The Skylighter (The Keepers' Chronicles Book 2) Read online

Jacaré had been so focused on Vibora that he hadn’t noticed her companion. The bench was small, the seat narrow. Sapo must have been pressed right up against her for them both to fit. That knowledge, more than anything else, broke through the wall of ice.

  Battle fever rushed in, making Jacaré forget that he was outnumbered and overmatched. He stepped in front of Vibora, his sword and essência ready to bring Sapo down.

  “Ah, the great Jacaré. Alive after all these years,” Sapo said as he jumped off the wagon’s seat with leisurely grace. “After all these centuries, and I never even suspected that she held on to that little love affair you shared at the academy.” He gave a slow round of applause, as if showing appreciation at the end of a show. “I suppose the Performers have it right. Acting is in our blood.”

  Jacaré let a bolt of lightning fly, but it rebounded off Sapo’s small personal shield, making the air around him shudder.

  “I heard that you were weak, but that’s embarrassing.” Sapo gave an enormous, gloating grin. “It must have been hard to live all these years with only a remnant of the power you once had. We should put you out of your misery. Vibora, love, why don’t you start?”

  Her arm rose stiffly before flexing, her wrist bent at an awkward angle, like a disjointed marionette. One finger uncurled, bending so far that it bowed in the middle, and stopped to point at Jacaré’s heart.

  “That’s fitting,” Sapo agreed, as if he hadn’t manipulated her actions. “He certainly broke your heart. Time to destroy his.”

  Vibora’s mouth twisted with silent horror as fire blasted out of her extended arm. Jacaré dove to the right, fetching up against the barrier that separated them from the rest of the army.

  “You missed.” Sapo gave an irritated grunt. “Let me show you how it’s done.” With a flick of his hand he tossed Jacaré to the enclosure’s far side. The invisible wall absorbed his weight and he bounced off of it, landing on his feet. Sapo hurled attack after attack—fire, ice, air, fire, earth. Jacaré managed to avoid them by raising his magical shield at precise moments, but he knew it was only a matter of time before his efforts fell short and one of Sapo’s blows landed.

  His eyes darted to Vibora. Her body was visibly quaking in its efforts to fight off Sapo’s control, but otherwise she was out of harm’s way.

  “While this is quite enjoyable,” Sapo said, yawning dramatically, “I have some important matters to attend to.”

  A sudden rush of essência made Jacaré’s hair stand on end. Sapo’s next attack would not fail.

  Jacaré raised his shield, expecting it to collapse under the force of the blow, but what bore him to the ground was something solid and soft. Under the scent of smoke and sweat were the sweet fragrance of summer gardenias and the memory of a body sleeping against his side. His sword fell somewhere to his right, but he didn’t reach for it. Instead his hand sought out the valley of a waist, where it used to rest so naturally.

  “Vibora,” he whispered, fingers trailing up her back, reaching for her shoulder, and sliding off the wet pulp where it should have been. He sat up quickly, cradling her body as it tumbled limply across his lap.

  “Jacaré.” She said his name with a weak smile, blood marring her white teeth. “Why didn’t you come for me?”

  “I did, of course I did! But by the time I made it, your body . . . you were already gone.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “As am I. . . .”

  Her head lolled back, her eyes drifted shut, her lashes stilled against her cheeks.

  Jacaré had convinced himself that there was nothing crueler than losing her the first time.

  He was wrong.

  Chapter 78

  * * *

  Rafi

  Rafi volleyed six rounds of fireballs into the enemy’s shield, only to see it shimmer under his assault. It should have felt like a victory, knowing his attacks were making some difference, but his attention was split between the approaching soldiers and the collapsed mine. Ursu’s hand was on Rafi’s right shoulder and Yara’s on his left. They lent him whatever strength they had; it didn’t feel like very much against what they were facing.

  Layer after layer of dirt fountained into the air, and so far they’d recovered two bodies, both dressed in close-fitting Performers’ gear. Neither moved.

  He wouldn’t be able to keep searching for survivors without putting the rest of the Performers at risk. Nausea struck, making sweat bead across his upper lip, when he thought of leaving people, leaving Johanna, buried alive.

  A boy appeared at Rafi’s side, shouting something about another army approaching. Rafi heard the words but couldn’t afford to split his attention.

  Then he heard Belem’s name.

  “Wait,” he said, trying to process the information and continue his magical efforts. “What did you say about Duke Belem?”

  The boy was an apprentice Firesword, wearing a yellow sash around his waist, with a spyglass instead of a sword slung through it. He was breathing heavily, having run from one of the lookout points near the shield’s farthest edge. “An army is approaching behind Sapo’s troops. They’re carrying Lord Belem’s banner.”

  The strands of power slipped through Rafi’s fingers. His shield started to crumple, but he caught it at the last possible moment. “They came from the south?”

  “Yes, Lord Rafi. There aren’t many of them, but they’ve got more than a dozen cannons on wheels.”

  Yara gave Rafi an encouraging squeeze, but it didn’t do anything to stop the fear winding tight around his stomach. Had Belem’s troops blown through Santiago? Was his homeland in ruins? Were Dom and his mother safe? “Are they headed toward us?”

  “No, sir,” the boy said, cringing when a sudden lightning bolt crackled over their heads. “They’re moving west, toward Sapo’s left flank.”

  “What?” Ursu asked, as confused as Rafi. “That doesn’t make any sense. You’re sure they aren’t moving toward our flank?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Maybe they’re reinforcements,” Yara suggested.

  Rafi shook his head, trying to guess what Belem had in mind. “Send the signal.”

  “But, Lord DeSilva—”

  “We need to give Performers’ Camp as much time as possible. Tell them to stick to the coast, but have them bypass Santiago.” The words tasted of ash and failure. “Tell them to head for Impreza. Fernando won’t turn them away.”

  Chapter 79

  * * *

  Jacaré

  Vibora’s lips were lightly parted, her cheeks still pink. Jacaré shifted her body in his arms so the side of her head rested against his shoulder. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend she was sleeping. He’d lie down and stay beside her for however much time Mother Lua gave him.

  A high-pitched whistle rose, followed by another round of applause. The sounds punctured holes in Jacaré’s despair, which drained away, leaving a viscous layer of fury behind.

  “By the look on your face, Jacaré, I feel like I’d be doing you a favor to put you out of your misery.” Sapo took a step closer and folded his arms behind his back. “But that’s not my plan, you see. I’m going to collar you, like the rest of the Keepers I’ve captured, and then I’ll use your power to continue fueling mine. You’ll help destroy all the people you’ve worked so hard to save.”

  Jacaré pressed a kiss to Vibora’s cooling brow and lowered her body to the ground.

  “You can stay on your knees,” Sapo said, reaching for a shining collar that hung from his belt. “It will make this so much easier to snap on. And let’s be honest—with Belem sworn to me, his troops on his way here to clean up the rest of the Performers, Inimigo foolish enough to think I need him, and the princess cowering on the other side of that shield—it’s over. The battle has been won.”

  Before Sapo could turn and call to one of the awestruck guards waiting beyond their little bubble of air, Jacaré shot a narrow tunnel of ice into Sapo’s side. It bounced off the thin personal shield Sapo m
aintained around his body, but he staggered. The congenial smile fell from his face, replaced by something chillingly dark. “And here I thought you’d given up.”

  “I haven’t changed that much since the academy, Sapo.” Jacaré kicked his sword into the air and caught the hilt with practiced skill. “Let’s see if you’ve learned anything.”

  “You really think I’m going to fight you?” Sapo snorted. “I’m going to destroy you.”

  “You’re welcome to try.” Jacaré could feel his pulse in his fingertips; his breath was coming in rapid puffs. He’d never be able to win, but Sapo was supporting three shields: the giant barrier spanning the length of the camp, the bubble that kept the other soldiers away, and the small shield around his body. If Jacaré could draw Sapo’s attention for a while, it would give Rafi and the other Performers a chance to retreat from the soldiers on the field.

  Sapo cracked his neck before reaching for the two-handed sword slung over his back. “Your essência will be useful, even if you are handless, and footless, and tongueless. Your sister has become very adept at keeping invalids alive.”

  The last word hadn’t left his lips when Jacaré struck, raining concussive blows of fire in counterpoint to the slashes of his blade. Each time they came in contact with Sapo’s shield, the air shimmered like a heat mirage.

  Sapo’s attacks were slower, almost unwieldy in their power, but each hit that landed on Jacaré’s shield nearly knocked him to the ground. It was only a matter of time before his shield vanished and Sapo’s blows landed on Jacaré’s unprotected flesh.

  He managed to dodge a blast of fire by falling to his knees. The ball hit above his head, making the barrier shudder.

  Sapo growled at his failure, and then sudden surprise crossed his face. He dropped one hand from his sword’s hilt and pressed it against his bicep. Jacaré hadn’t scored a hit, but Sapo reeled as if wounded.

  The shield protecting the camp flickered like summer lightning, then dissolved, and the small barricade that kept their fight separate from the rest of the camp winked out. Cannon fire rang in the distance, and a ball bounced through the camp before smashing into the wagon Sapo and Vibora had been sitting in. Soldiers scattered, others crouched, unsure if they should be more afraid of the cannon fire or the Keeper who commanded them.

  “What is Belem doing?” Sapo looked behind him, confusion shifting to anger.

  Jacaré pressed the small advantage, throwing himself into a forward roll, coming to one knee at Sapo’s side, and slashing diagonally. The blade hissed across the invisible wall that protected Sapo’s body. He stumbled off balance and Jacaré followed. His second cut would have amputated Sapo’s arm, but only the barest edge of Jacaré’s sword made contact.

  They both looked at the line of blood that marred the sleeve of Sapo’s shirt.

  “Congratulations,” Sapo said, eyeing the spreading stain with a grin. “You’ve scored first blood. Enjoy that small victory.”

  A sizzling heat bit into Jacaré’s back. A dagger skipped off his shoulder blade and sank into the muscle below. He expected to see a man looming behind him with his sword positioned to run him through. Instead there was a surprised soldier squatting several feet away, pawing at his empty belt.

  “Metal affinity.” Sapo took slow, deliberate steps toward Jacaré, the tip of his sword dragging across the ground. “I have learned a few things since the academy.”

  Jacaré coughed, and blood splattered across his chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and struggled to his feet.

  “Surrender, Jacaré.”

  “Never.”

  Sapo raised his hand, and Jacaré fumbled to raise his shield. It was the first defensive skill he’d ever learned, but it melted away like dew on a hot morning. His power was spent, his energy with it. He wavered, dizziness making balance difficult. Two stumbling steps backward brought him to Vibora’s corpse. If he was going to die, he was going to do it at her side.

  The men ringing Sapo and Jacaré broke formation, retreating for cover as another cannon shell exploded close by. A hole appeared in their ranks, revealing a clear path through camp.

  It was no escape for Jacaré. He wouldn’t run from Sapo and he wouldn’t leave Vibora behind. Not again.

  “Lay down your weapon.”

  Jacaré shook his head, ignoring the coppery taste in the back of his throat and the fact that he couldn’t lift his arm. “Take it from me.”

  With a sigh, Sapo stepped closer. “If I must.” He raised his sword over his head, but the weapon flew from his hands.

  “What?” Sapo looked at his empty palms, then turned to see where his blade had gone.

  And stepped directly into Pira’s blow.

  With a surge of pride and relief, Jacaré watched as his sister cracked Sapo across the face with a short staff of wood. The leader of the Nata fell to his knees, and Pira smashed him in the side of the head, spittle flying from his mouth.

  Flame shot from Sapo’s fingertips, but it rebounded on him in a cloud of steam. He screamed, raising his arms to protect his face. A hole in the ground opened under his feet, sucking him into a muddy morass.

  Jacaré’s thoughts were disconnected; he couldn’t quite understand what he was seeing. Pira was collared, but she wasn’t responding to Sapo’s attempts to control her. And she didn’t have affinity for Water. How . . .

  Leão, alive and whole, stepped into the circle. A red mark ringed his neck, and his cheeks were hollow, but he held Sapo’s sword with a certain grip.

  “Today,” Leão said, grabbing a fistful of Sapo’s hair. “Justice outweighs mercy.”

  Sapo’s scream cut off as the blade dropped across his neck.

  Chapter 80

  * * *

  Rafi

  Rafi sat at the center of a web of bodies. He’d called all the surviving Performers close; they shared their essência, but their mutual strength was fading. Exhausted and mentally bruised, Rafi did his best to protect the survivors by shrinking the shield blocking the road.

  “Lord Rafi!” the lookout shouted. “Sapo’s troops are running.”

  “Is it a trick?” Rafi asked, afraid to move and break the tentative hold he still had on the power.

  “No, sir! They’ve turned directly west, heading straight toward Maringa.”

  “What are Belem’s troops doing?” Rafi asked, unsure what it meant that his enemy had come to his rescue.

  “Most are pursuing, but there’s a group of ten or so riding this way.”

  “Friend or foe?” Rafi asked, unwilling to hope.

  “Sir . . .” The apprentice Firesword hesitated, lowering the spyglass. “The approaching group. They’ve dropped Belem’s banner. They’re raising yours.”

  If this was some trick, if Belem was here to deal the final blow . . .

  Before Rafi made a move, he looked to Ursu and Yara, the two Performers closest to him. Deep shadows marred their eyes, and Yara’s hand quaked where it rested on Rafi’s back. They both nodded.

  Rafi let the shield fall. The sudden release was an astounding relief. He hurried to his feet and fumbled for the sword provided for him by the Performers. The small band followed, ready for an attack, and unwilling to admit they were probably too worn out to defend against one.

  A black horse with a white blaze on its nose cantered at the center of the approaching men. The rider took off his helmet, shaking out black hair not quite as curly as Rafi’s.

  “That’s my brother,” Rafi said in awe, dropping his weapon to the ground.

  Breaker trotted forward, the line of guards and standard-bearers falling back.

  A cocky smile creased Dom’s face as he leaped out of the horse’s saddle, but there was something cautious behind the bravado. “No one expected me to save the day, probably you least of all.”

  “Santiago’s safe?” Rafi asked, the words rushing out of his mouth.

  “It is. We defeated Belem’s troops at the estate.” Dom paused for a moment and kicked the dirt betwe
en his feet. Rafi recognized the nervous habit. “I didn’t get your letter until after Belem’s attack, and came as quickly as I could.”

  Relief was one more drop in a too-full barrel. Rafi gathered his brother in hug, pounding him on the back. “I want to know how you ended up with Inimigo’s cannons, but I don’t know where Johanna is. The mine collapsed and—”

  “Then we better find the princess.” Dom whistled for his men to follow. “We’ll help wherever we can.”

  “Make sure none of Inimigo’s troops double back and try to surprise us.”

  “Already on it.” Dom dropped Breaker’s reins and jogged away.

  Rafi wished he had time to say more, to thank Dom for coming, but he settled for a quick pat to Breaker’s flank and rushed to the last spot where he’d seen Johanna.

  Despite his earlier efforts to excavate, the terraces of the mine had collapsed and the tunnels were blocked. Tons of dirt and stone filled the places where people had stood, and he could see a piece of black fabric trapped among the rubble.

  “Has anyone seen Johanna?” he shouted.

  Performers were emerging from the other mines, wounded and dirty. They fell into the arms of their loved ones and hurried across the field to seek out others who’d been caught in the melee.

  Johanna wasn’t among them.

  “The tunnels collapsed behind us,” an old man said as he stumbled closer to Rafi. “A few were trapped.”

  “Was Johanna with you? How many are unaccounted for?” Desperate, Rafi slipped over the lip of the mine and tried to work his way deeper into the wreckage. Exhaustion made him clumsy, and he slipped, barking his knees on a stone.

  “I don’t know,” the old Performer said, his voice soaked in sorrow. “I didn’t see her after.”

  For a moment Rafi felt nothing, not the uneven dirt beneath his feet, not the sweat that dotted his brow, not the weariness that made his arms heavy. He was a void, an empty hole, as still and emotionless as the mine he knelt in.