“How does he factor into this? And what is Estmere’s artifact? Do they even have one?”
Terran was the only one in the chamber who didn’t know yet. But he was about to find out.
“Aye,” Rowan said. “It’s me.”
38
TERRAN
Obviously, I misheard him.
“What in the stones did you say?”
“I am the human artifact.”
I shook my head. Knocked one side of it, hoping to clear whatever I’d gotten inside. Maybe this morn, stopping briefly to clean in an Aetherian stream, their water got inside and poisoned my mind.
“Listen to him,” Lyra said beside me.
I glanced from her, to my brother, to the others gathered around the table. And then the king. Looking up, the ceiling now a night sky filled with twinkling stars, I said a silent prayer to my mother to give me strength for this discussion which had gone off a cliff, and then attempted to do as Lyra suggested.
“You,” I repeated, “are the human artifact? The equivalent of the Tidal Pearl?—”
“Aye.”
“Or the Wind Crystal.”
“Aye.”
“You don’t have to keep going,” Kael mumbled.
“Or the Stone of Mor’Vallis.”
“Also, aye.”
The man was daft. I’d come here for this?
“Not daft. The relics are pieces of Elydor’s balance. But every scholar’s record, everything those around this table have uncovered… or failed attempt we’ve made?—”
“Rowan,” I said, stopping him, “I didn’t say you were daft.” But then added, “Not aloud.”
“I am a seer. And my abilities are stronger than most.”
The fact didn’t surprise me. But most seers gather information in snippets, often without context. This was something altogether different. He’d heard what was inside my head.
“I do not do that often,” he quickly added, “but only wish to illustrate my words.”
“What do you mean, stronger than most?”
“Perhaps if you let him speak, Terran,” my brother said, “he will tell you.”
I ignored Kael, waiting for Rowan to continue.
“Terran, you yourself said opening and closing the Gate are not the same. Galfrid opened it because he carried the relics and the will of a people united. Balthor closed it because hatred wounds more deeply than steel… and relics remember wounds. And I…” Rowan hesitated, his hand brushing his chest. “I am Harrow’s blood. Keeper born. Every time I touched the relics, they stirred, not because of power, but because I was the piece never counted. The fourth relic, hidden in flesh instead of stone.”
Rowan looked around the table, his voice quiet but unflinching. “It was never only the jewels of Elydor. It was always the jewels and the hand that wielded them which provided power. And my hand… my bloodline… is the one the Gate has been waiting for.”
Harrow’s blood. Keeper born.
