The Storyspinner (28 page)

Chapter 83

Jacaré

Besides finding the heir, nothing had gone according to plan. Yes, they’d managed to save her from meeting her family’s fate, but not without earning her distrust.

I handled this all so poorly,
Jacaré thought as he drove his horse forward.
If she hadn’t run, if there wasn’t someone chasing us, if that person wasn’t a Keeper . . .

Tex hadn’t said it plainly, but the fire that burned the Von Arlos’ wagons had been magically fueled. The support beams should have taken hours to collapse and the windows had melted in their frames.
Nothing burns that fast naturally.

Johanna leaned over Jacaré’s horse’s neck, coughing against the dust their travel kicked up, her thin shoulders shaking as she cried. Her shirt was torn, blood soaking through in places along her arms.

With a sense of self-loathing Jacaré tightened his grip around her waist and used the contact to heal a few of her injuries. He didn’t dare mend them all or revive her legs, fearing she’d run again.

She shivered as the magic worked its way through her body, closing wounds and easing the worst of the aches.

“I’m sorry I can’t do more,” he said next to her ear. “I’m sorry we didn’t arrive earlier, Princess.”

“Don’t call me that. My name is Johanna.”

“When we stop, I’ll explain everything. I promise.”

“I don’t want your promises,” she said, shouting to be heard over the horses. “I want my family back.”

Tex had stopped in the middle of the trail and waited for Jacaré to ride up beside him. He looked over the top of Johanna’s head like she wasn’t there.

“We need to rest. The horses have been running for twenty-four hours straight; Pira and I are exhausted. Leão’s about burned out.” His white eyebrows danced together, creating harsh lines on his face. “He’s not powerful enough to raise animals from the dead, especially when he looks like he’s got one foot in the grave himself. ”

They all turned to look at the two riders behind them. Leão rested his forehead on his horse’s neck and ignored Pira’s efforts to hand him a drink.

“He shouldn’t be so drained. With his level . . .”

“Even when you had—” Tex cut off his words and frowned at Johanna.

She wiped her eyes. “If you don’t want me to listen in, just let me off here. I’d be happy to walk back.”

Tex ignored her. “Even
before
it would have been hard for you to push on like Leão’s doing now. Let’s find a safe spot, rest for a few hours, and push through the night.”

Jacaré’s instinct was to keep moving. Whoever killed the Von Arlos would soon realize—if they hadn’t already—that Johanna wasn’t with her family when they’d been killed.

He didn’t want to slow down for anything, but he accepted Tex’s advice.

“Fine. We’ll rest for four hours.”

Chapter 84

Johanna

By the time Jacaré called for them to make camp, the sun hung low and heavy in the sky. Like an unpicked peach, the deep orange ball blotted out the horizon and threw a fuzzy halo over everything in Johanna’s line of sight.

The campsite was tucked away from the road in a stand of young balsa trees. They lacked the height of those at the Santiago picnic grounds. The slightly minty smell of the leaves was the same, but it didn’t disguise the stench of smoke in Johanna’s hair.

The
y’
re all gone.
She pinched her eyes shut as memories splashed across the canvas of her mind.
No more bony elbows in my back. No more empty bellies and belly laughs.

“Aren’t you going to tie me to a tree?” she asked as Jacaré helped her off the horse. The feeling had returned to her legs a few hours earlier, but she wished it hadn’t. Every muscle, bone, and tendon ached.

She had no doubt her captors were Keepers—there was no way to explain her numbed legs and healed scrapes without magic—but they were so different from what she’d envisioned. The stories Johanna told were full of epic deeds and unerring sacrifice. Of men and women larger than life and unfailingly kind.

She should have known better than to believe in fairy tales. These people were real and scary, and much more human than anything she had ever imagined.

“I don’t want to treat you like a captive, Prin—Johanna.” He led her to a tree and watched as she slowly lowered herself to the ground. “I’m sorry that we couldn’t save your family.”

“Sorry,” Johanna said with a snort. “Sorry doesn’t bring my family back to life. Sorry doesn’t save two little boys from being speared on the tip of a sword.”

“What if . . .” Leão paused as he dismounted, moving like he was wounded. Pira hovered at his side as if expecting him to tip over at any moment. “What if they aren’t all dead? There was a small boy in a tree. Your brother, I think. He was uninjured.”

“Michael.” She breathed his name, not daring to hope.

“He was blond and he climbed very quickly.”

“He’s alive?”

Leão nodded, then shot Jacaré a hesitant glance. “There was another boy, older, who was very near death. I wasn’t supposed to leave any evidence behind, but I couldn’t let him die. I healed him, but it nearly drained me to do it.”

“Oh, Leão.” Jacaré ran a hand over his tired face.

Johanna’s heart pounded against her rib cage, threatening to punch through her chest. “Joshua? He was blond haired and fine boned. You were able to . . .”

She didn’t need to continue. The sorrow in Leão’s eyes was too plain.

“There was nothing I could do for him, but the one with dark hair, close to my age? He’ll survive.”

Pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes seemed to dam the tears.
Of course not Joshua, you fool, no one can bring back the dead. At least ther
e’
s Dom and Michael and . . .

“The lordling who was with me on the trail, is he all right?”

“I simply knocked him out as I did you.” He offered a little lopsided grin. “I’m sorry about that, too.”

“It’s all right.” She looked up and met the eyes of one of her captors. “Thank you.”

And thank you for giving me something to go back to.

Chapter 85

Jacaré

Jacaré offered Johanna a bowl of the stew Tex had prepared. She eyed it warily before accepting the dish.

“You know the tale of Donovan’s Wall?” Jacaré said as he sat down across the fire from her.

“I don’t need a bedtime story. I need to get back to my family—what’s left of it.”

“But the story, you know it?”

“Of course,” Johanna huffed. “It was built thousands of years ago to keep out an untold evil.” Jacaré knew he’d offended her storytelling sensibilities. He’d seen enough at Performers’ Camp to know the people took pride in their art.

Jacaré nodded. “That was its original purpose. But three hundred years ago the Keepers migrated north of the wall and added a magical barrier to protect those who remained here.”

“From what?”

They had found the land beyond the wall inhospitable, rife with predators uncommon to Santarem. It was cold and the soil was poor, but they discovered the remnants of a settlement in a small valley ridden with thermal caverns. The Mages were convinced the people had been wiped out by some sort of plague, and the Keepers built Olinda over the remnants of a long-dead culture.

“We are the danger beyond the wall, Princess. At least some of us.”

“You? How is that possible?” She pulled a face like she’d bitten into a sour papaya. “Most people worship them,
you
, and would look forward to a return of the Keepers’ magic. Your people could stop marsh fever and bring rain to states in drought. In every story I tell, the Keepers are the heroes.”

“We’re not infallible or altruistic,” he explained carefully. “Our magic makes us treacherous. There are some who use their power for personal gain and to exert control over non-magic-wielders.”

“Exert control . . .” Her head tilted to the side, seeming to mull over his words. “Like slaves?”

“In the most extreme cases with the very strongest of our Mages,” said Jacaré, looking at one Keeper who had the ability. But Leão was sound asleep. “Yes, they could completely control four or five people, and exert milder control over a larger group.”

The girl laughed, but it sounded like more of a groan. “You think I can stop all of this from happening?”

“When we crossed the wall a few weeks ago, I could feel the barrier’s weakness. There are places where it’s thin, where someone or some
thing
from either side could push through.” He touched her arm gently, trying to drive home his point. “Your family has been part of the link to that power for hundreds of years. When we return you to the wall, the power will stabilize and Santarem will be safe.”

“I hate to give you the news, Jacaré, but your people are already here.” She waved in the general direction of Santiago. “And already controlling mine.”

Jacaré heard a quick intake of breath and caught the focused stares of both Tex and Pira.

“What are you talking about?”

“Vibora. She’s just like you: tall, thin,
golden
.” She talked around a mouthful of food, accenting her words with her spoon. “It wasn’t just the way she looked, but her name is from the old language too. Texugo, the badger. Jacaré, the alligator. Leão, the lion.”

“Vibora.” Jacaré felt a wrenching pain low in his chest, where an old wound sometimes throbbed. It felt freshly torn open, and he pressed a hand across the aching space expecting it to come back bloodied.

“She must be incredibly powerful, by your standards, as she was controlling about
thirty
of Inimigo’s servants.”

Jacaré was hauled to his feet, and he found himself face-to-face with an angry Tex. “It’s not the same Vibora.” He gave Jacaré a rough shake. “She didn’t have an affinity for fire and she’s three-hundred-years dead.”

“Of course it’s not her,” Jacaré heard himself say. “It’s a common name.”

But it wasn’t. And from the glint in Tex’s blue eyes, they both knew it.

“Tell us everything you know about this person,” Tex prompted. “Explain how you know she’s controlling people.”

“I don’t exactly, but she and Inimigo brought thirty servants with them who were all wearing thick, metal collars.” Johanna pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “It’s hard to explain exactly, but they seemed too . . . subdued . . . even for well-trained servants.”

“Tell me about the collars,” Pira asked, digging around in her satchel. “Did it look like this? Silver, but dull?” She held up the dart, and Jacaré exchanged a confused glance with Tex.

What was Pira suggesting?

“I guess.” Johanna shrugged.

“What if . . .” Pira seemed to be speaking to herself, clenching the dart in her fist. “I can touch it, but I can’t
sense
it. Almost like it absorbs my
essência
.”

Tex shook his head. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Jacaré didn’t want to consider the implications. What if the collars were absorbing the wearers’
essência
? Could it be stored for later use? How many people could be controlled? He rubbed the heel of his hand against his forehead.

“Johanna, you love your brother,” Jacaré said, feeling as if he’d finally found the thing that would convince her to join them. “Do you want to see him as a slave?”

“What?” she snapped. “Of course not.”

“He’s a Performer. A descendant of the Keepers. Performers have more
essência
than other people—it’s what makes them so agile and quick.”

Johanna lay down on her blanket and turned her back to the fire, as if trying to ignore him.

“If the collars absorb
essência
, Michael will be one of the first people the other Keepers will target because he’ll feed them more power. And if the wall falls or if this . . . this Vibora gets her hands on other Performers to drain, then my crew doesn’t stand a chance to save Santarem.” He addressed the back of her head. “
Please
stop trying to escape. You could protect so many people.”

She was still for a very long time, long enough that he thought she’d fallen asleep.

Frustrated, angry, he stood to prepare for bed.

“I’ll do it,” Johanna said, her voice quiet against the blanket. “If it means protecting my brother and the Performers, I’ll do what you ask.”

Chapter 86

Rafi

Rafi hated to admit it; Vibora was good at finding the trail. She even found the small campsite where the group had stopped for a few hours. Not that it mattered, the fire was long cold.

“How are they making such good time?” He dusted ash off his pants.

“I don’t know, my lord,” Vibora said as she walked around the campsite, studying the ground for more clues. “They must have very well-conditioned mounts.”

“They have my horse. He’s a good animal, but there’s no way he could keep up this pace.”

“There are drugs they could have given their horses. It extends the animals’ ability to run without rest, but shortens their lifespans.”

“During the Ten Years’ War, some soldiers took drugs that inhibited their ability to feel pain and increased their energy.” Rafi couldn’t imagine doing something like that to his body. He’d been taught that a warrior must be able to feel pain to know his limits. “Is it something similar?”

“Yes.” She put her hands on her slim hips. “It’s old medicine. Easy enough to find and mix—”

“If you can make it, do.” He strode back to his horse without looking to see if she followed. “I sent birds to every major town along the northern and western roads. We can pick new mounts at any stop.”

“Yes, my lord. I’ll find the ingredients when we rest for the night.”

Rafi swung into Nudger’s saddle, feeling guilty about potentially poisoning Dom’s horse, but knew his brother would understand. He’d seen a different side of Dom the morning they left—a focused, controlled side he never expected from his sibling. Rafi knew it was born out of fear and anxiety, but it was good to know his brother had grit.

No matter what happened now, Santiago would be safer as soon as Inimigo rode home. The duke intended to leave Maribelle behind for an extended visit, so she could “become accustomed to country life.”

More likely Inimigo wants a spy in place, searching for our weaknesses, and a reminder of what’s waiting for me at home.

Not that Rafi would agree to a betrothal unless some serious changes were made. Like an agreement from Inimigo not to pursue the throne, and that would never happen.

Snout rode beside him but hadn’t said much since he’d discovered a scrap of bloody linen stuck to the thorns of a
palo barracho
tree.

Rafi could feel the material rubbing against the skin at his wrist, where he’d tied it around the narrow band of silver he wore there.

“She tried to run, my lord.” Snout pointed out crushed weeds and broken twigs from Johanna’s attempted escape. “One of them knocked her down, and let her tumble into the tree. She was hurt, so they rode away from here double. Can you see these prints are much darker?”

Rafi couldn’t tell the difference, and he didn’t care. Someone had hurt Johanna, and they were going to pay for it tenfold.

He rubbed the bit of linen as he rode, a tactile reminder of his mission.