The Waking Dreamer (14 page)

Emmett felt his own pace surging. Even without knowledge of their argument, he understood by their voices that their disagreement had reached a climax from which a physical confrontation might be the eventual conclusion.

“My brother, please,” Keiran said in a calm, measured voice. Even for Emmett, who was not involved in the conversation, Keiran’s lower tone had a calming effect. “Regardless of our disagreements, Sebastian, I wish no ill will between us. We should be close to the train station, and now that Emmett is fully awake, we can make final preparations to depart.”

Emmett wanted to sigh with exasperation. Feeling foolish with his eyes closed, he opened them to see that both Bards were staring directly at him.

“Your breathing and pulse had changed,” Keiran said without prompting, raising one finger to the side of his head and tapping his right ear. “How are you feeling?”

Stretching his neck, he pushed himself upright to a full sitting position, cramped by the freight surrounding them.

“Fine,” he said as he adjusted his shoulder and felt the raw soreness of the Rot. “What did I miss?” he asked, not wanting to directly confront Keiran on what Sebastian and he had been discussing. He was not so arrogant to believe that the conversation was entirely about him, and yet he understood that in some way Sebastian wanted Emmett to make a choice that Keiran did not believe him capable of making.

“We were deciding on our destination. Strategy would dictate that we separate—Sebastian with Ellie, and you with me, Emmett—and reconnect at an agreed-upon location. Circumstances being what they are, however, require consideration.”

“We are in agreement that neither of us benefits from separating from the other Bard. A full attack by an armed Revenant group would prove difficult to defend against in our weakened states,” Sebastian said.

“And Emmett awaits contact from the Archivist,” Keiran added.

“Then what remains is for us to escort Emmett to a location safe from further Revenant attacks until the Archivist makes contact,” Sebastian concluded. “A Grove that can protect him—”

“And
that
is your only reason for wanting to go there, then, is it?
Emmett’s
safety? It’s for
him
?” Keiran interrupted with an uncharacteristically and surprisingly heated tone.

Emmett could see that Sebastian’s earlier anger was tempered now by a profound expression of pain that Emmett did not know was possible in a man of such imposing—and at times, threatening—physicality.

“You would question the integrity of the man who saved your life in Kanchenjunga? Who carried you across the Himalayas to Nepal? Even when you’d given up, when you begged for me to leave you behind to frozen sleep, I never abandoned you. With the Shadowkind in pursuit the entire way until we reached Titan Arum. I told no one in that Grove what you did—not even Amala. You know the Children of Titan Arum would have called for the Tribunal had they known. Do you know what they call the Tribunal there, Keiran? The Unknowable Pain.”

Emmett could not believe that Keiran’s face had blanched so noticeably.

“The Abbess herself questioned me that first night when we arrived. She suspected what you’d done—was looking for any reason for the Tribunal. In the Lady Lysianne’s Grove, right within the very walls of Titan Arum itself, I lied to an Elder. I even lied to Amala; the Unknowable Pain wouldn’t compare to what Amala would do to you if she knew. And you lecture
me
on choice, question
my
honor?”

Emmett’s eyes darted to Keiran, fearing that either Bard might soon explode. Yet Keiran was more statue than human. He was staring unblinkingly at Sebastian with a face that, though it had recovered, was now so unreadable and guarded that Emmett was certain that its taut, angular features might shatter from the stiffness they maintained.

When Keiran spoke, it was with a voice that was unrecognizably quiet and devoid of the emotion he so freely expressed in his mannerisms since meeting Emmett. “We will go to the Lighthouse, then, Sebastian. When the Archivist makes contact, you and I should have sufficiently recovered our strength to part company. And we will never speak of this again.”

The way Keiran said this final statement, Emmett wondered if Keiran meant something had just transpired between them that finally ended their friendship. Piecing the two conversations together, the first on the boat fleeing Silvan Dea and now in the truck on the way into Portland, Emmett knew that whatever or wherever the Lighthouse was, Keiran did not want to go there.

Yet the reminder of whatever had once transpired between Sebastian and Keiran in the Himalayas was enough to cause Keiran to change his mind. Emmett could only begin to imagine its implications. He felt almost dizzy from the effort, so drained as he already was from the experiences hours before.

If Sebastian believed this was their friendship’s ending, he did not show it. “We are in agreement.”

Keiran and Sebastian both turned their heads up as if listening to something that Emmett could not hear. A moment later, Emmett felt the truck slowing.

As Sebastian began to adjust his massive frame wedged between the freight, Emmett saw Keiran turn to look at him with an expression of significant reservation. If Emmett had not believed Keiran one of the bravest people he had ever met, he would have thought that Keiran was afraid.

With a sense of foreboding and the uncertainty of their movements, a deep shudder ran down the length of Emmett’s back. He listened to the truck’s tires lurch underneath and turn into a quiet, still winter morning beyond. He knew neither the Lighthouse nor Omar Hazrat, but he did feel that he had enough of a measure of Keiran Glendower to believe him that going there was not their best option.

CHAPTER 13

The sun was hinting at its eastern rise when the truck crossed the distinctive red steel of the Broadway Bridge over the Willamette River. Heading into the Portland train station, the truck followed the road around to the high clock tower, its ornate green awning framing the main colonnade for Union Station’s front entrance.

Thanking the driver for his help, Keiran added another hundred-dollar bill and suggested it best that the driver forgot that he had ever met the four of them. The man stared at Keiran soundlessly with a dazed look in his otherwise glassy eyes. The driver got back into his truck and turned toward the lofty Portland skyline, leaving them standing on the curb, Ellie mutely huddled in Sebastian’s embrace.

“I still think a private car service might be more sensible, Keiran. Or even a chartered plane.”

“Yes, but anonymity is far easier to maintain in a large sea of faces than when you are easily identified in the backseat of a rented sedan. And I don’t want to be defending a Revenant assault thousands of feet in the air.”

The four travelers proceeded cautiously into the terminal with a shared tension born of the very real possibility of their being pursued. Emmett remained with Sebastian and Ellie inside the main concourse while Keiran went to purchase tickets. The terminal was still empty, several janitors moving slowly through the terminal with carts in tow. The glossy marble floor was reflective beige with maroon squares, and the soaring coffered ceiling featured classical woodcarvings and polished copper light fixtures framed by a bank of large open windows facing the horizon.

Keiran returned several minutes later with four tickets. Emmett accepted it and looked it over. “Thanks. My first train ride.” He read the ticket. “Nova Scotia?”

“The Lighthouse is located in Peggy’s Cove, just outside of Halifax.” Keiran handed Sebastian his and Ellie’s tickets and folded bills. “Shops should open soon. Why don’t we purchase some new clothes and freshen up before we board.”

“Agreed.”

“If you will keep Ellie, I will take Emmett. They will be looking for four dirty travelers. Let us reduce the likelihood of being identified.”

Sebastian put a wide arm around Ellie. “Come, little sister, let’s get you something pretty to wear.”

The sun soon rose over a crisp, wintry morning. The station’s first trains lumbered to life with the hustle of commuting traffic. Families arrived in throngs to see people off or greet new arrivals as Emmett and Keiran wound through the steadily busier terminal. Keiran ducked into a restroom stall and emerged with an envelope containing four identifications with their faces and names on them.

“Always maintain one person in each major city who is sufficiently disgruntled with their low-paying government job to produce identifications when needed,” Keiran said as he handed Emmett his new card. Emmett found his face, wet and shocked, from moments after emerging from the river staring up at him.

The shops lining the station were aglow with twinkling Christmas tree lights in holiday-themed windows dressed in seasonal red and green tinsel. The comforting timbre of Bing Crosby’s “Do You Hear What I Hear?” rolled along the bustling corridors.

Outfitted in new clothes that allowed them to blend with the throngs of winter travelers, Keiran led Emmett to a small eatery for breakfast just as Emmett’s stomach audibly rumbled, a sheepish grin on his face.

Relaxing on his stool with tea in hand, Keiran now wore a fresh taupe linen suit of low-rise slacks and a two-button, double-vent jacket framing an open-collared, carrot-colored shirt. He was a striking image to the passersby that chanced a second glance at him, which was too many people to not make Emmett feel that much less significant in the physicality of his obviously handsome wake.

Yet when he spoke to Emmett, when his green eyes alit with joy whenever he responded to something said with a smile of genuine mirth, it was with an unpretentious air. He either had no idea or no care for how striking he was to those who passed. Emmett could only note inwardly how unremarkable he was when standing in the shadow of Keiran Glendower.

Emmett ate his muffin, watching Keiran’s face. He scratched at the turtleneck sweater and shifted uncomfortably in the khaki pants Keiran had purchased. He longed for a well-worn pair of jeans and a comfortably familiar T-shirt.

“So, the bird, the rock,” Emmett began as he cleared his throat. “I’m guessing that meant that Amala is okay, right?”

Keiran nodded as he took another sip from his tea and patted his mouth gently, returning his napkin to one leg as he crossed it over another. Even with the fatigue of fight and flight, his new clothes seemed to invigorate him.

“The message was only intended to let me know that she had escaped the Grove with another Druid, Rhiannon. They will take a route away from us to draw them from you,” he answered as he placed his steaming tea down and took knife and fork properly in hand to eat from his plate of scrambled eggs and sausage.

Emmett watched Keiran set his utensils down and take a careful bite from his croissant. He marveled at the Bard’s composure even while discussing the likelihood that dozens of Revenants were chasing his Companion.

His Companion. Yeah.

“If she thinks she’s being tracked by Revenants, she’ll do her best to lead them away. Keep them distracted long enough for us to disappear.”

“What? As in GPS-tags-underneath-your-car tracking?” he remarked dryly.

“You watch too much telly, mate. Revenants are too intoxicated with the dark powers to bother with such things. The few that wield such implements find themselves at something of a disadvantage since any Bard can produce a shrill whistle that can superheat the circuitry and disable it. Assuming it even works in proximity to our Groves or their dark magiks.”

“That’s convenient.”

“Even a gun is rather pointless for them. I can detonate the bullet while it’s still inside the barrel, after all. The cruder instruments—the blades, machetes, knives—those are far deadlier and often inscribed with their own curses.”

Emmett thought back to the attack and recognized what had been obvious and yet not noted as relevant in his mind before: that all of the Revenants had attacked with simple weapons, often wickedly curved or serrated and covered in runes or sigils.

Keiran looked over his shoulder and scanned the milling crowds of the terminal, the ever-present drone of peripheral noise as travelers hurried along to their morning commute. A noticeable wince marred his otherwise smooth, cultured countenance as he brought one hand up to rub his closed eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

Keiran leaned closer to Emmett as he shook his head as if to clear it from some kind of pain. “Pay no mind, Emmett. It’s the bloody noise. The artificial signals. Even with our meditations, the Children can only tolerate urban centers for so long.”

“Sorry.”

Keiran straightened his back in his chair and took another long drink from his tea, as if to will the discomfort away. “We must focus through the discomfort for peace.”

Emmett took a bite from his plate. “You’re the picture of calm, K.” Emmett tried to hide his own surprise at having given Keiran a nickname.

Emmett was thankful for a recorded voice announcing another scheduled departure to break their conversation. Hearing Keiran speak of Amala turned his stomach over on itself. Yet despite what he felt and the questions remaining, the past several hours and the attack on Silvan Dea had left Emmett with an appreciation for the young man. And neither jealousy nor envy felt appropriate.

Keiran made to stand from the table and looked at the clock.

“Listen, I’ve been meaning to say something,” Emmett said as he caught Keiran’s arm with his hand before he could stand. “I need to say thank you.”

There was so much more that Emmett wanted to say, things he understood that he could not even say to himself yet. His mind was racing too fast to maintain a semblance of order over his own thoughts, and through the chaos were the hundreds of new questions that he had: of Keiran and Sebastian’s time in the Himalayas, of this Omar Hazrat and the Lighthouse, of the Dark Fire and the power of the Revenants to move against and ultimately destroy the Grove of the world’s most powerful, if absent, Elder. Despite it all, he recognized the simple truth that he would have died many times over if it had not been for Keiran and, sensing that he was still in danger, knew that he could not survive without him.

“You’ll repay the debt before our time together is through, to be certain,” Keiran said as he folded his napkin and rose from the table.

Emmett doubted that he could ever deserve what had already been done for him by a stranger who had no reason to so willingly and joyously protect his life.

“Right, sure,” Emmett scoffed. “I will save
you
.” Emmett snickered at the ridiculousness of this thought when he caught Keiran staring oddly at him.

“What?” Emmett asked. Keiran just stared at him as if he were a stranger passing on the street and Keiran was struggling to remember where he knew him from.

“Nothing. Sorry, too much on my mind. Come on, then,” Keiran recovered, shaking his head as he led Emmett out.

They exited the café and strolled through the terminal appearing casual and yet both feeling the cautiousness one feels when he believes he is being followed. Business commuter traffic had steadily increased. They ambled along the south end of the terminal, wandering down long corridors featuring rows of queue lines for waiting trains.

At one point, Emmett saw Sebastian approaching them. Keiran made a quick gesture that he interpreted to mean that he should look away. Out of the corner of his eye, Emmett saw Sebastian brush up against Keiran as he passed him, continuing to walk on with Ellie huddled beside him. Though Keiran did not say, Emmett guessed that he had given them their identifications.

Throngs of bustling commuters hurried past them, the collective clamor of hundreds of conversations over mobile phones swirling together to form a porridge of noise that often caused Keiran to wince with a twitch of his head. There was the odd tick or motion that Emmett caught each time out of the corner of his eye as he pretended not to be watching Keiran’s every movement, if only so Keiran would not feel self-conscious, but also because Emmett was beginning to understand what kind of sacrifice Keiran made protecting him.

Staring into storefront windows at the myriad of holiday offerings, Emmett paused in front of an electronics boutique whose flat-panel monitors near the front door played the morning cable news.

“At least twenty students remain unaccounted for who were trapped in the college’s dormitories at the time of the fire. A press release from the board of regents states that University President Kellner expressed, ‘profound sadness at the tragedy,’ as well as a commitment of full cooperation with state and local officials investigating the fire’s cause. Already, unconfirmed sources have reported several lightning strikes …”

Emmett half-watched the well-manicured woman recounting the previous night’s tragic fire. Cell phone videos flashed onto the screen picture-within-picture as computer reenactments crafted only hours after the event replayed the frightening last moments of the students’ lives. The ticker along the bottom of the screen catalogued the weekend box office grosses.

His attention noticeably perked when the news anchor, with an explosion of new graphics on-screen and oddly themed introduction music, transitioned into a story with obvious meaning.

“In related weather news, forestry officials say that containment is underway for a series of landslides in the Cascade Range east of Portland. There is no word yet on the extent of the damage, though the area is uninhabited.”

Um, what the hell?

“Coming up after the break, we have updates on the Gulf Coast child murders; highlights from the weekends’ games; and America’s favorite actress stops by to talk about her new reality show project!”

Emmett tugged on Keiran’s arm and motioned toward the monitor as an image of Mount Hood played over the anchor’s words. “Are they talking about what I think they’re talking about?” he whispered.

“They’re covering their tracks. They pay handsomely to plant fictitious stories in the media. People don’t want to
know
the true world, Emmett. It is the ally to darkness.”

Looking into his eyes, Emmett expected to see a countenance of mourning on Keiran’s face. Yet for the destruction of the Grove he belonged to and the loss of life at the hands of the Revenants and the Underdwellers, Keiran was the picture of detached calm.

Nodding, Keiran looked down as if to acknowledge this to Emmett. “It was just a building. Stone, brick, and mortar. The walls do not breathe as we do. Buildings can be rebuilt. Do not mourn for
things
, Emmett.”

“And for people?” Emmett asked, not accusatorily and yet wondering how he could not be affected by the deaths of so many people. Emmett may only have known Keiran, legitimately, for a couple of days, but he sensed that he was not the uncaring and unconcerned person that would not think twice about the loss of life.

Keiran’s face at once registered the emotional balance of his words, both the profound sadness and the basic acceptance of them. “Mourn only the living, Emmett. The Archivist teaches us this: let the dead
remain
dead.” Keiran patted him firmly on the shoulder.

Images of unspeakable evil and forgotten death flashed through Emmett’s mind timed to the Christmas music playing through the terminal.

Emmett numbly watched the news fade into commercials. So much unknown death.

“‘Fiery the angels fell; deep thunder rolled around their shores; burning with the fires of Orc,’” Emmett said quietly, turning away from the television monitors.

“William Blake?” Keiran asked.

“
Blade Runner
,” Emmett flatly responded. “Let’s get out of here.”