Bells of the Kingdom (Children of the Desert Book 3) (3 page)

“You’re still here,
siolle
Kolan?” Hagair said mildly.

Caught out of his dazed wonder, Kolan jolted to his feet. “Thank you,
sionno!
Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he blurted, and fled on the wings of the man’s laughter.

As he ran, the church bells embarked on their hourly, doleful announcement of time passing.

Start with the breath. There is always the breath.

The infant smelled like peaches and slightly sour milk, although Ellemoa couldn’t remember having fed it recently. She couldn’t remember anything beyond the warm grey mist around her and the thin whistling sound of her firstborn breathing. Something had happened, something terrible and frightening, out beyond the mist, but she didn’t need to remember that now.

She wasn’t alone any longer. She would never be alone again. That was the only thing that mattered.
I have a son.
He would stay with her forever. He would never abandon her without warning. He would never betray her.

You must leave the lake, Ellemoa,
her lover said. She felt the mist stir around her, lifting her hair in a gentle caress.
It is not good for you to stay here so long. It is not good for the child.

“I want to stay with you,” she said absently, her attention on the infant. “He wants to stay with you. We love you. Don’t you love us? Don’t you want us to stay?”

The mist swirled in a subtle sigh, currents of heat threading across her skin.
You do not hear me,
her lover said.
You cannot stay with me. You must go back to the air, to the human side of the world.

The word
cannot
caught her attention. She looked up, frowning; in her arms, the infant stirred restlessly, whimpering a little. A vague dread settled thickly into her chest.

“Of course we can stay,” she said. “We’re ha’ra’hain. We belong here, with you. You love us. You want us here.”

No,
her lover said.
You are far, far from the place where I live, Ellemoa. To me, this place is cold and unpleasant. You could not endure my true bed, and the child is too tender yet to even try. You only endure this much because of my support, and I grow tired. I am old, Ellemoa. I must rest. You must seek out lessers for your support for a time. You must go back to the air.

“No,” she said, dread spidering through her entire body. The infant burped, then began whimpering more loudly. “No, I can’t. They left me. They abandoned me! I only have the humans now, and they hate me. They’ll hurt me. You can’t send me back!”

You must go back,
her lover said, unrelenting, and the warm haze thinned rapidly.

“No!
No!”

Protect the child,
her lover said.
It will be my last. I do not have the strength for another. It will be the one to come after me, in time. Protect the child, Ellemoa, so that it may protect this area.

Before she could protest again, the mists disappeared under a flood of sunlight. She staggered, throwing up one arm to shield her dazzled eyes. The infant, jolted into a less secure hold, wailed furiously.

Eerie mist lapped like iridescent water along the improbably thin strip of pebble-sand shore. Icy air slapped against her skin. She adjusted internal temperatures reflexively, and the shivering stopped.

How could you?
she railed, glaring at the diaphanous waters.
How dare you? To leave me alone again, alone with the humans—I trusted you!

There was no response. She could sense her lover sinking further into the scalding depths of the lake, indifferent to her rage.

The child’s wail abruptly took on a more startled pitch. Moments later, a hard grip closed around each of Ellemoa’s upper arms.

“Here she is, Captain!” a coarse voice crowed. “With a witch whelp, no less!”

Humans.
Rage frothed through her instantly. They were threatening her child. Herself.
No!
She would kill them all, squash them like the rude insects they really were—

Something struck the back of her head, and she pitched forward to her knees, hovering on the fringes of a hazy near-darkness. A moment later a rough hand pulled her head back and a stinging, gritty powder drifted onto her face. The very touch of it felt obscene.

She tried to shake it off, but it clung, searing like tiny drops of acid. Her screams of protest drew laughter from the humans around her, then another voice joined hers: “You’re
hurting
her! Stop it! She hasn’t done anything wrong!”

Kolan.
Kolan.
She opened her eyes, blinking; for a moment she saw him, hands bound, on his knees as well, shouting at the men around them. Then the grit blew into her eyes, and she screamed, her vision blurring into agonized, fractured shapes.

“We don’t have orders about a child,” someone said. “Damned if I’m hauling a witch-brat back to Bright Bay.”

“How can you do this to me?” she shrieked. “How can you do this to my child?”

“It’s demon-spawn!” a man yelled back.

“Burn it!” someone else shouted.

“Drown it!” a third voice suggested.

“It’s a
child!
How can you harm a child?”

“It’s a damned creature,” said a voice much closer to hand. “You’ll be joining it in due time, woman, never fear!”

Her temper snapped.
Humans.
They were all insane. “The hells you say!” she shouted in his general direction. “No! You won’t lay a hand on either one of us!”

She tried to surge to her feet, calling on the strength she’d been cautioned never to reveal to the humans—and found herself unable to rise from her knees. Her vision and senses were too blurred from that noxious powder to allow direct attack; she screamed again, incensed and, finally, frightened.

Focusing her attention on the lake, on her lover, she threw all the power she had into a desperate, silent scream:
Help me!
A few of the men around her swore and shuffled back a few hasty steps. Kolan cried out in pain; he’d felt the call more clearly than the soldiers. Not surprising. She’d given him more than he would probably ever realize before his choice to abandon her in favor of the hypocrites he called holy men.

Pity she couldn’t take back any of the deeper aspects of what she’d given him. She could have used the extra strength at the moment.

Far away, far below, something rolled and shifted uneasily, then subsided to silence: refusing to answer the call.

Her child wailed again, preternaturally aware that it was helpless in a very dangerous situation.
Protect the child.
Her lover might not return for her
—faithless monster—
but he would for the child. She reached out to the child, slid inside its awareness, and channeled her demand through its cries.

The child’s shrieks held agonizing pain this time, as the last of her strength tore through it and forced connections that wouldn’t have formed naturally for a dozen years at least.

The vast bulk of her lover’s awareness rolled and grumbled, then began ascending rapidly.

Ellemoa threw her head back and began to laugh, high and shrill: sheer relief from the fear, and a savage satisfaction that now these humans would pay for their aggression.

The men backed away, their own fear cascading from them like a waterfall. Kolan’s shrieks seemed to fall into a strange rhythm with those of her child, as though he’d somehow locked onto or into the infant’s pain.

My child. Mine! Not yours.
Without moving a muscle, she thrust between them, severing the tenuous connection; felt Kolan fall sideways, convulsing and gagging. Her child’s now razor-edged wails sliced into her. She forced herself to endure the noise only because binding it silent risked losing her lover’s attention.

“Captain,” someone said, voice thick with alarm. “The lake—look!”

Ellemoa bared her teeth and shrieked, “You will all
die
for daring to threaten us!”

“Ellemoa, no,” Kolan hollered. “Don’t do this to yourself!
Harm none, harm none!”

She spat in his direction and laughed again.

The air changed: pressure whomped across her in a great, molten shock.
You are not protecting the child well,
her lover said disapprovingly, a great presence even to her blurred vision. Around her, humans screamed.

They’re hurting us! Kill them! Kill them!

She felt the massive regard turn from her to the soldiers, felt her lover sorting swiftly through their minds, assessing the situation.
No,
he said at last. His words flickered in the not-space between moments, taking less than a human blink to convey.
If I kill these, humans will send more to damage this area that I protect. They will harm those who have done nothing to earn that hurt. I cannot kill these men for you.

Unable to believe his refusal, she let out a wordless howl of protest. He was siding with the
humans?

I will send you to safety instead,
he said.
I will send you to a place where a younger relative has the strength to protect you while my last child grows to replace me. My relative will keep you safe and teach the child, as I lack the strength to do. You will return here when it is safe.

“No!” she screamed aloud. “Kill them, gods damn you, kill them!”

Men shouted around her, dim animal noises she ignored as pointless—they were merely screaming and running about in stunned confusion.

There are many ways to do a thing,
her lover said,
and not all of them require violence to a lesser form of life. You are too young yet. You will learn.
He paused; she felt him examining those around her again.
I will send this young human with you,
he decided.
He understands the way of things already. He can teach you. Let him help you with the child. Let him teach it restraint and discipline, and learn from him yourself.

“Noooooooo!”

Heat built and thundered around her. Men screamed. Her child screamed. Kolan screamed. There came the sharp scent of urine, the bitter musk of sweat, and a twisting that threatened to rip her apart.

Something dark and rancid filled her senses. Threads of green and gold whipped through the not-space and twined around her in an unbreakable grip.
Mine,
a thin, slippery voice whispered. M
ine now. Mine!

No,
her lover said, sounding startled.
Who are you? You are not my cousin! Who are you?

MINE. MINE now! Give! GIVE!

The threads tightened and sharpened around her.

Help me!
she screamed.
My love, help me!

She sensed a horrible, wrenching hesitation. Abruptly, her child’s screams redoubled, then inverted to a resounding silence.

I cannot save you this time,
her lover said.

My child! My child! Where is he?

The darkness whispered angry echo:
Where did you send it? It is mine. Mine! Bring it back, give it to me, mine!

I am sorry, Ellemoa,
her lover said.
I failed you. The child is safe. The child is safe. I am sorry. I love—

The word trailed into a broken silence.

She hung in fetid darkness, unable even to thrash against the cocoon of bindings, and listened to Kolan’s agonized howls with a savage sense of satisfaction.

This is all your fault,
she told him.
Yours. All yours.

He was too busy screaming to answer.

The south was a land filled with music, from the graceful language to the low whistles of servants moving about their work. At night, Scratha Fortress seemed to pulse with an underlying beat: the rhythmic sound had carried Idisio through a night of troubled dreams and out into the still air of pre-dawn.

A monstrous headache descended a bare breath after his eyes opened. Instinct drove him back into a more focused, escape-driven slumber.

It’s a drinking contest,
Azni said in his memory, and then Riss chimed in:
I thought you knew the game.

He hadn’t. He didn’t drink; losing awareness of his surroundings had always been far too dangerous to risk. He hadn’t even known what the changing taste of the acrid coffee meant until Riss explained—far too late, as it turned out.

As he recalled, she’d found his ignorance highly amusing. The hangover had been
far
from amusing, and he’d been having flashes of it at erratic intervals ever since, as though his body simply refused to let go of reliving that experience.

He descended further into stillness, letting the pain wrack through his surface nerves while he retreated to the deep place where pain was a barely noticeable tremor.

Music followed him into the stillness, and memory:
There is a lake, a ghosty lake,
someone sang, and laughed a big, rich, salty laugh. Red. The talkative sailor had sung so many shocking and funny songs, including one about a northern lake made of mist in which, supposedly, lived a horrendous demon....

Scratha’s voice floated through the void of memory:
I think you have Ghost Lake blood... You have too much northern in your face for anything else.