In the Skin of a Nunqua (19 page)

“General Delartay,” Tracker said. Bands of leather circled his spotted biceps. “They have split into three groups.”

“Is Shanti with the princess?” He twirled the yellow leaf in his fingers.

“No.”

“No?” Caravey grunted.

“There’s a town nearby, practically defenseless. We can take it to get food and something to drink.”

“Shanti had better be doing her job,” Delartay said, “or she’ll suffer the consequences. I’ll show her the true meaning of pain. Then again, she always liked that sort of thing.”

The warriors around him snickered.

“What are your orders, General?” Tracker said.

Delartay dropped the leaf. “It’s almost time. We’ll go to the Outer Boundaries and join the other warriors waiting to invade. I know you boys are itching to fight.”

“What about Shanti?”

“I’ll deal with her later.”

Caravey went inside the pavilion and pushed on a beam that held the roof in place. Sturdy construction. Walls were built waist high, and benches flanked each table. Blackened stone cooking structures bordered the pavilion. The facilities were big enough to feed perhaps fifty or sixty people. A lock of greasy hair hung from a string tied to the rafters. Caravey touched the odd ornament. “Shanti, my sweet.” So she’d made an enemy at the encampment. It was good to know that Shanti, even when surrounded by Willovians, retained her Nunqua culture. He had taught her well. She was bound to reveal her real self even though he had ordered her not to. Her biggest fault was a propensity for the truth. Shanti spoke her mind no matter how much trouble it got her into.

Gitonk lay wounded on a table inside the pavilion and tied a lock of hair onto a string, a multicolored necklace of blond, brown, black, and now red. “You brainless maggot,” Caravey said. “You ruined our chance at surprise.” He examined Gitonk’s wound, crusted with blood and in the process of healing. “Next time, we leave you to die. You’re slowing us down. One day, maybe two, and the cut will be closed.”

“Sorry, General,” Gitonk said. “The Willovian who injured me had some skills. I was surprised, that’s all.”

Gitonk and every other person he had ever cured recovered in a matter of days. Shanti’s wounds healed within the space of a few breaths, the scars left as reminders—scars that she could easily make disappear. Caravey doubted that she even comprehended the extent of her powers. If only Shanti would acknowledge being a witch, her greatness would be legendary.

A peculiar yelp echoed in the woods. Caravey left the pavilion to investigate. Warriors lingered about a dead animal—a wolf with an arrow buried in its gut. “Your dinner?” he said to the Nunqua holding a crossbow.

“It was watching us, General, I swear.” The warrior pointed two fingers to his eyes. “It had the look of a demon. The wolf was possessed. Not a good omen. I don’t like it here.”

Caravey wedged his boot under the wolf’s snout and lifted its limp head. The animal’s eyes opened, and its ribs heaved. A squealing inhalation contorted its chest. Startled warriors jumped away from the solitary creature.

*

Bayla, surrounded by soldiers, clutched the saddle horn of the roan mare she rode. She leaned on the mare’s neck for support. A sharp stitch in her side made it hard to breathe. Through the eyes of the wolf she possessed, she watched Nunqua warriors meander around the camp in the Hedgelands. They searched the grounds, reclined inside the pavilion. Spotted faces of men stared down at her—no, at the wolf. A crossbow came into view, fired another arrow. A sharp pain, then nothing.

The vision vanished as the wolf closed its eyes, dead.

20

War

“
T
he Nunqua desire
Willovia,” Shanti told several Guardians inside the inn. Neither ale nor food was on the table, and the ashes lay cold in the fireplace. Somber faces took in her words. Gy was present, along with the village undertaker, the wealthy landowner and his teenage son, the innkeeper, a farmer, and Madiza, her hair a white crown, and fine wrinkles softening her pleasant face.

“Food and resources are abundant here. Willovia is bordered by the sea, with access to other lands.” Shanti stared into the flame of a candle. “They’ve been planning a large-scale invasion for years. As soon as King Magen dies, they’ll attack at the Outer Boundaries.”

“We must try to stop an invasion with diplomacy,” the landowner said. “Lord Argu rules the Nunqua. Talks can be established.”

“Lord Argu is a coward and a fool,” Shanti said. “The military rules the realm. The warriors consume the resources. They cut down the harvest to feast but do not plant seeds for future growth. That’s why they want Willovia.”

“We fight!” Gy said. “My children will not grow up ruled by the Nunqua.”

“What about Rega Bayla?” Madiza said.

“She didn’t pass the trials or face the final test,” Gy answered. “She failed.”

The farmer’s jaws clenched and unclenched as he gnawed a quid of tobacco. He spat into a cup. “Then we cannot endorse her as queen. The Guardians must unite to seat another on the throne—someone more suitable to the task. Gy”—he spit again—“you shall be king.”

Shanti’s jaw dropped. It was so obvious! Why hadn’t she seen it before? If Bayla, the last of the royal bloodline, failed, Gy would become king!

Madiza pulled an angora shawl tight around her shoulders. “There are those loyal to the monarchy who will fight to put Bayla on the throne. Willovia cannot withstand two wars at the same time: civil war and war with the Nunqua.”

“I agree,” Gy said.

“I must protest.” Shanti viewed Gy with a new understanding. He did not want Bayla to fail, because then he would bear the heavy weight of the crown. “It’s a Guardian’s duty to do what’s best for Willovia. She failed. Bayla is not what the kingdom needs now that we’re facing war.”

“If we take her from power,” Madiza said, “the country is conquered by the Nunqua, or worse. I tried to warn you, Shanti. She has potential.”

“You would let a girl of not even twenty years command the military?”

“No,” Gy said. “
I
command the military. Commander Kyros will take charge of matters at the castle. Bayla will be crowned Baylova, a queen in name only.”

Shanti spread her hand over a burning candle and put the flame out with her palm. “The puppet queen, false monarch of Willovia, a lie to the people. Tell me, Gy, do you plan on informing Baylova that her royal decrees are to be the ravings of a worthless monarch? She’s a mute, dressed in fine robes with precious jewels glued to her skin. Body art to cover her flaws. Lips sewn shut with a golden needle and thread.”

Gy rubbed his forehead and groaned. “We fight the Nunqua first! Then we worry about Baylova. Hopefully, by the time hostilities with the Nunqua have ended, she will have married, and we won’t have to oust her from power. Willovia will have a new king.”

“Then she’ll be a married puppet, mute and blind, her only purpose to breed—”

“Damn it, Shanti!” Gy glanced around the room. “What are the opinions of the Guardians present?”

“The threat of the Nunqua is greater and must be dealt with first.” The farmer spat in the cup for emphasis.

The wealthy landowner agreed. “Baylova will be crowned queen. Gy will lead the military.”

“I concur.” The undertaker nodded his narrow head.

Madiza spoke to Shanti. “Please, you have to believe. She can help Willovia. She’s the only one who can help you. Bayla can sever the ties that bind you to him. Power is given for a reason.”

“Give us your vote, Shanti,” Gy said. “What are your thoughts?”

Her thoughts centered on Jun and his constant badgering. Was she Willovian or Nunqua? She reached out her hand and snuffed the flame of another candle with her palm. Quiet faces watched her, waiting for a response. She stood, brown uniform hugging her like a second skin, hair bound tight in the warrior’s knot, the sword given her by General Caravey Delartay strapped across her back, the wristlet of poisoned darts buckled to her scarred arm. Shanti breathed deeply; a suffocating ache crushed her spirit. “I resign,” she said.

“Don’t do this.” A measure of pleading infused Gy’s voice.

“I will no longer serve as a commander in the Willovian military or as a soldier. I refuse to fight under a false queen.”

“You gave an oath to do what is best for Willovia!” Gy shouted.

“So did you!” Her fist hit the table like a hammer. “What did we accomplish at camp? Nothing! Never have I felt so useless!” Shanti’s chin quivered. “I’ll stay in Willovia and find other work. And remain voiceless.” She banged open the door and stormed out of the room.

Madiza trailed, trying to catch up. “Wait, Shanti. Wait.”

Shanti got on her horse and galloped away from the inn, the village, Gy, and Madiza. She returned to her temporary room at the encampment, collected her money and belongings, put on a riding skirt, with pants underneath, and a warm sweater, and let her hair fall loose down her back.

Alone in the forest with only her horse for company, Shanti built a bonfire. The brown uniform burned. Her life as a Willovian soldier no longer existed. She picked up an orange leaf, realizing that time was short. The Nunqua would soon attack. The scars on her arms vanished as she willed the skin smooth. She was ready to build a new life.

*

Monks covered the body of King Magen with a red blanket. They carried the corpse, withered from disease, out of the bedroom, through the castle, and into their domicile. A stately room draped in red awaited the entourage. Tobian stood beside his master, ready to learn about this most important task. Only monks were permitted to participate in the funeral preparations. One of the brotherhood examined a table covered with red velvet and the king’s garments. He picked lint off the splendid uniform, shined the black boots, polished the king’s one bejeweled ring to be entombed with him. The king was stripped, and a red cloth placed over his manhood. Monks washed the body. After cleansing, a tube and a large glass container were brought to the body to siphon out fluids.

Tobian gazed uneasily at the equipment that used negative pressure to suck out the liquid. He lowered his eyes, unable to watch the knife cut open the king’s side, or the tube being pushed through flesh and muscle. The brothers worked quietly, speaking only when necessary. Blood and other body fluids dribbled and sloshed inside the container. A lock of the king’s hair and a fingernail from his right hand were also put into the vessel.

The old monk turned to his apprentice. “Do you need to sit down, my brother?”

“I’m fine.” He did not want to appear as weak as he felt.

“Go with the vessel,” the old monk said. “It’s important to see that part of the ritual, too.”

Tobian followed three of his brother monks into an adjoining room. He found a chair and sat, trying not to faint dead away. Someone asked if he was all right. He lied with a nod.

The men in charge of the vessel shed their blue robes to work in blue breeches and white shirts, with sleeves rolled up. For all appearances, the room was an organized and well-stocked apothecary. Expensive jars filled with unknown substances lined shelves on the walls. A monk poured a clear solution into the vessel containing the king’s blood. The liquid sizzled, then darkened. The container was placed on a hot stove. Jars of strange herbs were added. The brew bubbled thickly. Empty glass beakers with silver clawed feet waited nearby to be filled with the morbid concoction. Royal blood was the essential ingredient of the potion enabling the drinker to journey into the future—the dark science of the monks.

The old monk approached. “It’s being boiled to take out the impurities, the sickness. The process will not be complete until tomorrow, and the potion will not be ready for consumption for several days.”

Tobian removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes.

“The relationship is symbiotic,” the monk said. “The royals of Willovia derive their power from our knowledge of the future, and we derive our power from them. It’s been this way for two centuries. We follow the traditions of the monks who came before us.”

“So our knowledge comes at a price,” Tobian said.

“King Magen was destined to die. We couldn’t save him. Our actions are justified.”

“Are the royals aware? Did King Magen know? Does Baylova know? If our actions are justified, then tell Baylova. See if our presence is still desired at the castle.”

“You’ll understand soon enough.” The old monk interlaced his fingers over his chest. “The fate of Willovia resides with us.”

*

Jun moved deep beneath the castle. Water dripped and echoed in a series of natural caverns in the hard rock of the seashore. Oil lamps lit the underground labyrinth. Graceful formations, carved by flowing water, smoldered in hues of copper, amber, beige, and pink. Drops fell from stalactites into a pond, the ripples fanning outward in perfect circles. High-level advisers and royal guards used these caves to conduct secret meetings. The rooms of stone were comfortable, dry, and well stocked for emergencies.

Jun spotted Baylova in a red dress of mourning. The young queen’s arms were folded across her chest, her posture putting off anyone who wanted to get close to her. One painted dragonfly shimmered on her wrist, and a blue sapphire adorned a black satin choker around her neck. Elaborate braids decorated her hair. She walked with Commander Kyros and seemed out of place in the caves, like an expensive doll mistakenly placed among tin soldiers.

“She’s still a threat,” Kyros said, “especially now that the Nunqua have invaded the Outer Boundaries and occupy the region.”

“Where is she?”

“No one knows, not even Commander Gy. It’s essential for the security of Willovia that we find her and bring her to the castle. We can observe her here, watch for signs of treachery.”

“I agree, however . . .” Baylova noticed Jun and stopped walking.

Jun bowed to the newly appointed queen.

“Commander Kyros, will you excuse us for a moment.” Kyros left them alone. “I should have known. No one who simply manages supply is allowed in these caves. Did my father send you to camp to spy on me?”

“No. I was sent by Commander Kyros to spy on Shanti, Bay-y-ylova.” He had almost slipped and called her “Bayla.” She was no longer Bayla, but Queen Baylova. Back at camp, he had said she would make a good leader someday, but now it upset him that she had the power to banish him from the Willovian military with only a word. He had served Willovia with honor and distinction for many years, paid his dues to become a commander, sacrificed much, only to answer to her now? She was too inexperienced to make decisions overriding his own.

“Is something wrong, Commander?” she said.

“Sorry. It’s hard to believe.” Her imperial facade could not hide how tired she looked. Jun tried to remember that she hadn’t asked for this responsibility.

“Have you seen Shanti?” she asked.

“Not since camp. I don’t know where she is.” He stared at the sapphire nestled in the hollow of her throat. “I’m sorry about your father.”

“Thank you.” She left and returned to continue her conversation with Commander Kyros.

Jun pondered the reality that Bayla was now the commander of his commander. It just wasn’t right.

*

Shanti cleaned the newborn babe, then wrapped her tightly in a woven blanket. The infant smelled powdery fresh. She stroked the soft head. The healthy baby closed its eyes, and Shanti laid the bundle next to the exhausted mother. Old Geyas, the village midwife, entered the room with a tray of food. Shanti worked as her apprentice, helping deliver three babies so far under Geyas’s supervision. No longer did she feel useless.

Gray clouds drifted low in the sky. Shanti stoked the fire in a hearth to warm the bedroom. Winter had reached Willovia, although no snow blanketed the ground—merely an icy frost. War seemed far away. The Nunqua had invaded the Outer Boundaries, killing soldiers and creeping farther into Willovian territory. Casualties befell both sides, with no frontrunners in the conflict. Shanti held her tongue and refused to speak of the war, knowing she could never choose sides. She turned away from conversations about the accursed Nunqua, swallowing her anger at the hard-hearted remarks. The townspeople fed on lies and spread them with abandon. Cloven hooves? Bestiality? Nonsense!

“A soldier is here to see you.” Geyas’s face furrowed with a grin, and she winked. “Quite handsome.”

The mother’s eyes shone brightly.

“No, my child.” Old Geyas gently patted the new mother’s arm. “Your husband’s still fighting in the war. This man wishes to speak with Shanti.”

Jun!
Jun had said he would find her. Shanti raced outside into the freezing air, sliding gracefully on ice just outside the door. Her joy faded at the sight. Commander Kyros and six royal guards were waiting for her.

Flourishes of gold embellished the sleeves of his blue and white uniform. He removed a scroll from his jacket but didn’t unfurl it. “Queen Baylova requests your presence at the castle.”

Old Geyas listened at the door. Her hand touched her throat. “Queen Baylova!”

“Requests?” Shanti said, a mist visible with each breath.

“You’re being summoned as a royal adviser. Your knowledge of Nunqua customs is essential to Her Majesty in conducting the war.”

“What if I refuse?”

He tapped the scroll in the palm of his hand. “You cannot refuse. It is a royal decree with the seal of Her Majesty. If you do not comply, you’ll be sent to prison as a Nunqua conspirator.”

Shanti took a step backward and dug the ball of her foot into the frozen ground. “Six guards to escort me to the castle, not to mention such a high-ranking commander. I’m flattered. How honorably you serve the queen. Or is it, perhaps, the other way around.”