioned channeler?”

“You know what I mean.”

Malcolm shook his head, just slightly. He sat back, staring down at the table, and for nearly a full minute, he was silent. When he finally started talking, his voice was low.

“I was scared,” he said. “I think that’s why it happened.

I was looking for a way out, after they got you, any way out.

I panicked, and then…” He waved his hand, trying to conjure words from the air.

“I changed. I could feel earth all around us, every particle of it, and I… went into it. Disappeared, became something else. I could have gotten away like that, I think. Followed the earth elsewhere, traveled through it. But I didn’t. ”

So he wasn’t the only one beleaguered by the god in his head. Gabe’s relief felt mean-spirited.

He clenched the handle of his tankard. “Why?” If there was a way they could use this power to travel undetected, to get back to Auverraine, to the Isles…

“Because Braxtos was there,” Malcolm spat. “Like He was waiting. I thought They couldn’t do that, Gabe.”

Blame, fire-hot and just as easy to see. Not because it was Gabe’s fault, but because there had to be someone to blame for this.

“We were wrong,” Gabe said, staring into his beer. “I’ve been having strange dreams. Memories.” A pause. “I heard Him.”

He hoped that Malcolm didn’t ask what Hestraon had to say.

Malcolm breathed harshly, raising his hands to press at his forehead, elbows on the table.

A moment, then he lowered them carefully and set them on either side of his cup, and continued speaking as if Gabe hadn’t interrupted.

“I could feel Him taking over. And I knew if I stayed like that, used it like that, whoever came out on the other side wouldn’t be me.

” He finally looked up. “It isn’t worth it. Especially if you’re hearing Him.”

Surrender is not so easy , the god had said in the dark predawn. Power was a hard thing to ignore, for someone whose power had always been at the whim of another, easy to take away.

Gabe’s fingers curled on the table. “But if we—”

“No.” He’d never heard the word said with such vehemence. Malcolm glared, all the glassiness of drink gone in a blaze of determination.

Gabe stared at his friend, mouth pressed tight. Then he nodded.

They sat in silence, the patrons of the tavern getting steadily drunker around them. When Gabe spoke again, it was on a completely different subject, since the more pertinent one was clearly off limits. “How do you think this is going to go?”

“Any group that calls themselves the Brotherhood of the Waters seems like a hotbed for drama.” Malcolm sat back, relieved that they’d moved on. “I’m thinking cloaks and chanting, at the very least.”

“Excellent.” Gabe drained the last of his lackluster beer. “Sun’s going down. We should head that way.”

They paid their tab and started across Farramark, toward the Rotunda. The golden dome glittered between the plain stone and wood buildings of the rest of the city, calling them on like a beacon.

“If there’s any sort of bloodletting, I’m leaving,” Malcolm said, looking squeamish. “Everyone cutting their hands, or something. Do you know how many diseases you can get from that?”

“I’d say we’re locked in, no matter what happens,” Gabe said grimly. “If we want the Fount piece and safety for Lore and Alie.”

Malcolm sighed.

Thinking of cutting hands brought Bastian’s Consecration to mind, when Anton carved half of a bloody eclipse into his palm. Gabe had been shocked then, though sure that whatever Anton was doing had some greater purpose, meant for good. How naive he’d been.

But, gods, Bastian had looked beautiful that day. Between him and Lore at his side, Gabe’s head had been spinning like bubbles in a glass of champagne.

The Rotunda was dark, the countless windows ringing the building shuttered. A lone man stood to the side of the grand staircase, a dark hood pulled up over his face. When he saw Gabe and Malcolm, he bowed slightly, gestured for them to follow.

“Oh, look,” Malcolm muttered. “Cloaks.”

“Point for you,” Gabe replied.

The cloaked man led them to a side entrance, opened the door. Beyond, darkness, cut through with the smoky light of sconces. A tiny landing before a steep staircase.

As they passed through the door, the man bowed again. “Honored ones.” He came in behind them, giving them space.

Malcolm shifted uncomfortably.

The staircase ended in a round room. Gabe had heard of this—the bottom level of the Rotunda was a shelter for Farramark citizens when the weather turned particularly nasty.

Usually, when the skies were what passed for pleasant in Caldien, the area was used for storage.

Whatever had been stored here had now been moved out to make space for a gathering of nearly fifty people, all wearing black robes with the hoods pulled up, hiding their faces.

To make room for the Brotherhood, but also for the wide stone fountain in the center of the floor.

The sides of the fountain were smooth, rising to about knee height, made of stones stacked and mortared together.

The mortar had been gilded, and thin lines of gold paint ran over the stones, making it shimmer in the low light.

Water burbled in the fountain, a clever mechanism making a spout rise in the middle though the rest of it remained placid.

It must be fed by some underground spring.

Clearly, this was meant to be a replication of the Fount.

“This seems like slight blasphemy,” Malcolm murmured, his voice hidden in the susurrus of other Brotherhood members visiting with one another.

“More than slight,” Gabe replied. “I’d say this is far more accurate blasphemy than we’re used to.”

One figure broke from the crowd and stepped up to the fountain, throwing back his hood. Eoin, grinning wide. “Welcome, Brothers,” he intoned, his arms spread benevolently. “If you are here, you are a seeker of truth, a mind uncontained by tradition. You do not follow scriptures; you follow power.”

“We follow power and see where it leads,” the rest of the group replied.

“And now for the chanting,” Malcolm whispered.

Gabe barely kept his face stoic beneath his own hood.

One of the Brothers stepped up to Eoin, handing him a silver goblet. Eoin took it and dipped it into the false Fount, holding it up in the dim light as water streamed down his arm and wet his cloak. “To knowledge, and the making of a better world.”

The rest of the Brotherhood repeated the sentiment. Gabe stayed quiet.

Eyes alight with holy fervor, Eoin brought the goblet to his mouth and drank.

The Brotherhood member took it back and did the same, pulling down his hood to reveal his face as he did. Gabe didn’t know his name, but he recognized him from the Rotunda, one of the elected representatives. The man passed the goblet, and the next Brother took his own sip.

“Are we doing that?” Malcolm asked as they watched the water make its way around the room. “I feel like we shouldn’t do that.”

“We have to.” The goblet was close now. Five more Brothers and it’d be their turn. “I don’t see a refusal going over well.”

The Brother closest to them drank. He passed the goblet to Malcolm.

There was only a tiny bit of water left in the bottom. With a sigh, Malcolm pulled back his hood and drank.

If the other Brothers were surprised to see a new member, and one wanted by Auverraine, they didn’t make it obvious.

Gabe pulled down his hood and took the cup from Malcolm, taking his own tiny sip.

The water tasted cold and mineral. He half expected it to knock him out, for this to be part of some greater ploy.

But it was just water. One more bit of exaggerated theater, making mortals feel closer to gods.

Across the room, Eoin watched him, that same eager smile on his face.

Minutes later, the goblet was back in the Prime Minister’s hands. With great reverence, he set it on the lip of the fountain.

“Brothers,” he announced, spreading his hands, “this is a momentous day indeed. Long we have studied the elemental gods, those powers forgotten by the larger world, made irrelevant in the face of Apollius. But today, we see that we were right. That Their magic is still here, and still powerful.” He gestured to Gabe and Malcolm.

“Today, we see those gods made flesh in human avatars. The inheritors of lost magic.”

The Brothers turned to them, awe on their faces. Gabe fought the ridiculous urge to wave.

“Gabriel. Malcolm.” Eoin stepped aside and waved them up to the front of the group. “A demonstration, if you would.”

He’d known this was the deal, but Gabe suddenly felt at a loss, completely unsure of how to proceed.

You know.

Hestraon, His voice low, a banked fire in the back of his mind.

Find the heat and make a spark.

Instinctually, wordlessly, Gabe held out his hand. His vision immediately went black and white, save for the red-orange threads glimmering in the air, more concentrated around the dark shapes of bodies. He grasped one of those threads hovering right above his palm, pulled it through himself.

A tiny spark of flame floated above his hand.

The Brothers gasped, stepping back. Curious murmurs filtered through the crowd. A few braver ones overcame their initial fear and stepped closer, as if they’d examine the fire. A circus act, just like he’d said in Eoin’s office.

Gabe closed his hand, smothering the flame.

Eoin watched avidly, one finger tapping at his mouth. “Fascinating.” He grinned. “And how, exactly, did Hestraon’s power come to you?”

He knew already, if his words the night of their capture were to be believed. More theater. Gabe wasn’t sure if Eoin wanted them to lie or tell the truth.

“It just happened.” Malcolm spat it like an accusation. “We didn’t do anything.”

Eoin just nodded, nonplussed by his tone. “And have you experimented with it? Seen what else you can do?”

“We have not.” Malcolm’s arms were tightly crossed. “We don’t want it.”

“Is that so?” Eoin’s eyes slid to Gabe.

Gabe swallowed. His voice sounded hoarse, as if he’d channeled that fire directly through his vocal cords. “Yes.”

Liar , Hestraon said.