The Garden of Stones - By Mark T. Barnes Page 0,180

retribution. Still fixing on this journey of yours?”

“To Avānweh?” Indris asked. “Yes. Sassomon-Omen needs a new body. Besides, the New Year’s Festival in Avānweh will be something. It’ll be interesting to see what happens at the Assembly of Peers, too. With Vashne gone and Corajidin in the wind, I’d not be surprised to see a lot of the Imperialist exiles trying to reclaim their places in society. As Shar said, there’s always something to worry about.”

“So, are you returning to the Order?” Femensetri hawked and spat.

“I think you’re going giddy with the moment,” Indris said drily. “I’ll stay my own man.”

“You did well, boy.” Femensetri rested her hands on Indris’s shoulders. “Though you should’ve killed Corajidin when you—”

“Wait a—”

“Let me finish!” She placed her hand over his mouth. “Letting him go will cause problems. He still presents a danger to us all. Yet your handling of the Ariskander issue, flying a galley across the Rōmarq, and capturing the Destiny Engine were masterfully done. You sure you’ll not come back to the Sēq? You could be the youngest master—”

“Thank you for your confidence, but no.” Indris bowed his head. There was much Femensetri did not know, could never know, about what Indris was capable of. “I can do real good as I am.”

Femensetri smiled. “Perhaps you are my greatest pupil.” She leaned forward and took him in her arms. Indris was surprised by the unexpected display of affection. When she spoke next, it was in a whisper for him alone. “Besides, I’ll always know where to find you, should I need you.”

“About my mother.” Indris leaned back from his former teacher. Something Ariskander had said still echoed in his mind. “What is it you’re not telling me?”

“There’s much I’ve not told you,” the Stormbringer admitted. “Some, because you don’t need to know. Some, because you need to find out for yourself.”

“And the rest?”

“Ah.” She sighed. “The rest I made a promise to your mother not to say.”

Indris walked up the gentle slope of Zephyr Hill. Hundreds of people knelt in the grass, their faces lit sepia by the flames in each alabaster and crystal flower on its plinth in the Garden of Stones. Some turned to look at him, a solitary wanderer in his threadbare over-robe, his sword sheathed across his back. The people of Amnon had become used to warriors in their midst. There were scowls as he passed, gestures to ward off evil. A few spat into the grass, to curse him and his violent ways as he passed them by. People had lost those they loved. He did not begrudge them their anger.

He crested the hill, then continued down the narrow stone path toward the Lotus House. He stopped when he reached the door. It was open, it was always open, yet as always his feet betrayed him. Truth was he had stood before the door many times, his hand resting on the pendant-shaped brass handles. He had listened, more times than he could count, to the wind chimes, white plaited leather stitched with beads of yellow glazed clay in the shape of bees that swung in the breeze. Each time he had walked away.

“I’ll come with you, if you like,” Shar murmured from behind him.

Indris looked over his shoulder at his dearest friend. He had asked so much of her over the years. She had never once complained or refused him. Though it meant risking her own life, Shar-fer-rayn had been at his side when there was no logical reason for her to be. A reflexive response started to shape his lips. Before the words could escape, never to be recalled, he closed his mouth.

“I’d like that,” Indris said. “Thank you.”

Shar took him by the hand, though it was Indris who took the first, tentative step inside.

Together they followed the spiral of the Memorial Wall, with its myriad names. There was only one he had eyes for: Anj-el-din. Like all the names on the wall, it was set with tiny slivers of ilhen, to shine in beams of pale blue-white light like a star.

“I hadn’t thought it would be so…” Indris’s eyes burned. There was an itch in the back of his nose and an ache in his chest he felt only when he was alone, when memory got the better of him. He squeezed Shar’s hand. “You know, I’ve never said good-bye to her,” he murmured.

“Perhaps it’s time you did,” she said gently. She took his face in both her hands; her beautiful jewel eyes stared