Fiery Edge of Steel (A NOON ONYX NOVEL) (31 page)

I
felt heavy, and very small. The whooshing sound in my ears made it seem like the Archangel was giving the eulogy underwater, but I knew it was just the wind. It wasn’t stuffiness. I hadn’t cried. I never cried. Only babies cried.

I looked out across the wide, gray river toward the big city.

Someday, I thought, I’m gonna leave here and go there and never look back. And I won’t care . . . ever again!

“Raphael,” my mother said, her voice barely above a whisper, but somehow louder than the wind. The Archangel paused, waiting for my attention. My mother pointed to the ground beside her. I moved closer and the Archangel continued.

Then thou the mother of so sweet a child,

her false imagined loss cease to lament,

and wisely learn to curb they sorrows wild.

Think what a present thou to Him has sent.

The Archangel looked straight at me, but everyone else looked toward the river. How could they not? That was where I’d sent him, just like the Archangel had just said. Above us, the trees swayed with the wind, dropping their leaves. But leaves didn’t sink.

I watched one fall through the air as the Archangel spoke his hushed words. It swirled and curled, twisting and spinning. Even though it fell, it floated. It didn’t sink like a rock, straight to the bottom.

I watched another. This one from the very tip of a black branch that had no other leaves. The wind plucked at this last leaf and, with one flick of its pointy end, the branch let go. The leaf was pushed out onto the wind. It whirled and swished. A flight I couldn’t take.

The Archangel finished just as the wind blew one of the leaves into my cheek. It pressed against my skin, cold and wet. I peeled it
off.

If it wasn’t dead yet, it would be soon.

Everyone started walking back to the house. It would take a while. The cemetery was down by the river and the house was high up on the hill. As they passed us, I could hear them.

“. . . accident . .
 
.”

“. . . he tripped . .
 
.”

“. . . baby fell . . . drowned . .
 
.”

I ignored them and kept walking. At the top of the hill, I looked back. The long wooden pier jutted out into the Lethe, its weathered boards as warped and twisted as the claws of a crow. I stumbled in the grass, remembering . . .

*   *   *

R
ight when I’d felt the boat dropping away from beneath me, I’d felt a rip in the fabric of my mind, like someone plucking hair from my scalp—but from inside my head, not on top of it. I experienced the most profound sense that something had been taken from me, something substantial and weighty, something meaningful and defining. And that’s when the memory of Rafe’s brother’s funeral had come to me, slipping into the place that had been previously occupied by the now-unremembered memory.

When my true sight returned, we were still spinning in the dinghy, caught in Ebony’s whirlpool. But now I knew: these were the last moments of my life. I don’t know why I’d suddenly seen Rafe’s memory of his brother’s funeral, but nothing seemed more fitting. It seemed natural that my last thoughts would be of a funeral, even if it was someone else’s.

But Fara must have seen a different memory. Because instead of quiet acceptance, whatever she’d seen galvanized her. Her
potentia
was restored; her glamour was back. She looked at me, grinning.

“Noon, I know what will save us!” she cried. “
You
showed me.” And then with what appeared to be almost superhuman strength she reached into her jacket pocket and withdrew her Book. She flung it into the water, shouting:

Nil desperandum; crede Joshua!

If I had to write an ending for Fara, it would have been exactly that one. Her shouting: “Don’t despair; trust in Joshua!” Except she didn’t die. None of us did. We passed through unharmed, except for those sore spots in our memory—the gaps that now held the stolen moments from someone else’s memory.

*   *   *

W
hen we finally arrived on the other side it was morning. The reedy rush lands on either side of the water were bathed in the pink glow of sunrise. Our clothes and hair were sopping wet and there was standing water in the bottom of the dinghy, but we were on the surface of the river, not beneath it. Behind us, the river gurgled contentedly, satisfied that it had delivered us—from what fate or for what future, we didn’t know. These were the sorts of experiences that, while uncommon, were not completely unheard of in Halja. Haljan magic resided mostly in people, but every now and then we’d discover magic in a place or thing: the Angels’ ensorcelled apple wines, Alba’s black onions, Lucifer’s Tomb . . . and now Ebony’s Elbow.

What exactly had just happened to us? Had Fara’s Book really saved us? And, most importantly . . .

Where in Halja were we
now?

I surveyed our dinghy and its occupants. Delgato’s still form was sprawled in the muck on the bottom of the dinghy. Ari’s gaze swept briefly over me before he turned toward the surrounding countryside. Fara kept a tight hold on Virtus, who looked absolutely miserable. I remembered how much cats hated the water. Virtus’ ears were back and he looked about half his usual size. His fur clung wetly to him as a low growl burbled up from his throat, an odd accompaniment to the river’s gurgling behind us.

I glanced back at the bubbling spot. I guess that’s where we’d come from. It seemed impossible to believe. But before I could ask Fara what she’d meant when she’d shouted that
I’d
showed her how to save us, Rafe leapt out of the dinghy and into the water. Virtus’ low growling and the river’s quiet gurgling were momentarily eclipsed by the sound of splashing. A moment later, Russ joined him.

“Where are you two going?” I cried. My gut instinct was that everyone should just sit tight. But then I laughed at myself. Sit tight for what? For someone to come along and rescue us? I snorted at my own stupidity.

“We need to drain the water in the bottom of the boat,” Rafe said, “make repairs, and build some new oars.”

I nodded. I hadn’t realized it, until just then, but passing through the Elbow had somehow made my magic feel expanded, frozen, and constricted all at the same time. Like I was an ice cube with a piece of string wrapped around it . . . and inside of it. I forced myself to relax. My signature thawed just as Rafe and Russ beached the dinghy on the river’s edge.

Russ was holding up remarkably well for a young man with no magic who’d been nearly drowned and then mysteriously transported to an unfamiliar place. But then again, he was the one with all the river experience. Maybe something similar had happened to him before.

I let my signature melt into the surrounding land so I could feel, magically, what might be in store for us, but thankfully, there were no demons here. The only signature I sensed was Ari’s. I still couldn’t feel Delgato’s, although he was still alive at least.

Ari jumped out of the boat and offered me a hand. I eyed the tall grasses warily. Just because there were no demons here didn’t mean there weren’t other things that might still kill us. The rush lands were full of crocodiles (the
rogares’
main food source), venomous snakes, and poisonous frogs, just to name a few of the dangerous, unseen things creeping around out there. But I’d been the one who’d been pushing everyone to take every possible survival option prior to entering the Elbow, so I could hardly give up now that we’d actually made it through.

I accepted Ari’s hand and hopped out of the boat. Rafe and Russ had already disappeared into the rush lands, presumably to find materials for new oars.

“What about Delgato?” I asked.

“He’ll be safest in the boat until we find somewhere to camp for the night,” Ari said. “Fara, you and Virtus can stay with Delgato.” She nodded. She either didn’t care that she’d be left alone, or she thought a comatose ex-captain and waterlogged tiger were company enough. That’s when I noticed what else was missing from the boat—the food and weapons. I nearly cried out in frustration. What else could we possibly lose? First our clothes, books, maps, case file, and letters of introduction, then
Cnawlece
, which had been both shelter and transportation, the food we’d brought for the people of the Shallows, then Burr, the most selfless member of the crew. As if that weren’t enough, it seemed that Luck wanted to strip us of everything. Fara’d given her Book of Joshua, and now the last of our food and weapons were gone. I raised my hand to my chest to feel for the alembic. It was still hanging on its chain, but the catch had come undone. It was empty. The waerwater was gone. I yanked hard on the alembic’s chain, pulling it free. I held it up to show Ari. He just shook his head.

Was
everything
gone?

Of course not. We still had our lives and our magic. I patted my jacket pocket, feeling a tiny bulge and two larger, sharper-shaped ones. The tin full of tea herbs Burr had risked his life going back for had made it, as had his filleting knife and Alba’s black onion. I was consumed with a nearly overpowering urge to ask it, “How will we get back home?” but I figured the onion wasn’t big enough to hold the answer. I sighed.

Aut viam inveniam aut faciam.
I would either find a way or I would make one.

*   *   *

B
y late afternoon, much had been accomplished. We’d cleared a small camp area near the river’s sandy edge; we’d moved Delgato out of the dinghy, bailed out the water and patched its holes; we’d made new oars out of wood and reeds, collected firewood, and, with Virtus’ help, managed to capture a few nonpoisonous marsh creatures, among them a half dozen geese and two swans. Our hair and clothes were now dry (it was the end of Ghrun; the day’s heat, for once, had been welcome) and whatever storm had blown through last night was entirely gone. Even the demons were keeping their distance. I hadn’t felt a single unfamiliar signature since we’d passed through Ebony’s Elbow. Still, the last thing I felt was safe or comfortable. Especially since there was not just one, but
two
hellcnights who had now “adjusted” to my signature. I didn’t think, based on what Delgato had told us during our first training session with him, that I’d be able to sense either one of them if they decided to attack us again.

The five of us (six, if you counted Virtus) huddled around the small fire Ari and I had made, while Delgato continued his odd slumber off to one side. The geese and swans were roasting on spits and the sun was just beginning its descent. I’d started to nervously eye the grass again, half expecting to see a crocodile or snake head emerge. The cynical, fatalistic part of me had to admit it would be pretty funny if, after all I’d been through, I died from an attack by something as mundane as a nonmagical swamp beast. But then I thought of Athalie, the girl from the Shallows whose demon complaint had started this whole journey.

No, there was nothing funny at all about being lost in the swamp for her, I thought, glancing around at my surroundings. If the girl was still alive, I was going to find her.

“I still want to try and find the Shallows,” I blurted out.

Five sets of eyes turned toward me. I was happy to see that no one looked angry about the suggestion, even Russ, although Virtus just looked hungry. He quickly shifted his gaze from me to the swans.

“You know we have no map, right?” Ari said, pointing out the obvious. I nodded and he continued. “And you know there’s no way of knowing where we are, except that we’re probably, hopefully, still somewhere in the Lethe’s river delta.” I nodded again. (If we weren’t still in the delta, we weren’t in Halja anymore, and I don’t think any of us wanted to consider that possibility.)

“And you know the delta’s over a hundred miles wide?”

This time I took more time to nod. I knew what Ari was saying. It could take the rest of our lives, or at least the better part of our youth, to find the Shallows. But I couldn’t give up. If there was even the smallest chance we could still reach the Shallows and find Athalie, or prevent further disappearances, then I was determined to try.

I was also beginning to think that not only might Grimasca be real, but he was probably the demon who was behind both the hellcnight attacks on us and the disappearances in the Shallows. The fact that both demon complaints named him as a suspect combined with the fact that we’d been attacked twice by hellcnights on the way to investigate those complaints was too much of a coincidence to ignore. I shared my thoughts with the group. No one argued, but no one looked particularly convinced either.

“I felt the waning magic blur too,” Ari said. “Just before Burr was attacked.”

“That’s the other thing,” I said, pausing because I was much less sure of my analysis with respect to this part of my hypothesis. “I was talking to Burr yesterday about Grimasca.” I dug in the sand with a stick, hardly believing I’d sat in Delgato’s room with Burr only yesterday. “Burr said his mother told him Grimasca’s mate had been a big, black river serpent. Sound familiar? Burr believed Grimasca killed his mate. Well, I think Grimasca’s mate may have been Ebony and
that’s
why Grimasca’s hellcnights can impersonate her at the Elbow.”