Faith Hunter - Host

The sigil seemed to glow brighter for a moment, but perhaps that was just my eyes adapting to the falling night. When nothing else happened, I took the breath I had feared to draw and addressed the champards, speaking words of my own choosing, words based on Audric’s to me earlier, rather than the more proper, official words the visa had suggested.

“You who would be champards, I offer you my protection, such as a battle station in the midst of a war with Darkness can proffer: safe haven, healing after battle, and a home where you will be valued and loved.” I lifted the necklace of amulets from my neck and held the visa high.

“I am yours to call, in wind and hail, in storm and lightning, in injury and healing, in this life, for as long as you will have me. I will meet your needs, dress your wounds, and when you die at the end of a long and glorious life, I will dress you for battle and send you to the Most High for his blessing and reward. Will you have me?”

“We will,” they answered, the words not quite in unison, unrehearsed and unprepared.

Audric stood and said, “I am yours to call.”

The others stood and repeated after him, and it was clear that Audric had coached them at least a bit. Tears gathered in my eyes as a feeling close to joy welled up and overflowed in me. I held Audric’s gaze with my own, letting him see my reaction, this gratitude and happiness, and some unnameable emotion, as intense as ecstasy.

“In wind and hail, in storm and lightning,” he said, and the others repeated the refrain. “In injury and healing, in this life”—the words in the uneven litany echoed up and down the street—“for as long as you will have me.” The champards repeated the final line, their voices falling into a common cadence at the last few words.

“Amen,” a voice chimed from the side. I recognized Jasper.

Unexpectedly, the crowd joined in, as if merging with the ceremony, repeating, “Amen.” The word was full and deep, echoing off the buildings. The two syllables seemed to gather up and hang on the air, to fall and settle on the earth as slowly as the snowflakes. Jasper’s eyes widened. Clearly he hadn’t expected the liturgical response. It made the town more than witnesses; it made them participants.

The sigil around us brightened perceptibly. I took it as an omen and would have been satisfied, had not the lynx taken that moment to roar its warning across the mountains. Not good.

With mage-sight, I found Shamus in the crowd and said, “Get the children and anyone else who wants protection into the shop.” On my last word, the sun fell behind the western mountain, darkening the whole city, and long shadows draped across the ground.

A sound like whispers built as sleet joined the snowflakes. My skin seemed to burn from the snowmelt, something I hadn’t felt in years, though only a little had fallen on me. The lynx cried again, a deep growl-scream that held warning, danger. “Hurry!” I shouted.

Shamus raised his voice, rushing the noncombatants into Thorn’s Gems. I saw him lift a toddler and toss her to Jasper, who placed her inside. Polly, Jasper’s wife, stood in the shop, and she shoved the girl across the room to an elderly woman. There was a sudden rush for the door and children were pushed, shoved, and dragged inside by their parents and grandparents.

One woman, her belly big with child, her face lost in shadow, called out to me, fear in her voice, “Is it tonight? Are they coming tonight?”

“I think so,” I said, as the certainty of attack clamped down on my bones. “Yes.”

“I’ll pray for you,” she shouted, and she ducked inside Thorn’s Gems with the throng. The lights of the shop brightened; heads were bobbing everywhere. The dress shop next door was lit as well, and it looked as if the whole town were in one place, families jostling for position, for a bit of floor space, the elderly sheltering the young while parents rushed about.

Faster than I thought possible, the street was empty, but it looked like standing room only in the shops. I heard something fall and crash, and a chorus of “Oh no”s followed. This was going to be an expensive night for my partners and me. If we survived.

I looked around. Warriors raced along the street, lighting bonfires of scavenged wood. Other fires burned in old fifty-five-gallon drums. Armed men and women appeared, standing in small groups, legs braced, weapons ready.

Audric said to the new champards, “Prepare for war.” As most of the champards raced away, he said to Eli, “You hold the mage.” I shivered at his tone.

Lucas paused at my side and placed his hand on Ciana’s head, like a blessing or a benediction. “See her safe,” he mouthed to me. And he dove into the night.

There wasn’t much more to do but wait. Except deal with Ciana.

I touched her on the head and when she turned to me, there were tears in her eyes. “I want to stay with you,” she said. “I want to be a real champard.”

I knelt at her feet and took her in my arms. Her bones were fragile and delicate as a butterfly pressed to my chest, her heart beating fast, her life and my weapons so close. I eased her away and wiped her tears. “I need you to be just what you are right now. Not a fighter, but the one who holds the seraph wing pin. I need you to help protect the townspeople in the shop.” I placed the marble oval that activated the shield in her hand and closed her fingers around it. “I know you can make this work.”

She sobbed once and threw her arms around my neck. I cradled her close and rocked her, fighting my own tears. If I failed tonight, Ciana might die. We all might. And selfishly, I hoped that if Ciana died, I’d already have bled my life into the snow, because I didn’t think I could live knowing I had failed her.

I sniffed and hugged her tightly. “Did I ever tell you how much I love you?” I asked, rocking her. “You are the child of my heart. And I love you with all my heart and mind and might. And if I had a soul, I’d love you with that.”

“I love you too.” I heard the tears in her voice, thick with pain. Her arms tightened so that my breath was stopped, and I nuzzled her hair, turning so I could breathe, drawing in her scent. To remember.

When I realized she wasn’t going to let go, I reached around and pulled her arms from my neck. “Go inside,” I whispered. “See if you can activate the shield. Go on.” I pushed her toward Lucas, who had reappeared. He hugged her and whispered into her ear. With a final touch, he sent her on, leaving his outstretched arm empty. Kneeling in the street, the ice freezing my knees, I watched as Ciana walked into Thorn’s Gems and reappeared in the display window.

She stared into the night and splayed open one hand on the glass like a benediction, her long Stanhope fingers oddly shaped. Her mouth moved, soundless in the distance, and energies rose in the foundation, lifting through the walls to the roof. The loft blazed with power, glowing with an energy pattern that looked like oily scales and dripping water. The shield was in place.

I took a frozen breath, inhaling air so cold it hurt my lungs, feeling raw on my scarred throat. The two-story shop and the building beside it weren’t invincible, but they were now danged hard to damage. Satisfied, I rose from my knees and studied my champards as they began to return, armed to the teeth. They were checking weapons, looking toward the Trine, the three peaks lost in the night, sharing a word or two, but mostly they were silent. They were ready, or as ready as one can ever be to face death.

Eli was still waiting, and when my eyes met his, he stood and picked up Cheran. With a wrench of his shoulders, he dumped the mage at my feet. Cheran’s face was white with frostbite where his cheek had rested against the ice, and his eyes were slit, anger and humiliation spitting from them. He was in shirtsleeves, shivering, wrists tied with rope at the small of his back, the witch-catcher strapped around his head, rods inserted in his mouth, holding his lips apart, his tongue depressed. Unable to keep his mouth closed, spittle had dried and frozen on his face. His ankles were snugged together with leather straps over his boots.