In the Skin of a Nunqua (22 page)

23

Newly Ordained Brother Monk

C
ommander Kyros, two
monks, and several high-ranking officials waited in a cave beneath the castle. Baylova had called them together to discuss castle security. She entered, with Shanti behind her.

Shanti’s hands caressed the rock formations. She acted like a child discovering a secret world for the first time. Because of her previous association with the Nunqua, she had not been allowed in the secret caves. Judging by her actions, Kyros assumed that neither Jun nor Baylova had told her about their existence.

The sight of Shanti in the caves filled Kyros with rage. She didn’t deserve to be here. Realizing that the queen was in trouble, he had commanded the guards to rescue Baylova, and he stopped the Nunqua warrior who had taken her hostage. But it was Shanti’s foolish actions—arrogantly facing the enemy unarmed and thereby distracting them from Baylova—that ensured her fame. A good soldier would never have taken the chance. She got lucky. Women should stay out of men’s business. Now Shanti and Baylova roamed the caves where previously only men had trodden. Soon they would be putting up decorations, having tea parties, inviting the Daughters of Fortunate Birth down to revel in the superiority they felt at being allowed into the men’s domain. But they couldn’t handle this domain. Shanti had used people to gain her status, and Baylova was born into her position. Neither had earned the respect they demanded as their due. Baylova should marry and give control of the kingdom to someone better suited to deal with the responsibility, and Shanti should just go away.

The bickering at the meeting accomplished nothing. Nobody knew how the Nunqua had gotten into the castle and so close to the queen. Arguments ensued among the officials when Baylova approached the sickly old monk with red-rimmed eyes, and the young monk in spectacles.

“How is it that you did not foresee the attack on the castle?”

The squabbling stopped as everyone in the cave listened for the answer.

The old monk’s deep voice echoed in the cavern. “These are dangerous times for many. The attack on the castle was not foreseen, because you were never in danger of being harmed.”

“One royal guard dies on the floor of the great hall, along with two Nunqua warriors, and you cannot foresee it?”

“Your safety was never in question. The guards are to be commended for their brave deeds in the service of Willovia.”

“Why didn’t they kill me when they had the chance?” she asked the old monk.

“Because they needed a hostage.”

Baylova hung her head in thought, then lifted her chin. “Because of your failure to predict the attack on the castle, the presence of your order is no longer needed. As of this moment, I hereby declare that your status as royal advisers of Willovia be revoked. Correspondence with me or with dignitaries in the castle will be routed through proper channels. Upon my death, or the death of any royal, the castle guards will take control of the arrangements and burial.”

The old monk’s nostrils flared. The young monk unexpectedly stepped forward and bowed. “Baylova.”

She nodded, agreeing to hear him.

“The Nunqua did not kill you, because they have orders from their highest command not to harm you. Even as a hostage, they still believed there was a chance you were the queen.
You
are the reason the Nunqua invaded Willovia.”

Several sharp intakes of breath occurred at the monk’s uttering of the words, telling the queen she was responsible for the war, responsible for all the death.

“Explain,” she said.

“Nunqua spiritualists predicted years ago the date your father would die of sickness. The warriors planned the invasion to correspond with the death of King Magen. They believe you are too inexperienced to handle the pressures of ruling Willovia. You are being kept in power as an ineffective leader. You are not a target. The military commanders and village leaders are the targets.”

“If I’m not a target, why did they come to the castle and hold a sword to my throat?”

“Baylova, I do not know,” the young monk said.

“Your order has been reinstated.” She looked at the young monk. “You will act as my liaison. If relevant information cannot be provided to aid in our decision making, I will disband the order without regrets.”

“It is we,” the old monk said, “who informed you of the upcoming war with the Nunqua in the first place.”

“Then tell us how to win!” Baylova snapped. “Tell us how to defeat the Nunqua and drive them away.”

He had no answer for her. No one did.

The queen spoke to Shanti. “How long have you known about the invasion?”

Shanti watched colors on the rock wall shift in the light of the oil lamps. “Years.”

“You shall be put to death for withholding such vital information. You’re a traitor to Willovia. Commander Kyros, take—”

“Withholding information?” Shanti said. “It was a prophecy by some crazy old hag looking for gold to fill her pockets. I didn’t believe her when she spoke of the King of Willovia dying of sickness in his bed. And I did tell someone when I realized the prophecy was true—Commander Gy, leader of the Willovian military, who fights at the Outer Boundaries for the kingdom. Give him a death sentence for not telling you. And while you’re at it, give the monks a death sentence for not telling you sooner.”

“I’ll summon Commander Gy to the castle to confirm your statement. We shall have an inquiry.”

“Baylova,” Kyros interjected, “we’re at war. Commander Gy is needed to lead the fight against the Nunqua. I suggest we detain Shanti in the castle’s prison until a more practical time is determined to send for Commander Gy.”

“I thought I was already being imprisoned at the castle,” Shanti mumbled, her face toward the wall.

“Commander Kyros, you
will
summon Commander Gy immediately, by official decree with my seal. Shanti will stay in the same room and still enjoy the privileges of the castle while we wait for Commander Gy’s arrival. I’m not unreasonable. Once your betrayal is proven, you shall be beheaded in the town square.”

“You sound just like your father,” Shanti said.

Kyros frowned. Baylova would take Commander Gy, her most experienced leader, away from the battle for an inquiry and risk losing the war? He thought back to the inquiry at the camp in the Hedgelands. Baylova had lied, saying Shanti choked her in an attempt to kill her, and he had done nothing to punish her perjury. According to witnesses, soldiers who saw Bayla and Shanti half-dead on the ground with wasps raining down upon them, Shanti had told the truth.

He suddenly felt no joy at having his wish come true: Shanti was going away. Forever. Beheaded. And it would be his duty to observe her final moments and the deathblow.

The inquiry would not be fair. Baylova didn’t know the meaning of a fair inquiry, and it was his fault, his mistake. The Guardians of Willovia should never have allowed Bayla to be crowned queen.

*

Aiden’s hands and arms were in a soapy bucket of water. He was so busy trying to clean gray clay off his arms from a project he was working on that he didn’t notice Baylova’s entrance.

“Aiden,” she said.

He jumped at the sound of her voice. “Baylova. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

“My royal guard, my protection,” she teased, “should be more aware of his surroundings.”

Aiden continued scrubbing as Bayla looked at an unfinished circular plaque depicting a Willovian eagle. She touched the moist clay with her fingertip and disfigured the curved beak into an unnatural shape. Aiden didn’t see her inartistic contribution to his project. She wiped the muddy goop from her finger onto the folds of her skirt to conceal her mistake.

“I need to ask you something,” she said.

“What is it?” An icy attitude replaced his usual easygoing manner.

“You were up near the fighting. How does the war go?”

He dried his hands with a cloth. “Not well.”

Baylova picked up a brush and felt the soft horsehair bristles. “Nobody tells me the truth. All my advisers say is that we’re keeping the Nunqua from advancing. They’re being optimistic for my sake. I don’t know what’s going on. Even you keep secrets from me.”

Aiden remained silent.

“Did you send a letter to Commander Jun?”

“Is there something you want done today?” he asked.

“I had to do it. You must see that she’s a Nunqua.”

“She was born a Nunqua; that doesn’t make her a traitor.” He covered openmouthed jars of pliable plaster and submerged dirty tools used for shaping the plaster in bowls of gray water.

Baylova moved next to him and touched his arm. “Shanti let the warriors into the castle. It’s the only explanation. She told the Nunqua where we would be in the Hedgelands. She’s responsible for the death of the royal guard. And Pirro.”

He yanked his arm away from her. “Have you ever witnessed a beheading? Are you going to be there to hear her scream as they drag her to the platform for everyone to see, and when they chop off her head simply because you requested it? Are you going to dip you hands into her blood, too? They will bury her in a grave under a stone marker with the word traitor on it, her head beneath her feet. Then Commander Gy will become your enemy, as will Commander Jun, as will I. The royal guards, the soldiers, see how she’s treated here. I expect many of them will leave.”

“I never asked to be queen.” Baylova squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m doing what’s best for Willovia.”

“Shanti never asked to born half Nunqua and half Willovian. From what I hear, she came to the castle against her will because
you
ordered it so. Condemning her without proof makes it nothing more than your personal vendetta against her.”

“Aiden,” she whispered, opening her eyes and looking into his face, unable to say the words she wanted to say.

“There was a time,” he sighed, “when I would have done anything to be with you. I was so mad at Zindar, so jealous.”

“I never cared for Zindar,” she whispered. “It was one mistake; it meant nothing. They made me go hunting that morning. I was upset.” She leaned her head against his shoulder and said the painful words. “I love you.”

“Bayla . . .” He pushed her gently away. “It can’t be now. It just can’t be.”

*

The old monk gleefully watched his apprentice.

Tobian, shirtless, held the glass beaker with silver clawed feet in his hands and knelt on a silken pillow. Several monks surrounded him in the sparsely decorated room with carved walls. The copper tub had been removed. A faster, though riskier, method of taking in the potion existed. This time, their order would be assured of gaining a clearer view of the future.

Not one of them pushed him to drink. All waited patiently for the apprentice to make his own decision. Tobian lifted the inky elixir to his lips and swallowed. “For the fate of Willovia.” He coughed.

His apprentice had done it: drunk the potion resealing the ancient contract between the order of the monks and the royals of Willovia. The young man’s transformation had begun.

The monks observed the body of the apprentice—a mere shell connected by a thread to his spirit as it roamed the future. His skin turned bluish-gray, and his veins became like blackened spider webs just beneath the skin. The young monk no longer appeared human, yet his countenance was filled with wonder. It was always that way for first-timers: wonder at the gift of knowledge they were being given. His face contorted, and he panted. Those who surrounded him became fearful. They could not interfere while he was under the potion’s power.

Tobian muttered incoherently, collapsed to the floor, convulsed. The old monk inserted a hard wooden slat between his teeth, big enough so he wouldn’t choke on it. Chroniclers leaned closer, straining their ears to hear, to understand what was happening, but Tobian muttered no more under the spell. The invisible thread pulled him back into the heavy body, and the newly ordained brother monk awoke. He spat out the wooden slat and looked around in confusion. “Am I dreaming?”

“No.” They knew they must be gentle, for his mind would still be confused by his first foray into the future.

The old monk knelt on the ground. “Did you see Baylova?”

“Yes.”

A breath of relief escaped his lips. His apprentice had done it, had seen the queen whereas they could not. There was hope.

Beads of sweat emerged on the young monk’s forehead, and his blackened veins faded to gray. “Baylova will ride with the Willovian forces to battle the enemy.”

“What!” a monk said. “The queen cannot take such a risk.”

“What about heirs?” the old monk asked. “Will she have children?”

“I saw only the battle.”

“Did you see her death?”

Tobian started laughing, or perhaps sobbing, crazily. Remnants of the potion still circulated in his system, magnifying his emotions. “I saw only glimpses of the battle. The sky grew black, there was a strange noise, and then I was pulled back here.” He stood on shaky legs and walked over to the vials in organized rows. His spectacles lay near the potion. Tobian put them on his face, then donned his robe.

Even now the old monk could perceive his apprentice’s desire to return to the future, but it would be too dangerous to attempt another drink for days. The invisible string that connected body and spirit could break, and they would lose the only monk with the ability to see the queen’s future. He would encourage the young man, teach him how to probe deeper into the murky realm. They had to know if Baylova would have heirs. She had to, or their order was doomed.

Tobian stared at the vials.

“Powerful, isn’t it?” The old man said.

“I wish to speak with Baylova as soon as possible, tell her about the battle.”

“Do you think it wise?”

“It’s something I must do,” he answered.

The old monk nodded in agreement, although he didn’t agree. “You should wait until the aftereffects of the potion wear off. You’re quite a sight. Tell the chroniclers what you saw, and then get some rest. After that, you can see the queen.”

The young monk gave the chroniclers details of the battle, then went to his room.