The Language of Souls (3 page)

“No, Leopold, your baby is coming soon. Return home with the votif, the one you’ve so carefully selected. No one will fault you for returning to Athenea.” She handed him the circlet. “And would you give this to Theta for me? I promised I’d find one for her.”

“Then you bring it to her.” He attempted to give it back, but Solena refused to take it.

“Please, just give it to her.”

“But I can’t let you—”

“Leopold, the baby. You have a duty to fulfill, a
sacred
, fatherly duty. And this”—Solena’s wave encompassed the dark forested slopes around them—“is my duty.”

Underneath the sleeve of her borrowed tunic, Solena’s shoulder burned where the leather rubbed against her mark. The wound was still raw, the pain a constant reminder that she’d accepted the call of healer. Wasn’t that what she’d always wanted? Yet it hung off her shoulders like a new garment, one meant for someone much larger.

Grandpeer had trusted it to her, which meant so much. If she failed him now....

She swallowed painfully.

Leopold seemed to be having a similar difficulty swallowing, for his throat muscles worked in silence.

“You’re a brave girl,” he said at last, as he tucked the circlet into the depths of his pack. “Either that or you lack the most basic wisdom.” He tapped his skull. A wry lift of one eyebrow softened the sting of his words. “Do you need anything for your journey?”

“I have everything I need.” Solena impulsively reached out and hugged him close, the last person from Torrani she might ever see, then she pushed him away, wobbling slightly as she stepped back. “I hope you have the boy you want.”

“I’d be equally happy with a girl.” Leopold gave her a grave smile. With a final salute, he reluctantly turned and began his climb down the cliffs.

Long after Leopold disappeared from sight, Solena stood alone. She had only her borrowed deerskin tunic and leggings, the tall boots that laced up her calves, a woolen cloak, her fishing spear, and the provisions in her sack: some ground millet, a supply of dried fish and figs, a small hunting knife, and the healing supplies she always carried.

Before setting out, she prayed, because she’d told her grandfather she would...and because she needed to. She prayed for guidance in her search, that she’d find Grandpeer’s tymia. And she prayed to return before it was too late. When she was finished, she picked her way across the heights, using her fishing spear as a walking stick.

As she hiked, she thought about the hostile land she was crossing into. Though she’d never been there before, she knew the thick walls of Oden stood somewhere far beyond her vision. The children of Torrani whispered stories of the mountain people who lived there, how they’d kill a foreigner as quickly as they’d swat a gnat. She’d never believed the tales, but now there was nothing but a vast emptiness yawning below her. It seemed to be waiting for her, eager for her to trip over a loose stone. Even the icy winds of Oden seemed eager to cast her over the edge of the cliff. They caught at her leathers and whipped loosened strands of hair across her face. She pressed forward into the wind, clutching her walking stick with a desperation that made her hands ache.

The rest of the day was long and cold. With every step, she longed for home. She longed to sit across from Grandpeer over a couple of steaming bowls of fish soup. She longed for her beloved sea, for her snug bedchamber, and an ancient text propped open on her lap. And as the wind bled into her too-thin boots, freezing her toes, she longed simply to be warm.

A WEEK LATER, Solena left the cliffs behind and descended into a valley. Her days had been filled with climbing and her nights shivering against bitter rock. She must have left her flint at home or dropped it along the way. She’d set it out with her supplies—if she closed her eyes she could see it lying on the chest at the foot of her bed, right next to her healing vials, which she’d packed—but she’d dug through her sack at least seven times and couldn’t find it. So she couldn’t even make a small fire to warm her hands. She’d eaten all her food, and though she’d seen many quicksilver fish in the mountain streams, few had wished to be caught. Her stomach growled fiercely.

Had her prayers been for nothing? Perhaps the Most High was angry at the tale she’d told Grandpeer. In truth, she’d deceived him and was making the journey into Oden without his knowledge or permission. By now Leopold had returned and Grandpeer would know the truth. He’d be afraid for her, and the fear would sap what little strength he had, and it was all her fault. His last days could have been filled with her care and comfort. Now he had only the housekeeper to watch out for him, and though Nangi revered Benito as a prophet, she seemed to forget he was a man as well, with feelings and fears. Maybe it had been a mistake to leave. Solena swallowed and found her throat was uncomfortably thick. Maybe she really was a foolish girl, as Nigel was fond of telling her.

As she peered ahead, a grove of fruit trees shimmered across her vision. She wiped her eyes, certain that hunger and the growing warmth of the valley had weakened her mind. She stripped off her cloak to cool herself and when she looked again the fruit trees were still there, heavy with plums. So she stumbled forward and plucked off one of the ripe globes.

The flesh was tart and sweet, and the juice was so refreshing, soothing her dry throat and making her want another and another. From experience she knew too many would make her sick, so she stuffed more ripe plums into her sack for later. She packed her cloak as well, for it was too warm to wear it. As she was looking for a stream to slake her thirst more fully, she felt a hand clamp over her shoulder.

“
Tref!
”

Solena jumped at the voice, so close to her ear, and spun around. A flutter of panic went through her as she saw a tall young man before her. He had hair the color of the snow on the mountaintops and blue eyes as pale as a winter sky. Across his chest, he wore a plate of golden armor engraved with a fierce falcon, its wings outstre
tched and deadly talons raised.

An Odenian soldier.

Solena tasted the bitterness of fear on her tongue.

“
Tref
,” he repeated and rattled off a string of harsh words she didn’t understand.

“I—oh, the fruit.” Guessing at the cause of his displeasure, Solena quickly dug through her sack. Despite her trembling, she quickly found the plums near the top and tumbled them toward him, surrendering her precious cache. He caught them in his quickly outstretched hands...surprisingly elegant-looking hands with long fingers. His eyes widened with obvious surprise, and more than a trace of alarm. He suddenly looked younger in that moment, closer to her age. Or perhaps she imagined it, for his expression was now masked, as if he’d dropped a visor over his eyes. “I didn’t know it was forbidden,” she said. “My apologies for—” She abruptly stopped the flow of her words when she saw no light of understanding in his eyes. “And you don’t understand a word I’m saying, do you?”

The soldier simply tossed the ripened globes of fruit under a tree and dragged her across the grove.

“You’re
leaving
them?” Solena cast a longing glance over her shoulder at the abandoned plums. One piece of fruit wasn’t enough to give her the strength to escape. “Where are you taking me?”

He merely scowled and pulled her along. She quickly shouldered her sack and spear. As they bounced against her back, she hoped he wouldn’t notice and toss them aside too. When they came to a river that cut through the rocky depths of the valley, Solena motioned for him to stop, but he shook his head.

“Please.” She dragged her heels and sipped noisily from one cupped hand.

He hesitated. After a moment, he gave a gusty sigh and led her to the water, but kept hold of her arm as she drank. When she’d had her fill, Solena came to her feet and winced as his fingers dug into her arm.

“You’re hurting me.” She wanted to wrench away from her captor and run for the trees, but his grip was too strong.

The soldier frowned at the marks he’d made on her skin and, with a quickly muttered word, grasped her hand instead.

“Well, you should be sorry.” Solena raised her chin, determined not to show her fear.

Her captor merely squared his jaw and resumed his march. Solena tripped along the rocky bank beside him, trying to match his long strides.

Rundan couldn’t believe his misfortune.

Of all the routes he could have scouted today, why had he chosen this one? He had no wish to bring the foreign girl into camp, but duty demanded it. It seemed duty was all he had these days. As usual, the realization made him want to throw something.

Or yell. Yelling might feel good.

But no one had forced him to join his father’s army as a scout, Rundan reminded himself grimly. He alone had set aside his study of the ancient texts. And still, having sacrificed his soul, he had yet to see his father’s smile rest on him. Someday it would. Maybe today.

As Rundan steered his captive through camp, he fixed his eyes on the largest tent, ignoring the soldiers who stared at the strange young woman who dressed in boy’s leathers—and had hair as black as the darkest night and skin as golden as tihara, the fragrant spice of Torrani. Those beautiful wide brown eyes....

They’d all noticed how pretty she was, of course.

Rundan had noticed too, from that very first moment when he’d caught her stealing in the grove, but he didn’t like the hunger he saw in the soldiers’ eyes as they tracked her progress through camp.

One soldier muscled forward. “What will you take for the girl?”

Other soldiers pressed forward, calling out insulting offers. They grabbed at the girl’s leathers and touched her hair. Their lustful stares sickened Rundan. They were animals. And they treated him as if they thought he was one as well, as if he’d take money for the girl. When she shrank from them, Rundan tucked her under his arm.

She seemed so small now, much more slightly built, than when she was facing him so boldly at the river and insisting they stop for a drink. Now, with the fragile bones of her arm and shoulder pressed against him, he felt some powerful emotion flare to life in his chest, an urge to protect her.

Looking around at the hard faces of the soldiers, Rundan knew he wasn’t the strongest of them and he couldn’t hold them off for long. Using all his might, he pushed through the throng and somehow managed to hurry her into his father’s tent.

“Commander,” he said to the man inside who was seated before a tactical planning table. There were maps laid across it, dotted here and there with tiny figures chiseled from white, gray, and black stone, each representing their various armies. “I’ve found a trespasser.” He didn’t add that he’d caught her stealing. She was in enough trouble. As it was, his father would likely assign her a week’s work, perhaps washing their linens in the river.

His father sat back and looked the girl over. “Her hair and skin are unnaturally dark.” His own features were as pale and impassive as usual. A hard man with a hard face.

“Yes, sir.” Rundan squeezed the girl’s trembling fingers, wishing now that he’d ignored his duty and told her to run.

“So, a foreigner trespasses on our training grounds.” The commander pinned Rundan with a gaze as sharp as an arrow. “And yet I sense you withhold information...” He let the words trail off, willing Rundan to confess.

Rundan squirmed but refused to speak.

“It matters not.” The commander rose with lethal grace and approached the girl. “Who do you report to?” he demanded.

She swallowed and poured forth a thousand of her rolling, singsong words.

Hearing her, Rundan’s gut clenched with worry. His father wasn’t a patient man, nor was he known for his tolerance. Even if you searched all of Oden, you couldn’t find another man who hated the Torrani more than his father did. Rundan couldn’t say he hadn’t known all this and yet he’d still brought the girl to camp. He’d traded her freedom for his duty. Worse, he admitted silently, he’d wanted to impress his father, to show him he could do something useful. Now look what he’d done. His pride was going to bring her pain.

As the girl’s voice finally trailed off to a whisper, Rundan’s father approached and pushed up her sleeve, revealing a strange
mark. “As I suspected, a spy.”

The girl pulled away from him and watched him with wary eyes.

“She could have lost her way,” Rundan said, knowing even as he offered the explanation that his words would be rejected.

“From
Torrani?
” The commander practically spat out the name. “She bears a strange mark—that of a spy.”

“But I’ve never seen such a mark. How—”

“
Enough!
Take her to the palace court. And if you can’t accomplish this small task”—the commander sighed—“tell me now and I’ll call for one of my soldiers.”

The palace court?
Rundan tightened his grip on the girl’s fingers and she tried to tug away, making him aware he was squeezing much too hard. He loosened his grip but didn’t release her hand. What a fool he’d been to believe his father would assign her some small chore as punishment. But then he hadn’t known about the mark on her arm, or that his father would think she was a spy, which was utterly ridiculous. She looked incapable of hurting anyone. But those brutes in court wouldn’t care. All they’d see is a Torrani and she’d never have a fair trial, especially with his father claiming she was a spy. They’d throw her in the dungeon on his word alone. If she was fortunate, that is. They’d more likely execute her in the square.

Rundan forced himself to stand upright, head held high, and tried to think quickly. He couldn’t take the girl to certain death. Nor could he let any of his father’s soldiers near her. He remembered the men’s grasping hands and a knot tightened between his shoulder blades.

“I’ll return her to Torrani, threaten her to never return,” Rundan offered. Though he wasn’t precisely sure how one would accomplish such a threat—what did he know of warfare?—surely his father’s imagination could supply the various tactics.

“Or,” the commander mused, “you could kill her and leave her body outside Torrani’s walls to be found by her soldiers.”

Kill her?

Rundan recoiled at the thought, but carefully schooled his features so his father wouldn’t see his revulsion. “There’s no need to kill her, surely.” Noticing the thread of anger in his voice, Rundan drew a calming breath and continued in a more practical tone, “Besides, I’ve taken a vow—”

“I’ve no use for the
vows
of a coward.” The commander twisted his lips, his nostrils flaring as if he’d smelled the stench of rotting meat. And there it was. The contempt, the disgust. Again. As commander, Father thought only of war. It was his greatest disappointment that Rundan had shown more interest in the ancient texts than blades.

His father’s words came as no surprise, but, though he’d tried his best to harden his heart, Rundan still couldn’t stop the surge of fresh pain that coursed through him. How could they be father and son? It wasn’t the first time he’d wondered. Maybe some mistake had been made and Rundan had been born to another family and somehow dropped at his father’s door. Of course, his mother would argue otherwise.

It might have even been humorous, if it had merely been a tale and not Rundan’s life.

“What if I can prove her innocence?” he asked.

“A charming thought.” The commander chuckled and returned to his seat.

While his back was turned, the girl pointed to her sack.

What, did she have more fruit to hand over? If she showed herself a thief now, she’d only be giving his father reason to kill her on the spot. Rundan shook his head sharply.

When the commander swung his piercing gaze on them, Rundan slipped a familiar blank mask over his face.

“Take her to the palace,” his father ordered, “or don’t return.”

“Yes, Commander.” Rundan bowed and led the girl out.

Solena began to tremble as her captor again dragged her past many lines of snow-haired soldiers. Back in the tent, she’d tried to show him she was a healer and could tend their sick or injured, but he’d silenced her. Now he was parading her before these soldiers. Hate flowed from them, these men who didn’t even know her.

They’d kill a foreigner as quickly as they’d swat a gnat....

Her breath clogged in her lungs.

You have to get away.

You have to get away.

Now.

Solena tested her captor’s hold. He wasn’t holding her as tightly now, which perhaps meant he’d begun to trust her. Either that or he thought she wouldn’t dare escape amid so many soldiers. She yanked free of his hold. Before he could grab her, she shot through a gap in the lines of soldiers and bolted for the river.