Soulsworn (12 page)

Shaking his head, Yeren came to stand next to Aidah. He passed her the writ and the decree. “Why did you not tell me you had these? I could have stopped him before you made him your enemy.”

She considered the question for a moment. In truth, she’d simply forgotten. “I’ve seen men like him before. They want what they want and will do what they must to get it. This merely stalled him as it was done in public. I have a feeling that if I showed him these in private he would act as if they didn’t exist.”

“He might still try to.”

“You know him well?”

“Well enough.”

“Why didn’t you warn us of him?”

“I thought we would be fine. The Meranel isn’t known to carry much, and I expected him to be on land, chasing down your people’s merchant caravans.”

Out on the water, the raider boats took position behind the Meranel, following in the ships wake. Aidah considered Yeren’s words. “Since you agree that he might still try to ignore the papers. How might we dissuade him?”

“Outside of a change in the Red Hand’s leadership, I doubt anything will.”

“Thank you,” Aidah said. “Well, this whole experience has tired me. I think it’s time the girls and I rested.”

“As you wish.” Yeren bowed to Clara first, and then to Aidah, and strode off toward the ship’s captain.

“Lomin,” Aidah said. She was tired of the threats to her children’s safety. She had run long enough. She would run no longer.

“Yes, m’lady?”

“Could you kill this Telelnen without being caught?”

“Yes.”

“Tonight, then.” Aidah strode toward the cabin. For the first time since Succession Day she felt a semblance of control.

That night, a quarter of the Red Hand’s ships were burning. There came the clash of steel and the thump of explosions caused by soul magic as the raiders fought amongst themselves to secure new leadership. Flames cast a reddish hue on the black water. Aidah smiled at the cries and shouts as the Meranel sailed down the river away from the chaos.

D
ragon Gate

A
nother few weeks on the swift moving water brought them to Crespor, a port city where the River Ponse flowed into Lake Kerenvel. Yeren said they’d officially entered Berendal upon touching the lake’s rippling waters. All that was left of the journey was a trip across the lake to the Giant’s Road, which would take them through the Farafel Forest to Casda Esdan. Carried on the wings of strong winds filled with fresh scents, they sailed that bit of the lake in days.

The Giant’s Road glittered, its width broad enough to fit a dozen wagons across in most areas. Yeren claimed that it was one of the last few surviving creations of the Gods before they left Mareshna. The road seemed as if it had grown from the very ground, a mixture of stone and glassy material that became a wonder of color when struck by light. If she could imagine a road embedded with jewels, it would be this one.

On either side of them rose the dark green majesty of the Farafel Forest, trees spanning hundreds of feet high. Roots had managed to break through the Giant’s Road in some spots, and at those points the canopy above them was thickest. In most areas the cover of leaves thinned toward the road’s center. It made for a spectacle of illumination and shadow, both at day and night, as if Mandrigal and Antelen battled to display their beauty.

Decay and dampness clogged the air, gave an earthy taste. Even with the noise made by the trundling wagons, the horses’ hooves, and the conversation of those around them, the forest’s animals could be heard—barks and yips, growls and roars, the incessant bird song, and insect chirp and chatter. Life existed in such abundance here that Aidah felt its pulse.

The change in weather became acute, which seemed odd at first because Aidah knew winter held Kasinia in its grip. Cold grew to comfortable warmth, which in turn changed to near sweltering heat that made her constantly dab at her face with a handkerchief. Rainstorms would be constant and abrupt, the sky clear one moment, and filled with gray thunderheads the next. They gave up their woolens and cloaks for lighter garb, both in material and color. During the day the humidity became a weight.

Word of Clara spread. Aidah had expected it once the crew had been able to mingle in towns and villages along the way. At first one or two people would approach, begging to see the shaisenjis. The numbers increased daily. As Yeren predicted, they grew a following. Slowly, it became a small army.

A flock of Jehazite priests joined them. So did nobles. Once Clara’s identity was confirmed, the nobles put together an honor guard to keep out the rabble.

Both Fefnir and Lomin insisted that they keep their numbers small for the sake of speed. The idea worked too. Except for those able to chase on horses or yuros—shorthaired animals with long, muscled necks that pointed forward like a hound at hunt—the pilgrimage outdistanced most of the followers who had begun to act like some sort of acolytes.

Their speed eventually slowed despite the best efforts of the honor guard to clear the road ahead of travelers making their way to Casda Esdan. News of Clara preceded them, and soon enough, men, women and children lined the Giant’s Road. Some scaled trees for a better view, and when the pilgrimage passed through a town or village the people would be on walls or roofs. Shaisenjis could be heard in awed mutters or vociferous shouts.

Lithe, fair-haired Berendali dominated among the people. She also saw a few bronze-skinned Caradorii, and smiled when people scampered from their arm-swinging path. However, she found herself drawn to the Tesadonians in the crowds, their color like slate, skin a pattern of lines and cracks akin to granite. Most wore nothing heavier than light cotton and the well-off seemed to prefer lace, silk, or sheer linen. The Tesadonians went close to naked, often with just an elaborate wrap around their loins. The women covered their breasts with similar garb.

As they drew closer to Casda Esdan, Aidah’s dreams grew less frequent. She took it to mean that she’d made the correct decision, that she’d pleased Antelen.

Clara also seemed less haunted, but her health was still deteriorating. She’d grown pale, and on some nights she had a fever. Aidah would soak a cloth in cool water and place it on her forehead. It helped a little. The girl mumbled in her sleep, but most of the words were incoherent. When she was awake Clara still held conversations with her dolls and was oblivious to most things around her. Each night, Aidah prayed.

Although the sights she’d experienced to match the dreams had reinforced Aidah’s faith, she could not help the fear that nipped at the back of her mind. If all else was true, then so was this man, this taker who would claim Clara. The idea made her hands shake. There seemed to be a part of Clara’s retelling of the man that she felt she should recall, but try as she might it always slipped her mind. When she asked Clara about it, the girl would say she forgot most of her dreams.

One night, Aidah called on Yeren. Curious as to how much of the dreams would continue to match the western kingdoms, she asked him about the bone graveyard, the battlefield of dead warriors and discarded weapons, and the strange, black-robed peoples who collected the remains for the massive pyres. His expression immediately became guarded. When she mentioned the giant pillars, there was a quick intake of breath.

“What is it?” she asked. He did not answer. “Please. I must know. It’s important.”

He took a great breath and said, “The people you speak of are not mentioned by us. They are the andomren, which means the abandoned in your language. They inhabit a place to the far west, in the Fringes. We call it the Tomb of Shattered Souls. It is the end and the beginning of the world. Every year a war is fought there between the five kingdoms to see who will earn the right to send a chosen through the pillars.”

“Through them? Why?”

He shrugged. “If the Gods approve of the offering, then we prosper for centuries, the shadowsouled are kept at bay, and our peoples have a chance to rise to greater heights.”

“A sacrifice.” It was an uncivilized custom, but then Aidah did not consider these westerners to be too far above savages.

“In Jehazite teachings, it is said that those pillars are where the first Gods appeared, where the first shadowsouled arrived. It is also where many of them were cast back through once they were defeated. Those pillars are what we call the Dragon Gate after the form that some Gods took.”

“The Pillars of Dissolution,” Lomin said.

“But they cannot be the same thing.” Aidah frowned. “They’re said to be in the west, across the Renigen Sea, some place beyond the Farlands.”

Yeren’s story bore similarities to one she knew well, one told by the Order. The Dominion first entered the world through the Pillars of Dissolution and brought with them the Dracodar and the first men. A great war occurred between the Gods and they eventually fled back through the Pillars, leaving the Dracodar to rule.

“They might be different ones,” Lomin said, “but now I know why the story he told of the lights in the skies over the Dragon Gate seemed so familiar.”

“The Blessed Sky,” Yeren said.

“In Kasinia, that’s called the Crystal Skies.”

“I always thought they were more legend than truth.” Aidah recalled the phenomenon from her dreams. The Crystal Skies were supposed to signify great changes in the world. The books claimed they occurred when the Pillars of Dissolution opened, but most doubted the account. After all, the Pillars were supposed to be the doors to the Ten Hells, transformed after the Gods claimed Mareshna. The Dominion then set massive scaled beasts with wings to guard them, beasts they named the Angels.

“They’re true enough,” Yeren said.

“Which brings me back to why I doubted they could be.” Lomin eyed the Jehazite priest. “You claimed you saw the Crystal Skies before, that your fathers and uncles marched off to war at the Swords of Humel because of them.”

Aidah gasped. “That would make you hundreds of years old, but you don’t look a day past forty.”

“The Gods have blessed me.” Yeren bowed from atop his mount.

Speechless, Aidah watched Yeren ride back to his Jehazite counterparts. Images of Antelen beckoning her toward the Pillars and mouthing Clara’s name spun through her head.

For weeks on end the story consumed her. As did the potential suggestions of her dreams. Did the Goddess mean for her to send Clara through the Pillars of Dissolution? What lay beyond them? As time passed she relived all that happened so far. Her faith had not led her astray. She would follow where it led.

T
he Taker and the High King

O
n the day they reached Casda Esdan, Aidah stared in awe. It was a direct reflection of her dream. The city rose from the Farafel Forest at the foot of the Venscada Mountains. Spires spanned into the sky, black stone flecked with silver, taller than any tower she’d ever seen. Statues of two giant warriors, swords pointed down, guarded a hundred-foot gate. They made that gate look small.

The jumble of language, from folks in simple conversation to the shouts of those peddling goods, was just so much noise. People from all walks of life mingled on the streets. The richer dressed among them rode on yuros. Muscled Tesadonians pulled carriages, their rock-like bodies glinting with a sweaty sheen. Smells abounded, from the succulent, spicy scents of food to the rank odor of unwashed bodies crowded close together. The reek made Aidah wish for a rainstorm.

The wagon whisked them through the city along the Giant’s Road before the glittering length split off to the southwest. They took a wide colonnade and gradually ascended. Beyond the low stone banister that ran parallel with the road, the city stretched out and down or up. Bridges spanned from one section to the other in a latticework of roads. Cobalt and white lights illuminated the streets at least two levels below or above.

They came upon a castle of towers and spires and battlements. Soldiers stood guard, dressed in green tunics with britches that stopped at the shin, leather sandals on their feet. The familiarity of it all was so eerie that she felt a chill. The wagon drew to a halt at the castle’s entrance.

“It is time to meet the High King, Lady Rostlin,” Yeren said to them when he rode over.

Aidah cast a glance around her, taking in the expectant faces of the Jehazite priests, the gathered nobles, and the line of soldiers that led up the wide stairs to the golden doors. She felt a sense of uncertainty. Here she was, at the objective behind her journey, and she was having second thoughts.
You’re long past the point of turning back now.
Steeling herself, she climbed into the back of the wagon.

She dressed herself and the girls in their best: matching outfits befitting Kasinian nobles. Anything less would not do in the presence of a monarch. A deep blue was the color of choice, with sliver scrollwork down the arms and on the breast area. Ruffled cuffs and hems completed the effect. She fixed the girls’ dresses and brushed away a stray lock from Nerisse’s face. They were both absolutely radiant. Swelling with pride, Aidah smiled.

“Mama, are we here?” Clara asked.

“Yes, pumpkin, we are.”

The little girl smiled. “I can get better now.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Nerisse said. “It’s just like my dreams.”

“Same here,” Aidah said. “But in them your sister gets better and that’s all that matters.”

“And this man? This taker?”

“The Dominion will shelter us as they have since this all began.”

Nerisse’s expression changed. Her eyes glistened wetly. Her chin trembled.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I-I … in my dreams I attacked him, Mother. I’m the reason he takes Clara.”

But for the one time, Nerisse had not spoken of her dreams in much detail. The revelation left Aidah slack-jawed. After a moment to gather her thoughts Aidah tried to make her voice more confident than she felt. “At least you know what not to do. Be strong and have faith. Everything will be fine.”

The flap at the back of the wagon rustled. Lomin climbed inside. “The stairs are set up m’lady. They wait for you.”

Aidah took a deep breath. She gathered her children into her arms and hugged them tight. “Antelen, you have kept us safe thus far, you and all the Dominion. I beg of you to do the same today.” She drew the Star on her forehead.

She exited the wagon first, followed by Nerisse. A collective gasp ran through the crowd when Clara stepped out. Aidah helped her down the short wooden steps. When she turned, everyone but Yeren, the wisemen, and Lomin were on their knees, heads bowed. The wisemen looked on, unperturbed. Lomin leaned on the firestick he used as a staff.

“Follow me.” Yeren gestured to the castle’s broad marble steps and the golden double doors.

With the children on either side, she went up the stairs. The trip inside was a blur of halls adorned with murals and paintings, arches that led to expansive gardens, rooms filled with rich furniture and lush carpets, and brimming with exotic scents. Every person knelt as Clara approached and remained so until she passed.

Before a set of silver doors stood a line of lance-wielding guards clad in white. Their stiff postures gave them the appearance of statues. Engraved in the middle of the doors was a likeness of the pillars Aidah had seen in her dreams. Unlike the other people, the guards did not kneel. Two of them stepped forward and pulled open the entrance.

Inside was a large chamber. White trappings hung from the walls, and a dark carpet led directly down the room’s center and to its far side. There, a man sat on a throne atop a dais. Another set of guards stood at attention on either side of him.

Yeren stopped a step ahead and turned to Lomin and the wisemen. “You must wait here until the High King sends for you.” He looked at Aidah and the girls and gestured toward the chamber. “If you will.”

At first Aidah made to demand that Lomin accompany her, but at the same time she did not wish to upset local custom. She decided to do as asked until she discovered more of the Berendali.

However, she would show no intimidation. She was Aidah Rostlin, wife to Count Kesta Rostlin, leader of Antelen Hill, one of the greatest houses in the Kasinian Empire. And she was here by the will of her patron Goddess. What the Dominion had blessed, no one could curse. She stiffened her spine, made a mask of her face, and with a squeeze of her children’s hands, she entered the throne room.

The soft thud of her footsteps became loud to her ears as she strode down the carpet toward the High King. She kept her breaths slow and even, inhaling the scent of flowers and incense. By slow increments the room disappeared as she drew closer to the throne and the features of the man atop it grew clear.

As with the Berendali she’d encountered, he was tall, fair of hair and complexion. It was his eyes that drew her. Polished amber peered out from a face hewn of stone. That gaze, those eyes, did not leave Clara. Aidah felt as if neither she nor Nerisse existed. A smile twitched at the corner of the High King’s lips, so slight she might have missed it had she not been so focused on him. A feral gleam entered those eyes, a gleam she recognized from her dreams.

The steel with which she’d molded her spine became a weakness in her legs. Blood roared in her ears. Yeren’s introduction sounded as if they were a hundred miles away, a faint echo in the back of her mind. She found herself squeezing Nerisse and Clara’s hands so tightly that her arm trembled. The world resumed its focus.

“Countess Aidah Rostlin, Nerisse Rostlin, and Clara Rostlin, I present to you, His Majesty, Lord of the Dragon Gate, Ruler of the Lighted Path, High King Taakertere Hemindel.” Yeren’s voice boomed.

“The taker,” Nerisse hissed. And she snatched her hand away from Aidah.

Everything seemed to move agonizingly slow. Even as Aidah opened her mouth to shout, both she and Clara were thrown back by the power that roared out from Nerisse. They both landed on their behinds. From the stone floor Aidah could only watch, horrified.

Scales sprouted along Nerisse’s face. A massive blade, its length lit with white fire, appeared in her hands. Nerisse’s skin along her arms became shiny, glistening with scales. Roaring, the girl made an impossibly long leap toward the High King.

“Serensenjiren!” screamed someone.

“Noooo!” Aidah yelled, one hand flung out toward Nerisse.

Three of the king’s guard stepped in front of their consort. As one they raised their spears. A wall of luminous blue transparency sprang up between them and Nerisse.

Nerisse came down, swinging. Her sword slammed into the blue wall with a resounding crash.

Two of the guards made a punching motion. A fist the size of a man appeared from the wall, conjured from the same material. It smashed into Nerisse, flinging her across the room.

She smacked into a wall, the impact leaving an indentation of cracks, chips of stone falling around her. She fell to the ground. Slowly, she wobbled to her feet.

The High King’s guards advanced. A dozen more filed into the room to surround Aidah and Clara. Between them, Aidah saw Nerisse lean on her conjured sword for a moment and wipe blood from her mouth. The other three men had stepped off the dais and advanced toward her.

“Neri, stop.” Clara’s voice was soft.

Although too far to hear, Nerisse looked over. The rage that mottled her features bled away. She dropped to the ground on one knee. Her sword vanished.