Souls of Aredyrah 3 - The Taking of the Dawn (19 page)

“Reiv!” The voice snapped him from his
contemplations and toward Brina who could be seen shouldering her
way across the room.

She grabbed him in a quick embrace. “We have
been so worried,” she said. “How is Torin? Jensa is beside herself.
And Kerrik—”

“Torin’s wounds will heal. As for his spirit.
. .” Reiv glanced around, then ushered her aside. “He has said
little, other than he feels he has nothing to live for.”

Brina drew a startled breath. “Surely he does
not mean it.”

“I do not think Jensa and Kerrik should be
told of it,” Reiv said, “at least not yet.”

Brina leaned closer. “Are his days as clan
leader over do you think?”

“I hesitate to say, though it might be wise
to select an interim leader.” Reiv shook his head. “But it cannot
be Lyal.”

“Lyal?” Brina laughed. “Oh, I do not think it
will be
Lyal
.”

“I hope not. He and his little pack of
lapdogs were salivating for a chance to stick a knife in me when I
arrived.” Reiv’s eyes wandered over the crowd. “What has been
happening these past two days, Brina? The confinement of the women
worries me.”

Brina nodded. “After you left, I notified the
clan leaders and the Elders of your suspicions. That, along with
Nannaven’s earlier message that the fever had spread, told them all
they needed to know. At first they assigned men to watch only the
road. But when the first survivors of the massacre made it to the
village by way of the hills, more drastic measures had to be taken.
The Elders reminded the people of past plagues, particularly the
one that followed the Purge. There is still the threat of the Guard
of course; who knows what they have planned. At any rate, it was
felt that in order for the tribe to survive, the women and children
needed to be protected. Believe me, this was not welcome news for
the women, but after some debate, it was agreed that some could
volunteer to help the sick, but would not be allowed back into
Meirla.”

“Jensa volunteered to help with Torin,” Reiv
said, “but I insisted that she not. And when Cora volunteered in
her place—”

“Jensa would have gone, though she knew the
risk. She only bent to Cora’s will for the sake of Kerrik.”

“That was my argument as well.”

“At this point, it is Jensa I am worried
about, not Kerrik.”

“How so?”

“The poor girl cries day and night, Reiv. I
do not know how to console her. Even Kerrik brings her no solace.
And it is a rare person indeed who cannot be cheered by that
child.”

Reiv felt new hatred surge toward Lyal for
preventing him from seeing Jensa. By the gods, when the meeting was
over he would speak to her, and not even that strutting rooster
would keep him from it.

The three Elders moved to the dais at the far
side of the room. At their backs sat an altar, so large it nearly
dwarfed them. Carved from dark, well-oiled wood, the altar was
covered with dozens of beeswax candles and pots of simmering
incense. Behind it, the skin of a massive sea snake was stretched.
Flames flickered from torches lining the perimeter of the room,
sending shadows skipping along the walls, and a golden haze
drifting through the crowd.

Yustes called the meeting to order, then
beckoned Reiv to approach.

As Reiv stepped upon the dais, the Elders
again tipped their heads. The audience followed suit, except for a
few men standing in the back, and Lyal who was seething off to the
side.

“Thank you, Yustes,” Reiv said. He then
addressed the crowd. “For my brother’s actions, I have no
explanation. I can only say—”

“We expect no explanation from you,” an angry
voice interrupted from the back. Reiv turned his attention to the
voice, realizing it was one of Lyal’s cohorts. “There is nothing
you can say that I, for one, would believe,” the man declared.

Voices mumbled, many irritated by the
rudeness that had been aimed at Reiv. Few had forgotten Reiv’s
bravery in slaying the serpent Seirgotha, and even fewer had
forgotten the miracle of his Transcension.

“Believe what you wish,” Reiv responded. “I,
for one, intend to find some answers.”

The same man snorted. “Answers? What answers
would those be? How about we start with why you came here in the
first place?”

“What are you implying?” Reiv asked.

Another of Lyal’s friends stepped forward.
“That you were sent as a spy perhaps?”

The crowd rumbled. Brina burst onto the dais
and faced the accuser down. “How dare you!” she shouted.

Lyal, who had remained quiet thus far,
straightened his spine. “You should not even be here,” he said.
“You have no right to speak.”

“I have every right!” Brina shot back.

“Enough!” Yustes ordered. “Lyal, you had best
keep your corner of the room under some semblance of control.” He
turned to Brina. “Madam, if you will be so kind as to step aside. I
believe your nephew has come with some news. Is that correct,
Reiv?”

“Yes,” Reiv said grimly. “I believe my
brother is not yet finished with us. We need to be prepared
for—”

“For what?” a young man up front asked.
“Another slaughter?”

The crowd grew anxious.

“How can we prepare for something like that?”
voices exclaimed.

“We can’t!” others cried. “We will end up
like those from Pobu. Only this time there’ll be no place to
run!”

Heads waggled as opinions were traded back
and forth.

Reiv raised his palms to calm the crowd. “We
must devise a plan. A means of negotiating with the King.”

“Negotiate?” Lyal grunted.

“Yes, negotiate,” Reiv said. “We cannot fight
him. We are ill prepared. We must bargain with him…offer him
something that he wants.”

“But we have nothing of value,” someone
cried. “What could we possibly offer?”

“We have Reiv,” Lyal said loudly. “Maybe that
will appease him.”

Opposing views rose and fell.

“What makes you think he wants me?” Reiv
asked. “If it were me he wanted, he would have simply come for
me.”

“Perhaps the attack on the Jecta was merely
to strike you where it hurt,” Lyal suggested. “The slaughter of the
Shell Seekers may be the final twist of the knife.”

“You are wasting our time trying to second
guess Whyn,” Reiv said. “There is no way you can understand the
workings of his mind.”

“That’s right,” the man in the back called
out. “After all, we’re not
Tearia
n.”

“You are more like a Tearian than you know,”
Reiv said.

The man bared his teeth and stormed toward
Reiv. A host of arms grabbed him, preventing him from drawing any
nearer.

“I’ll not be insulted by this betrayer!” the
man declared over the shouts of those holding him back.

Lyal stepped to the man and settled him down
with orders that Reiv could not hear. He then turned to Reiv.
“Excuse my friend’s ire,” Lyal said sarcastically. “But he’s only
stating what others are afraid to say.”

“And that would be?” Reiv asked.

“That we lived in peace until you showed up a
few months back.” Several voices muttered in agreement. Lyal ran
his eyes over the crowd. “Is it not true that the day Reiv arrived,
so did our troubles?” He pointed a finger at Reiv. “You are the one
that brought this on us. If you had not come, none of this would
have happened and you know it!”

Reiv felt the urge to leap into the crowd and
pummel the damned fool into the dirt. But before his feet, or his
temper, could carry him forward, a man burst into the room.

“The Guard,” the man cried. “The Guard has
come!”

Back to ToC

Chapter 17: Dual
Identities

T
he crowd rushed as
one to the entrance. Reiv shouldered his way through and halted
just outside the door. Before them stood a regiment of Guard on
horseback, lining the entire perimeter of the courtyard. The
soldiers were indeed an intimidating sight. Their armor was
polished in shades of pewter trimmed in crimson, and banners in
similar colors snapped in the breeze that ruffled the plumes of
their helmets. The guards waited, silent and ready, their pale eyes
staring through the slits of their visors. But none of their gazes
met the kohl-lined eyes of the Shell Seekers staring back at
them.

Reiv pulled in a steadying breath. “Wait
here. I will speak with them,” he said, and slowly stepped into the
courtyard. As he approached the militia, Shell Seekers spilled out
of the pavilion behind him. He stopped before a Guard that he felt
certain was the Commander. Dressed in an elaborate uniform of mail
and dark leathers, the man looked imposing, though not nearly as
imposing as Mahon, the former Commander had been.

“Is the King with you?” Reiv asked politely.
“Or have you been sent as his representative?”

The Commander stared past him and did not
respond.

“Are you at liberty to take a message to him,
then?”

For a moment it seemed that Reiv was again to
be ignored, but then the line began to move in a motion similar to
that of an awakening serpent, and from within its dark-armored
realm a lone figure of white appeared.

Whyn rode toward Reiv on a horse that was as
dark as he was light. He approached in an aura of brightness, as if
emerging from a shimmering mirage.

“Gods,” Reiv whispered. A wave of nausea
swept through him. Though the figure riding toward him was the
person he had once called brother, the face more closely resembled
that of the former Priestess. The King’s white-blond hair hung
loose at his shoulders, but was braided and pulled back at the
temples and twisted atop his head. Liquid gold was painted around
his pale blue eyes and upon his lips and eyebrows. Even his
fingernails were coated in the same glimmering shade. His tunic was
white and nearly transparent, revealing peach-colored skin beneath,
and his bare legs were shaven and oiled to a radiant sheen. A sword
with a lion’s head at its hilt was belted at his waist, and a
quiver of gold-feathered arrows was nestled next to the bow at his
back.

Whyn stopped within feet of him, staring down
at Reiv as if contemplating an insect beneath his feet.

Reiv took a startled step back. He had met
the Priestess prior to her death and was well-acquainted with the
nadir of her evil. Though he was aware of the sinister hold she had
once had on Whyn, never had he imagined she could have dwelt so
deep.

“Whyn?” he said hesitantly.

Whyn regarded him with a cock of his head. “I
have been called such.”

“Are you not him?” Reiv asked.

“I am known by many names. Whyn is one.”

Reiv licked his suddenly parched lips.
“May—may I call you Whyn?”

Whyn’s eyes flashed. “You may not.”

“What shall I call you then?”

Whyn lifted his chin. “You may call me
Master.”

Reiv felt his own self-control slip. How dare
his brother demand servitude!
He
was first born; not Whyn.
“I call no one Master,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, but you will,” Whyn said. He slid from
his horse and stood before Reiv. Reiv searched his brother’s face,
but realized there was nothing of him there.

“Let us talk of the conditions of your
survival,” Whyn continued dryly.

Reiv balled his fists at his side. “I have
defeated far greater foes than you,” he said. “Seirgotha’s skin
adorns the pavilion wall, just as
your
death fills my
memories.”

“My death?” Whyn laughed. “Do you not see me
standing before you?”

“I do not speak of the death of my brother,
but that of the witch defeated by Agneis!”

Whyn’s eyes narrowed. “A serpent sheds its
skin to be reborn. Is that not what your precious Spirit Keeper
told you? Perhaps you did not listen. But it does not matter, for
now you stand before me, while she lies rotting in the dirt.”

Reiv gasped. How could Whyn possibly have
known what Nannaven had told him at their last parting? That had
been a private conversation, or so Reiv thought. He reached for his
dirk, his hand moving on impulse, but before he could touch it,
Whyn whipped the Lion from its sheath and pressed it against Reiv’s
throat.

Whyn grabbed Reiv by the hair as he held the
blade to his neck. “I loathe you,” he hissed. “I loathe every fiber
of your being. The very beating of your heart.”

He forced Reiv to his knees and glared at
him, the intensity of his gaze so evil, Reiv’s sense of reality
began to evaporate. He felt as if he were under a spell, drawn by a
darkness beyond his comprehension.

Reiv quailed as he stared into the King’s icy
gaze. If only he could find a flicker of his brother beyond that
hideous façade! But there was no hint of the Whyn he once knew, and
that flung Reiv beyond any terror he had ever experienced, and he
had experienced many.

“Whyn,” he said, “I am your brother.
Please.”

“You repulse me,” Whyn said. He angled the
blade toward Reiv’s jugular. A trickle of blood seeped beneath it,
sending a bright red rivulet snaking toward Reiv’s clavicle.

Whyn grinned. “I should love to see you
drained of the one thing left to bind us.” He teased the blade
deeper.

Reiv grabbed Whyn’s hand. “Please,” he
cried.

“Say it again,” Whyn said.

Reiv tried to gather some saliva into his
mouth. “Please.”

“Again.”

“Please!”

Whyn laughed, then tilted his face to the
sky. He groaned as if in the throes of lust. “Gods, that I could
savor this moment for eternity,” he said. He raised the sword high
into the air, where it seemed to hover for a moment. Then the blade
fell in a dazzling swath of motion, sweeping downward toward Reiv’s
neck.

Before Reiv knew it, he was lying prostrate
on the ground. He had little memory of what had just transpired, it
had happened too fast, only the brief recollection of a flashing
blade and the sound of laughter ringing in his ears.