GODSWAR: Chapter 5

A terrible thing had happened in the capital, and Victoria was away...

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Chapter 5.

The night felt … tense, was the best way Ingram could put it. Here, several miles from Zarathanton itself, there was little light other than that of the stars and what spilled out from the windows of the sprawling mansion. And with nearly everyone asleep, there were few lights within. Even as he glanced back at the house, he saw another window go dark. Embrae, the Master of House, he thought. The taciturn woman had been hired only a week and a half ago, but already had organized the household admirably. Partly by doing twelve-hour days. Good thing she's finally going to sleep tonight.

But even with everyone asleep, the tension remained. The sounds of the Forest Sea were muted; the grass-singers still chirped and sang within the walls, but not as loudly, not as numerously, as just a night or three ago.

Ingram unslung the anai-k'ota. The feel of the cool metal in his hands was comforting. Still, nothing should intrude upon us here. The wards are not nearly powerful enough to stop intrusion, but they are very good for warning us, and that is generally enough. As he was on patrol, the wards were attuned to him.

He passed by the vegetable garden, absently scanning it for signs of disturbance – there were none, although it did look as though something was eating the burnroot leaves. Better let Victoria and Isherr, the gardener, know. The rows of vegetables were dim lines of rustling gray separated by strips of pooled blackness, except where the vestitia, or sparkleaf, lifted crinkled leaves that glittered with blue and gold pinpoints, making their rows a mass of harvestable constellations.

He passed into one of the small groves of trees on the estate. Whoever had owned it before Victoria purchased it had obviously valued shade and privacy, as the trees bordered all of the thirty-seven acres and were clumped here and there throughout the grounds, interspersed with bits of garden, meadow, and a small wetlands surrounding the spring that gave birth to a small, fast stream that coursed through the property to the south-southwest.

They really need more people if they want a secure watch. And stronger wards, something to keep things out rather than just let you know when they've already come in.

A chill and flash of light appeared before him. The wards! Something's at the gate!

He sprinted in that direction, listening, watching. But the locking wards remained intact, and there was – so far – no sign of any intrusion. A bell rang, signaling that someone requested admittance.

Who could there be at this time of night? Lady Victoria? If so, why would she ring instead of just letting herself in? She has the key-wands.

The gates came into view; Ingram gestured with his own key-wand and the lights outside of the gate brightened, showing a lone figure standing before the reinforced steel-and-ebonwood portals.

As Ingram came nearer, he could see that the man before the gates was broad and more compact than human – one of the Odinsyrnen. He was wearing a leather traveling coat, a wide-brimmed leather hat, and armored leather pants. Obviously cool-spelled, or even an Odinsyrnen would be uncomfortable. He noted a patch on the shoulder – similar to his own, but this one's background was of high gates surrounded by mountains. The only visible weapons were a pair of broad-bladed knives, one on each hip, but Ingram suspected this man had quite a few others.

"Ah. Someone's awake, then," the newcomer said, deep voice tired but cheerful. "Thought I might have to camp out until morning just to get an answer." He covered one eye and bowed. "Hengel, Guilded out of Hell's Edge, courier."

"If you'll turn and let me verify, Guildsman?" Ingram stretched the rod he had been given when he first gained his own patch. It glowed and chimed with white light and the great gates on the patch shimmered. "Thank you."

"Welcome. Sometimes wonder what the point is – never seen a fake Adventurer's Patch myself. Let me in, then?"

"A moment." The key-wand again, and the gates opened enough to admit the courier, who stepped through and let the portals shut behind him. "I've seen a fake. Or, rather, I saw a genuine Patch that had been stolen and was being used by someone else. Wand screamed fear and death and the Patch burst into flame." Ingram felt a grim smile curling his lips. "Oh, they work, believe me."

"Learn a new thing every day, don't I?" Hengel said. "Anyway, hope I'm not just heading back out on the next leg of this Loki-cursed quest, but probably am."

"Quest?"

"Aye, the Guild's been trying to run this delivery for years, last I heard." He reached into a pouch – one clearly larger within than without – and extracted a note, which he squinted at in the gate-light. "I'm looking for an Ingram Camp-Bel, Clan Camp-Bel of Aegeia, Zarathanton Guilded."

Ingram blinked in surprise. "Well, you're not just heading back out. I'm Ingram Camp-Bel."

"You? Heimdall's Eyes, I was expecting some ancient warrior, not some slip of a boy barely sword-high. I'll need to check your identity, of course."

"Of course." The other waved his own rod past Ingram's patch, verifying his Guild status, and then dug into the pouch again and extracted a flat, transparent crystal rectangle. Ingram felt his eyes widen; he hadn't seen one of those since…

"I'm told if you're the right guy, touching this little plate'll prove it."

Feeling as though the world were becoming distant, unreal, Ingram reached out and pressed his thumb onto the shining surface.

Instantly it glowed, gave a mellow tone, and the color shifted to pure green. "Well, give me stilts and call me a giant. You are the guy." It looked like Hengel was having trouble believing it as well. "Then I can finally put this as a completed mission."

He reached into his backpack and pulled out a small, simple metallic box, barely larger than Ingram's hand, with a symbol Ingram had known since he was a child inlaid on the top. Hengel placed the box in Ingram's hands – hands that were shaking – and bowed. "I'm not to see what you do with the thing, whether you open it or throw it away, so I'll bid you good-night, Ingram Camp-Bel."

"I… I thank you, Hengel. Should I… I mean, is there a cost…"

"To a fellow Guildsman? Nay, think no more of it."

Still, Ingram pressed two Scales into Hengel's hand. "For your trouble, and my thanks for the delivery. May… may the road be smooth and your way safe."

When the gate was once more closed and Ingram was alone, he moved away and sat down on one of the square stone blocks that lined the walkway, staring at the box. From the top surface, the symbol shone: stylized curves that represented a ship, a starship, in flight, against an ebony backdrop sprinkled with silver-shining stars, bracketed on each side by an open book. The symbol of Rhyme and Reason, the ship of the Founder.

Sent from Aegeia. Sent from the Clan. From the Clan to me.

Ingram couldn’t believe it. He'd left. He'd had to leave, after what had happened, what he'd heard, what he'd learned. He said it's been years. Do I open it? If "years" was true, they must have sent it out within… weeks, months at the most, of the time he'd left. It had been chasing him from adventure to adventure. He and Quester had just never stopped long enough. Whatever reason they'd sent it, it couldn't be… relevant any longer.

Could it?

Couldn't it? asked the colder, more analytical side of himself. I know what this is. I know what it almost has to be. I left without permission. I stole from the Clan, no matter what excuses I've given myself, what justifications I've made myself accept.

His heart pounded faster and he felt sweat on his palms, making the metal box slick as it sat there in his trembling hands. Within would be an official note, written by Mother and Father… if not by the Captain directly. It would express the Clan's grave displeasure, and order him to return without delay for a trial, a court-martial, there to be stripped of Clan and kin.

It was a summons he could not refuse, nor one he could delay. Once read… he would be honor-bound to return by the swiftest means possible to Aegeia, to present himself to the Clan for judgment.

I could refuse to open it. If I never see it, if I never read it, I haven't been given the command. I can stay here, with Quester, with Urelle.

The thought itself was shocking. But it was seductive, and in its way true. I don't know that's what's in here, I'm just guessing. I don't have to see it. If I don't see it, I'm not ignoring a command…

He swallowed hard, then looked to his own shoulder. The Adventurer's Patch glimmered there. Will I be so much a coward? How can I wear that symbol, take pride in being Guilded of Zarathanton, if I won't and can't face my own sins?

He couldn't. That was the hardest truth, the simplest, yet most painful answer. If he wanted to retain any semblance of honor or pride, he couldn't ignore this message, one that had pursued him through the years and thousands of miles. Perhaps… perhaps even the dishonor of losing the Clan might not drive Quester away. They had traveled long and far together.

But he would not deserve Quester's regard – or that of other people he cared for – if he didn't face his own responsibilities.

With that thought – and before he could have any second thoughts – Ingram grasped the box firmly, thumbs touching the sides, and said "Ingram Camp-Bel, inducted on the third day of the seventh month of the tenth year of Cycle Three Hundred and Fourteen."

The box hummed and the top sprang back.

Shock and disbelief enveloped Ingram, numbing him with incomprehending horror, blotting out anything except the thing that lay atop the folded paper within. Shining in polished gold and silver alloy, the figure of a bird of prey ascending, wings spread and raised above the narrow beaked head, a symbol of courage and spirit … and in this place, in this way, of something terrible and impossible.

Ingram! Ingram, what is it?

The voice within his head broke through his stunned disbelief. He heard a whirring of wings, saw Quester sailing through the air, weapons drawn. What happens? How are we assailed?

"I… it's nothing, Quester. We're safe," he said numbly.

"Nothing?" The buzzing voice shook with his friend's confused emotions. "My friend, never have I scented such shock and fear from you, not even when we faced the Darkness That Devours. What is that before you, that you cannot take your eyes from?"

"I…" He slammed the lid closed, although that could not in any way remove from him the memory of what he had seen, rose, and began walking. "A message. A message I cannot believe."

Quester studied him as they walked, great faceted eyes sparkling in the faint light from the stars. "Tell me. Tell me so I might understand, nest-brother."

He felt a sting in his eyes at that term, because he knew what that meant to Quester. "I… I did not… didn’t leave my clan happily," he said finally.

The antennae dipped, there was a touch of lemon shading to cinnamon. "So I had guessed, from things said and unsaid. You were … exiled? Cast out?"

"Not… quite." Might have been easier. "I left on my own. Took things that … well, if I'd been sent on a mission by the Clan I would have perhaps been allowed to take them, but…"

"Ah." The insectoid face was hard to read, but the spike of tar and iron in his scent showed shock and disappointment. I talked about the Clan, but I had already dishonored myself to the Clan. No wonder he is disappointed.

They were near the house now, and Quester was a shadow against the darkness. Finally he spoke. "Why?"

Ingram ran one hand through his hair, feeling the old anger and betrayal and sadness, tears trying to force their way out. Finally, he sank down, leaning his back against the stone. "I was angry. So furious with them all, and especially M… Mother and Father."

"Why?" Quester asked again.

Ingram gave a snort of laughter, laughter without humor or lightness. "Because I heard a truth I wasn't supposed to hear. A truth I'd always suspected I'd hear if I listened."

Trying to tell Quester took him back, so that he could see it, could hear it all again. Barely recovered from that terrible day, his body finally whole, walking down the stairs quietly, carefully, so as to disturb no one, so he could go outside alone … and hearing his parents, their voices low but tense, with anger and fear, coming from the study, the door almost-but-not-quite closed.

     "…a complete disaster," his father had said. Ingram could see his dark face in his mind's eye, stern, worried.

     "I know. Ingram should never have been there," his mother said, and he could imagine her too, tense with worry, brown eyes watching her husband and partner, hair the color of dark-polished wood curling out of control from a tight ponytail.

     "He was barred from there. Forbidden! And she should have…" His father sighed. "But what else could we expect, Ianthe? Ingram was raised a Camp-Bel. He… he tries to be one of us."

     "He is one of us, Rastus!" his mother retorted. "Ever since—"

     "He cannot ever be truly one of us, Ianthe," his father said, coldly. "You… we… see him that way, but we know the truth, we saw the truth—"

     "Don't," Ianthe said, even as Ingram began backing slowly away, a dull horror filling him at the knowledge that even his parents didn't truly see him as a Camp-Bel, no matter how much he had tried. "Don't… I know. I know I should not think of him as our child…"

     Her voice faded as he turned and ran, as quietly and swiftly as he could, tears streaming silently down his face.

Ingram became aware that he had trailed off, that the night had been silent save for the grass-singers and the wind for long moments.

Then Quester's clawed hand came to rest gently on his shoulder, and he looked up to see the great-eyed head bent low. Ingram felt the feather-light touch of the two antennae, and for a moment could sense the aching sympathy of his friend. "Oh, nest-brother. What a terrible thing to learn, to hear, and a terrible way to learn it."

"I should have stayed, should have confronted them," Ingram said, unable to keep his self-directed anger and disgust from his voice. "Instead I ran, got into the A&A – Armory and Archives – and took what I told myself was my rightful inheritance, my severance pay, whatever." He looked down. "I'm a coward and a thief, that's the truth, Quester."

His friend was quiet for a moment. "You are not a coward, Ingram Camp-Bel. Whatever you might have been in the past, you have never shown cowardice in my presence, in all the time we have been together. Nor have you stolen, or done any other thing that would dishonor our bond, or the Guild that is our family and home."

Ingram could no longer keep tears from spilling out. He let them come instead, crying quietly for the pain of the past and the faith of a friend he wasn't sure he deserved.

But when that was over, he felt… clearer. Ingram drew a long, shaky breath and looked up.

Quester nodded. "So what is the message, then? That you return to be tried?"

He tried to laugh. "Ha. No, that was actually what I thought it would be. Instead…" He opened the box, showed the glittering winged symbol. "…instead I've been sent the Captain's Insignia."

"I sense much significance within your mind, but I do not understand, myself."

"It can mean … a lot of things, depending on when and how it's presented. There are only four Insignias. One's worn by the Captain of the Clan at all times. The other three are … tokens of command, I guess. The Captain can hand them to people to allow them to speak with their authority, or can send them to someone as a command that cannot be disobeyed."

He looked down, afraid to touch the Insignia. "By sending this to me…" He felt the tears threaten to return "By sending this to me, they've already said you are a Camp-Bel to me, so loudly, so emphatically, that even I can't miss it. But they've also said answer this call, and I'm terrified what could possibly require them to call back a runaway who didn't even … didn't even measure up," he finished miserably.

"I find that hard to believe."

Ingram shook his head. "You never saw the real Camp-Bels. That's why a part of me always knew what I would hear, if I listened … don't they say that none who listen at doors will like what they hear? In any case…"

He picked up the Insignia, feeling a faint tingle as it sensed a new hand touching it … and accepted him. I really am the one this is for. By Athena and her missing Father…

Filled with trepidation, he picked up the paper beneath it. It was a small, folded note, sealed with his father's symbol. He broke the seal and read:

Return at once. Avoid well-traveled routes; danger is extreme; enemies may be seeking you. There are things you must know, that must not be written nor spoken outside of the Clan. This order remains in force no matter how long this message takes to reach you.

     Be swift and be safe.

     Lady and the Founder protect you.

          Rastus, Clan Camp-Bel

Ingram stared at this brief note, trying to grasp all the implications. Danger is extreme. Rastus would not use a word like "extreme" lightly. Things you must know. What things? About his not being Camp-Bel? He knew about that – he had been adopted into the Clan because they felt responsible for what had happened to the rest of his family. What else? What terrible secret that could not even be hinted at in such a secure message?

"'This order remains in force no matter how long this message takes to reach you,'" he murmured, still disbelieving.

Quester nodded, antennae emphasizing the motion. "An order of grave import. What will you do?"

"Do?" He took a breath, then slapped his face with his hands twice, briskly. The shock and quick snap of pain cleared the confusion. "There's only one thing I can do, Quester: go. As fast as I can by the less-traveled route, through wilderness if I have to."

"So we will leave tomorrow—"

"No, I have to leave now." He thought he heard a faint noise at that statement, but looking around, he saw no indication of anyone else; the house remained dark and quiet, and nothing else moved except the plants in the breeze.

"This…" he gestured to the box, "this is an imperative. By strict interpretation, if I was given this command in the middle of … of pulling a family from a flooded river, I would be expected to drop the rope and start on my journey." At Quester's abrupt head-tilt, he added, "Not that I would!"

"I would not think so. But I can feel the urgency. You cannot bring yourself to wait until the morrow, when Lady Vantage returns?"

Ingram shook his head, tension building within him. "No. No, I wish I could, but I can't. It's been two years reaching me. I know, one might say 'but then, what difference could a day make?', but I say, what if I return one day late? I have to go. I'll … I'll leave my own note. I don't know what she'll think of me for it, but you can tell her."

"Tell her? How could I do that, when we are already on our way?"

"Quester, this is my problem, maybe my trial! I can't ask—"

"You are my nest-brother," Quester said, with a strange combination of patience and annoyance. "What threatens you, threatens me. What duty calls to you, I must also answer that call. Unless you would repudiate that bond, then I, too, go with you."

He stared at Quester. "But … I ran away, Quester. I stole from my own Clan. I—"

"—you are considered still part of your Clan. Whatever you may have done or heard, they have sent you what is – by your own words – the highest symbol of your Nest, your Clan Camp-Bel. Would they send that to one who was only to be disgraced and punished?"

He found himself shivering, and for a moment he didn't know why. "N… no. No, they would just send me the recall, and tell me why."

"Then – no matter your own view of your actions – they still hold you in esteem, or at least in enough honor that no lesser call would suffice. Perhaps it is for some terrible purpose … but not, I think, one so petty and tragic."

"No. You're right." Now he understood the shivering. It was fear. Not fear for himself, but fear of the unknown, fear of what horrific secret might have impelled the Captain to call the renegade child home with such desperate emphasis.

"You're right," he said again, and it seemed the night shivered for him. "Let's go, then."

But as he turned to enter the Vantage mansion for the last time, he felt the fear recede; because no matter what, he would not face it alone.