“You sell yourself short, Hasain. You may never be the ruler of Arden, but your father trusted you nonetheless. You are important, and so is your given task. You must not take it lightly—”
Before Natori could finish speaking, Tular suddenly reappeared from the inner depths of the manor. Without a word, he pulled his sword free of its sheath and went to stand by the open door.
Hasain blinked in surprise. “Tular? What is it? What’s wrong?”
The younger brother demanded silence with a wave of his hand. “Something’s happening out there.”
Natori raised her own blade without hesitation, the ethereal inscriptions running along the steel flaring with brilliant shades of sapphire and indigo, and rushed to join Tular in the entryway. Together, they formed a daunting pair.
Heart pounding in his ears, Hasain pressed his back to the wall and listened. Only silence met his ears, but then again, Tular’s hearing was exceptional in comparison. Just because Hasain couldn’t hear anything didn’t mean there wasn’t reason for alarm.
“Footsteps,” Tular grunted. “Heading this way.”
Hasain had to remind himself to breathe. “In the middle of the night?”
Timid fingertips brushed over his arm just then and he jerked his head around, half-expecting to see the demon’s nauseating leer staring back at him. But no—it was only Deegan.
Hasain touched the prince’s shoulder. “Keep behind me.” It was ironic how steady his voice remained despite the nerves roiling inside his body.
The night was so still Hasain could have heard a pin drop. No one dared move. No one even dared breathe. And then—
Natori’s grip tightened around the hilt of her sword. “I hear it now, too.”
“I don’t—” Hasain began to reply, but he fell silent when the telltale thud, thud, thud of boots slamming against dirt met his ears. Someone was approaching, and fast.
A lone figure materialized from within the shadows, just outside the manor gate. Hasain couldn’t make out any specific features through the gloom, but he could hear the ragged breathing clear across the courtyard.
“Halt!” Natori demanded. “Who goes there?”
“Help! I need help!” a high, terrified voice gasped. “Please!”
Natori didn’t budge. Her blade flared even brighter. “Stay where you are. State your name and your reason for being here.”
“I–I’m Gara Leal. I’m a scout in Arden’s army. I must speak to the seneschal immediately! Something h–has happened!”
Hasain stepped around both Natori and Tular and rushed into the courtyard. “It’s all right. I know her. She’s Ambassador Cenric’s daughter.”
Gara’s eyes widened with recognition as Hasain neared, and she took a shaky step forward. Her grip on the iron fencing was so tight her knuckles had gone white. “Hasain? Hasain Radek, you know me! Please, I need to see Seneschal Koal right away!”
Without hesitation, Hasain unlatched the gate and motioned for Gara to follow. “Come with me. I’ll take you inside.”
Gara swayed as she lurched forward, leaving Hasain to wonder if she really had been holding onto the fence because she couldn’t stand on her own. He grabbed her arm without thinking.
Gara leaned against him. “M–my horse collapsed at the gate. I had to run. I–I came as fast as I could.”
A shudder rocked Hasain’s body. What had happened? Why was she so scared and exhausted? Was the army under attack? He wanted to ask so badly.
“Show her to the great hall,” Natori said, stepping aside so Hasain could lead Gara through the doorway.
Tular stowed away his sword. “I’ll rouse Koal.”
“Please hurry,” Gara rasped.
Hasain all but had to carry Gara into the great hall. She clutched him like her life depended on it, her willowy body shaking against his. A sharp, acrid scent clung to her leather scouting gear, so pungent it almost made Hasain choke. Why did she reek of smoke and ash?
Hasain fumbled to pull one of the chairs away from the table. “Here, sit.”
Gara slumped down wordlessly. She didn’t give thanks, but Hasain didn’t fault her for it. At this point, he worried she might be too exhausted even to speak.
Deegan was already going around the room, lighting candelabras along the wall. The sudden illumination chased away the shadows and stung Hasain’s eyes. His breath hitched when he got his first real look at Gara.
Her cropped hair stuck out in every direction, as frazzled and wild as her eyes, and her complexion was so pasty it bordered on translucent. Dirt smeared Gara’s face and uniform. If Hasain didn’t know better, he might have assumed she’d been rolling around on the ground. The scout swayed deliriously in her seat, and Hasain rushed to steady her. Was she going to faint?
Natori squatted beside Gara, taking up one of her hands and pinching the skin just beneath the knuckles. “She’s dehydrated. She needs water.”
“Here,” Deegan called from across the room. He retrieved the water basin from the mantle and brought it to Gara.
“Thank you, Highness,” Gara managed to respond. “I–I’m sorry. I should have bowed—”
She began to rise, but Deegan shook his head. “No, it’s fine. Stay seated.” He dipped a ladle into the bowl and then carefully placed it into Gara’s hand. “Drink.”
By the time she’d swallowed a third helping, the color had begun to return to her cheeks. “Thank you. That helped.”
Hasain removed his hand from Gara’s back. Questions churned in his head, burning like parched tinder on a pyre. He opened his mouth, meaning to press Gara for answers, but the sound of quickening footfalls in the hall caught his ear.
Hasain glanced up just as Tular and Koal swept into the room. Joel followed, though he opted to linger in the entranceway, wringing his hands. His frown deepened when he caught sight of Gara, surely begging to ask the very same questions as everyone else.
Koal scanned the chamber with fierce determination, wasting no time with introductions or formalities. He didn’t even question why Hasain and Deegan were out of bed. Crossing the room in five long strides, the seneschal set both hands on the tabletop and leaned forward. His eyes locked with Gara’s. “Tell me everything, Leal. From the beginning.”
Gara nodded. “Y–yes, sir.” Exhaling slowly, she squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again, she seemed better able to maintain Koal’s gaze. “I’m a scout in Arden’s army, and I volunteered to accompany the expedition sent to Ashvale three days past. Everything was going as planned. We were making good time. There wasn’t a sniff of trouble. Just this afternoon, we were only a dozen furlongs shy of reaching Kaleth’s Crossing. The troop stopped for a reprieve, and at the orders of Captain Brishen, one of the other scouts and I rode on ahead. We intended to reach Ashvale and let the villagers know we were coming, but when we arrived—there was nothing left. Ashvale was burnt to the ground—completely destroyed. And the villagers—they were dead. Men, women, children. All of them slain. They—they’d been gutted, sir. Gutted and hung on stakes.”
Hasain couldn’t recall when he’d backed away, but he found himself with his shoulders pressed to the wall. He gripped the cold stone with both hands, feeling nauseated and light-headed. Someone was speaking to him nearby—Joel—but Hasain couldn’t hear anything above the rush of blood in his ears.
Ashvale was gone? At the hands of the Shirites? And all those innocent lives, gone. Murdered in cold blood. What would this mean for Arden? Surely any attempt to avoid open war was now futile. As soon as Neetra learned about this—
“That’s not all,” Gara said. Her chest heaved with every word. Whatever resolve she’d managed to conjure was already slipping away. “Rocelin and I rode as fast as we could. We knew we had to warn the troop, but—but when we got there—we were too late. They’d been ambushed. Th–there were tracks all along the riverbank leading into the water. The enemy must have attacked them from the far side. I don’t know—”
Koal waved a hand. “
How many are injured? Healers will need to be dispatched immediately.”
“No,” Gara croaked, shaking her head. “It’s no use.”
Time came to a screeching halt. No one moved. No one spoke. Not even Koal. Hasain held his breath, waiting—waiting for the inevitable.
Choking back a sob, Gara hung her head. “They—they’re dead. We checked. We tried to—but they—I’m sorry—” In the faint candlelight, Hasain caught the glimmer of a teardrop as it slid down the scout’s dirty cheek.
Joel managed to find his voice first. His eyes were impossibly large and imploring as he twisted his trembling hands together. “The entire troop, Gara? All of them? Are they all dead?”
Gara gave a reluctant nod, the only indication she’d heard Joel’s words at all. “We returned as quickly as the horses would carry us. Rocelin’s mare collapsed a league back. He told me to keep going. I rode as fast as I could—”
Gara rambled on, but Hasain wasn’t listening anymore. His attention shifted to Joel, who had turned on his heels and was making a dash for the doorway.
Hasain scrambled into the hall after him. “Joel! Where are you going?”
Joel didn’t slow his pace or glance back. “I have to go.”
“What are you talking about? We’re supposed to be protecting Deegan. And what if Koal needs us?”
“I don’t care about any of that right now! I have to find Gib! He needs to know about this!”
“Gib? Why? Can’t it wait until morning?”
Joel lurched to a stop so swiftly Hasain all but collided with him. “No. It can’t wait until morning.” Wrapping his arms around himself, Joel turned around. The devastation in the mage’s eyes was nearly too much to endure. “I have to be the one who tells him.”
Hasain could feel the blood drain from his face, like sand escaping an hourglass. His stomach clenched into knots. “Tell him what?”
Joel rushed to wipe away the tears that clung to his lashes before they could spill, and a strangled whimper clawed its way free of his throat, a grief-stricken, hopeless sound that chilled Hasain to the core.
Silence. Complete and utter silence.
And then Joel’s breathless words lifted from within the shadows. “I have to be the one to tell him his sister is dead.”
It is said death does not discriminate. Of every creature in existence, mortal and immortal alike, they all make the same voyage in death. All souls must cross The Veil.
When the Goddesses Daya and Chhaya broke free from the Void of Nothing, they created three realms. Temhara, the mortal world and the world which humanity calls their home. The Otherealm, the place where Their firstborn Children live. And then, beyond The Veil, lies Eternity. This final realm is not a world, but the place where all souls go when their lives have reached their end.
In Temhara, the cycle of life and death is unending, for nature balances the realm, and the creatures there are bound by its law. The immortal Children of the Otherealm follow no such law. Their bodies neither wither nor fall to disease. They linger on forever unless they are killed or choose to cross The Veil and into Eternity of their own free will.
Now it was, in the beginning, that The Veil was left unattended, for The Two, even in all Their wisdom, could not foresee the future. But when the Blessed Son of Light began His Great War against humanity, He watched as, one by one, his brothers and sisters fell, and the Blessed Son was overcome with grief. For once a soul crosses The Veil, they cannot return. Or so it was believed.
It happened that one Child among the Blessed Son’s army learned a way to See across The Veil. And he Saw the souls of the fallen Children inside Eternity and that the gate lay unattended. So he passed unhindered into Eternity and collected his brethren. He brought them back to the Otherealm so they might continue the fight against humanity.
Daya and Chhaya saw what this Child had done and They were angry, for They had decreed no soul who crosses into Eternity should be allowed reentrance to the realms of the living without Their permission. Thus, Daya and Chhaya appointed a guardian to watch over The Veil so never again could such travesty occur.
The Gatekeeper is the overseer of Eternity and the keeper of Death. He is the final authority on who shall pass. Even the Blessed Son of Light Himself cannot command the Gatekeeper on matters of The Veil. He holds eternal vigil at His post, never leaving and always watching.
There will come a time when all souls must face the Gatekeeper. It will do no good to lie to Him or hope for escape, for He is always there. And there He will remain, until the day when His soul alone is left in the mortal realm. And then He, too, will cross into Eternity, and The Veil will fall for the last time.
Gib gently closed Tales of Fae and set it into his lap. Sighing, he ran his fingers along the frayed binding and sent silent thanks to Calisto for having the insight to slip the book into Liza’s pack. His heart twisted a little less painfully while he was still able to hold a piece of home in his hands.
It was odd to recollect a time when reading wasn’t the comfort it was now. Not so long ago, Gib had only known the basics of the written word. He hadn’t had time to read on the farm. And what would a farmer ever need to read and write for anyway? Signing his name was the most he ever thought he’d need to know. Liza had been so proud to learn he’d become a strong reader. The pain in his heart came back.
Where was Liza now? Was she safe? Gib’s stomach rolled. He should have found a way to go to Ashvale with her. She’d refused to stay, but he could have gone.
“If you need to talk, I’d have you know I’m here.” Zandi’s voice was soft in Gib’s ear. The mage had been sitting beside Gib all evening, only moving as the fire needed to be stoked.
“I know,” Gib replied. “I just—don’t have much to say right now.”
“I don’t think I’d have much to say if I were in your place either.”
Zandi continued to brush his long, ebony hair. He’d washed it earlier, and it was nearly dry now. Gib thought to offer to help braid the locks before they could become an unruly mass, but he didn’t know for sure just how Zandi’s hair had to be put up under his turban. It was probably best not to draw attention anyway. There were already certain soldiers who looked at the two of them in a way Gib didn’t like. Zandi, for the most part, pretended not to notice, but Gib was in no mood to tolerate idle hatred. His nerves were raw and his hand quick to fly to the hilt of his sword.
Gib gazed up at the stars, wondering—hoping, really—Liza could see them, too, wherever she was. The fire crackled in his ears. It might have been serene if not for the worry in his heart.
Kezra let out a sigh as she sat down next to Zandi. She had a large piece of crimson fabric slung over one arm. “Ready to put your hair up, m’lady?”
Zandi scoffed at his sister’s slight. “Well, we can’t both go breaking our mother’s heart, can we? One of us has to maintain tradition.”
“Spare me the shaming. I cut my hair because I’m a soldier. You’ve kept yours long because you’re vain.”
“Who says you have to keep your hair long?” Nage asked from across the fire. He reached into a saddlebag by his feet and tossed a ration of wrapped bread to Gib. “You should eat somethin’.”
Gib balked. “I’m not hungry.”
“Liar.”
“Well, you don’t have to—”
“But I did.”
“Chhaya’s bane! I’m not a child.”
Nage smirked. “Well, you’re shorter than me. So close enough. Eat.”
“Fine.” Gib chewed angrily on the loaf and watched Kezra pull her brother’s hair into a tight ponytail.
“Our mother hails from Shantar, Nage,” she said as she worked. “There are several different temples there, all with diverse beliefs.”
“Like here in Arden, how some people worship the Blessed Son and others worship Daya and Chhaya?” Nage asked.
Kezra twisted the ponytail onto the top of Zandi’s head and secured it with a pin. “Right. My grandfather marr
ied a woman from outside his religion. Neither of them gave up their beliefs entirely nor forced the other to. So my mother was raised to believe some of both.”
Nage chuckled. “That’s not confusing or anything.”
Kezra’s smile was brief but bright. “Not at all. Anyway, according to my grandfather’s faith, followers are expected to keep their hair long. It’s a show of piety and dedication to the Creator.”
Nage listened with undivided attention. “So it’s a way of staying right with your god.”
“Ha! I suppose, but Brother Dearest likes men and ale a little too much to ‘stay right’ with this god.”
Zandi laughed and kicked sand at her. “And you’re too mouthy!”
“I never claimed loyalty to any god.” Kezra slapped Zandi’s shoulder as she unraveled the sheet of fabric. “Sit up straight.”
“So, the heritage mark,” Nage said, motioning toward his forehead. “Is that part of your grandfather’s religion too?”
With well-rehearsed precision, Kezra wrapped the turban around her brother’s head. “It comes from our grandmother’s faith. It’s a symbol of inner strength and reflection—a third eye, if you will. It’s painted onto the brow in hopes of being aware not only through the eyes but through the mind as well. It’s a call for wisdom.”
Nage folded his arms across his chest. “There are some fools on the High Council who could use one’a those. A little wisdom might do ’em good.”
Zandi clapped a hand over his mouth. “My father amongst them.”
Gib tried to laugh along with the others, but his mind kept wandering back to the dark places it tended to go when he was stressed or worried. He hoped that wherever Liza was, she was also using her head. Perhaps her own personal wisdom would be enough to keep her safe. And if not, maybe The Two—or whoever might be out there—could guide her as well. A bit of extra help never hurt.
Kezra groaned as she checked to make sure the turban was secure. “Anders doesn’t deserve a mark. It would probably burn a hole in his head.”
“The better to allow the wisdom to flow in,” Zandi muttered.
Battle Dawn: Book Three of the Chronicles of Arden Page 19
