They smiled in return. “The binding Aer had us weave on the Fayit is incomprehensibly powerful, but also elegant. It recognized your intent,” Daelan said. “Yet I thank you for your graciousness. It has been a long time since I heard my name in full. I’m surprised by how much I’ve missed it.”
I nodded. “That brings me to my first question. The binding you created—is it designed to be used only by the descendants of Cuman, the first man?”
Daelan and Storan nodded as one, but I saw the ghost of a smile begin to play over their expressions. They may have suspected my intention. “And does the binding apply to any and all Fayit, no matter who or how changed they are?”
Now their smiles shone like the sun. “Eldest,” I said. “Before you make the calling, might I suggest that you share the knowledge you hold with the rest of the Vigil.”
Pellin nodded, but grief clouded his eyes. “Toria, come,” he called. “Fess and Mirren, I need the two of you to delve me as well.” He pointed south. “But I command that you, Fess and Mirren, withdraw immediately afterward. We will contact you if we are successful. If we fail, get to the southern continent as quickly as you can.” He turned, searching until his gaze landed on his apprentice, and he pointed. “Take Mark’s memories with you as well. Seek out Dukasti. Tell him the north has fallen.”
Without ceremony we touched him, receiving his memories of the writing within my vault. Impatience thundered with each beat of my heart. I had no idea how far Cesla might have gotten or how close those in his power were to breaking the prison.
But now that we came to the moment, Pellin turned to face me. “This is your victory more than any other, Willet. Why do you defer to me?”
“Because he’s your brother,” I said. “His pride destroyed him, but Atol trapped him within his own mind, taking pleasure at his pain, denying him the release of death. I thought it would comfort you to know that he received his final mercy at your hand.”
“Thank you.” Pellin raised his hands and began the call. As long as Daelan and Storan’s names were, Atol Bealu’s far exceeded them. It took me a moment before I realized his new name was a twisted compilation of every Fayit whose spirit he’d taken unto himself, but Pellin never flinched or faltered.
Later, much later, the cadence of syllables cascaded upward, signaling he’d come to the end of Atol’s name. “You are summoned,” Pellin commanded. “By the binding placed on the Fayit and by the grace of Aer, you are bound. You are commanded to come to me with all haste. You must answer the call.”
Pellin lowered his arms, and we waited. Toria and the rulers cast about, searching. “It will take some time,” I said. “They are bound to Cesla’s body. He will have to travel here physically.” I looked up at the morning sun. “I pray the binding forces him here before dark.”
An hour passed before Daelan and Storan jerked and turned to face north. Within minutes we heard a keening wail, and from the northern part of the city we witnessed a figure racing toward us, his legs churning faster than the purest gifted among humans could run. But his hands covered his eyes.
As he grew closer, it was clear rage and fury comprised his scream, not grief. He emerged from the rubble and ruin of Treflow to stand before us, wet from crossing the river and panting with fury.
“Greetings, Atol,” Pellin said. “I would offer you the chance of repentance and the rite of haeling, if you wish it.”
Daelan and Storan shook their heads. “It is not possible.”
Cesla jerked and writhed, straining against invisible bonds. “You and your kind are motes of dust. Nothing more.”
“You are defeated, Atol,” Storan said. “Again.”
“Defeated?” Cesla said. “Do you think our war is over? Do you presume to believe you’ve won?” Scorn twisted his features until I thought the bones in his face might break. “Look at you. Deprived of corporeal presence, you’ve reduced yourselves to shadows.” He flung out his arm, using the other to keep his eyes covered against the light. “True—you’ve won a great battle.” He laughed. “But how will you ever erase its memory from those who fought it? They will come to me seeking gold or aurium or knowledge. At the last, you will not be able to stand against me.”
“He has spoken his coda,” Storan said to Pellin. “According to the binding set on the Fayit, he is yours to command.”
“For how long?” Pellin asked.
“A day.”
I watched him shake his head. “I have no wish to be in your company for so long,” he said to Atol. “But I do wish to speak with my brother. Step aside and make room for him to talk to me. Now.”
I watched as the malevolence faded from Cesla’s expression, and the man who had been the greatest holder of domere in the history of the Vigil emerged.
“Greetings, brother,” Pellin said. “Well met this fine morning.”
Cesla lowered the arm covering his eyes like a man expecting pain and turned his face toward the sun. “It is.” He smiled past rue and pain. “It is a very fine morning.”
I hoped I didn’t imagine the joy and relief that abided in his features as well.
“Why did you delve the forest?” Pellin asked him.
Cesla dropped his head until he gazed at his brother once more. “For every reason you might suppose, and more, but mostly because I wanted to know the truth of the forest. That was my fatal mistake. I equated knowledge with truth.” He looked around. “So much blood on my hands.”
“Was it?” Pellin asked. “A fatal mistake, I mean.”
“Thank Aer, yes,” he said. “As soon as you banish Atol and his kindred spirits back to their prison, I will die. Only their life force has sustained me this far. I should have perished
