“Are you all right?” Halwen asked, standing just behind Ryna’s shoulder. Ryna stifled a scream as she turned to search for her friend’s face in the darkness.
“I will be, if you don’t scare me like that again,” Ryna said accusingly. She eased her grip on the bone weapon and stretched as she stood. “What are you doing awake?”
“The storm,” Halwen replied. “It’s getting stronger. That last roll of thunder put an end to any further sleep I might have gotten. Since I was awake, I came over to check on you, but you were mumbling and staring out at nothing.”
“My thoughts were wandering,” Ryna said. “Forgive me—I should have been more focused on keeping watch.”
“I think you’ve been keeping watch far too much, Ryna,” Halwen said with a concerned frown. “You should sleep. Let me do my part.” Ryna looked uncertainly towards the valley, then back at Halwen.
“Very well,” Ryna replied, “but wake me as soon as this storm stops so we can get moving again.” Halwen nodded. As Ryna passed, another wave of nausea hit her suddenly and she stumbled. Halwen caught the end of the bone weapon to keep Ryna from falling, but as soon as Ryna was steady, Halwen pulled her hand away sharply. Where Ryna had seen the necessity of keeping the bone, Halwen and Celina had abandoned their weapons as soon as the mudcrawlers were no longer an immediate threat.
“How long are you going to carry that awful thing?” Halwen asked disgustedly. She wiped her hands on her robes furiously in an attempt to make them feel clean again.
“Until we’re all safe, I will do whatever I must,” Ryna said hollowly. She hated the sight, the feel, of the bone weapon too, but it was the only defense the group had. Halwen shook her head and turned towards the mouth of the fissure to begin her watch. Ryna found a dry spot several strides away from the Mainwright and eased herself to the ground.
Visions of Onaela’s death infested Ryna’s mind as soon as her eyes closed; rest would not come easily, it seemed. Minutes passed in exhausted frustration, until Ryna at last sought solace by focusing on the sound of the rain as it fell throughout the canyon. She imagined the powerful storm being pulled into her thoughts, washing away all of the horrible new memories until all that remained was a clear, calm focus on the present. The technique was surprisingly effective, and with her thoughts silenced Ryna was able to truly relax for the first time since her Unweaving. Just beyond the refuge, the wind and rain screamed past as Ryna slept.
10
Wyand rejoiced when his “rescuers” from the lake at last halted their exhausting march through the winding canyons. There had been no pause, no rest whatsoever since the horrific incident with the woman that they killed and burned. Wyand avoided that image as often as he could, but each time it presented itself he was disgusted by his captors that much more. Something different was happening now, though, because the boatmen holding each of his arms tightened their grip suddenly. The woman from the boat walked over to a scattered pile of what looked like hollow poles. After kneeling to inspect several segments, she stood with a very worried look on her face.
“This was deliberate,” she said quietly, and in a blink every one of the boatmen had a spiked oar pointed outward in a different direction. She approached Wyand, her concern still plainly displayed. The woman nodded to one of Wyand’s escorts, and the coarse cloth was suddenly removed from Wyand’s mouth. He gasped, spat out the last few nuisance fibers, and flexed his stiff jaw.
“Thank the Kingd—” Wyand began, but was instantly punched in the stomach by one of his guards. Coughing, he looked up at the woman in bewilderment.
“You are permitted to speak now, but only when I address you. Do not make that mistake again,” she said sternly. “Now, was anyone else cast out with you last night?”
“I…yes. Another worker from Aldhagen. His name is—” another swift punch robbed the air from Wyand’s lungs.
“Short answers, Newfallen,” the woman said. “If I want to know the man’s name, I will ask. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Wyand replied, still recovering.
“Very good. Did you see this other worker after the fall?”
“No.”
“Did you see anyone else before we found you?”
“I’m…not sure. There were lights in the water—” Wyand stopped abruptly when he felt the man to his right preparing to punch him again.
“Those lights were the haugaeldr,” the woman said, waving two fingers dismissively to calm the guard. “Their glow can be mesmerizing to the unwary; be glad you somehow escaped their notice.” Wyand shivered when he considered how close he had been to the haugaeldr the night before. Satisfied with his answers, the woman clicked her tongue once and all of the boatmen lowered their oars.
“The shade here is as good as any other,” she said tiredly. The men nodded, then each quickly found a spot to either sit or lie down. Wyand’s two escorts released his arms and found shaded spots of their own. Several of the men produced small containers from within their strange clothing and appeared to be drinking from them. As Wyand stared longingly at the thought of water, he was surprised to find one of the containers suddenly thrust in front of his face.
“Drink, then rest,” the woman said. “You will need your strength for the journey ahead.” Wyand eyed the woman uncertainly for a moment, and she took note of his hesitation. “This is the only gift you will receive from us Newfallen,” she said. “Anything else you will have to earn.” Wyand still felt uneasy about accepting anything from these murderers, but ultimately his thirst drove him to drink as she raised the container to his dry lips. The water was warm, but it was still water, and Wyand savored its taste as he drew more and more into his mouth. The woman watched him with curiosity.
“Tell me, has your head started to hurt?” she asked after pulling the container away. It was an odd question, but Wyand knew he couldn’t pry for more information without risking another punch to the stomach. One of the nearby boatmen stared at Wyand menacingly when he failed to reply to the woman’s question immediately.
“No,” he responded an instant later. She tilted her head to the side briefly, then smiled and turned away as the bundle in her arms made a gurgling sound. That bundle confused Wyand more every time he saw it, but—like everything else—it was forbidden for him to question. The woman had promised that Wyand would learn its truth when they arrived at Cynmere, but he had never heard of such a place and had no concept of how long the journey to reach it might take. Patience, it seemed, remained his only option for now.
Wyand stood alone, watching the woman retreat to a shaded corner, until he noticed multiple sets of eyes studying him. Wyand ignored the boatmen and found a relatively rock-free section of shaded ground where he could lie down. The process of trying to ease himself to the ground with his hands still tied proved to be exceedingly cumbersome, and he eventually collapsed onto his side with a loud thump. He heard at least two of the boatmen scoff at the clumsy display, but Wyand rolled so that his back was to the group and his face was close to the stone wall.
After a few moments of silence, Wyand bent his right arm somewhat painfully until he was just able to reach into his waist pocket and feel the stone from the Cavern of the Winds. Its presence was a comfort, and a reminder of his obligation to the people of Aldhagen. Wyand closed his eyes and tried to think of what each of his friends would be doing right now. It was after Second Calling, so Edan and the other miners were back in Lower Depths by this point in the day. Wyand’s thoughts then jumped to Scur, who had done without the comfort of the strange stone for nearly a day now. Hopefully he hasn’t suffered too much, Wyand worried. He worried for Keltin as well, since it had been almost seven full days since the punishment began. Thankfully, now Keltin only had two days left in isolation. A sudden realization stirred when Wyand thought of how long he had been away from Aldhagen. His eyes shot open in surprise.
“Tomorrow is Kingdomturn,” he whispered faintly in astonishment. A part of him envied his Taskbrothers
and imagined the glory of the Kingdomturn offering ceremony, but Wyand no longer shared their pride in serving the Venerates. In fact, he felt a strange surge of pity for the workers of Aldhagen, trapped high above within the false comfort of the Venerates’ lies. Even though Wyand’s body was bruised, his future was uncertain, and his mind full of nothing but questions, at least he was free. Mostly free… Wyand corrected himself as he strained against his bonds once more to release the stone. With the heat of midday hanging heavy in the canyon, Wyand closed his eyes to rest.
---
Ryna shuddered when she suddenly felt the urge to be sick again. The storm ended hours earlier, but their group had been unable to make any progress towards the lakes in the distance. Both Halwen and the Mainwright had woken up vomiting during the night, and now Ryna suffered the same affliction. So much wasted water… she thought sorrowfully and tried to stand for what felt like the thousandth time. Ryna’s legs wobbled and she fell back onto the floor of the refuge.
“We have to leave here tonight,” Ryna said, panting. The opportunity to travel during the hours surrounding dawn was already past, and the sun now blazed in the valley beyond. The women had ample stores of water for the time being, but with the rain gone there would be no means of refilling the cups again.
“How can we hope to go anywhere in this state?” Halwen moaned quietly. She sipped slowly on her second cup of water for the day. Ryna was tempted to try drinking again, but her stomach turned even at the thought of water.
“We’ll regain our strength after some rest,” Ryna said hopefully. “Then tonight we can cover the remaining distance to the lakes.” Halwen shook her head with doubt and looked to the Mainwright. Stora, at least, was able to sleep in spite of the crippling nausea they all shared.
“She won’t let you touch her,” Halwen said bluntly. “We talked briefly during the night, before the sickness set in, and the Mainwright stated that point over and over.”
“Then I’ll just carry her while she sleeps,” Ryna said stubbornly. Whatever the Mainwright believed regarding the Unwoven, Ryna knew it was her task to get Halwen and Stora to safety. Another pulse of nausea pulled at Ryna’s empty stomach and she convulsed painfully. Since awakening, her head had throbbed from a pressure that seemed to increase with every heartbeat, but now that pressure was joined by a blinding white spot that flared in the center of her vision. Flickering rings of color surrounded it, distorting everything she saw.
“Halwen,” Ryna breathed as she tried not to be sick. “I can’t see.” Halwen crawled over to Ryna’s side and said something, but her words were muffled and lost within the shrill ringing that now filled Ryna’s ears. Ryna vaguely felt herself being lowered towards the ground, then her consciousness faded entirely.
---
Wyand cried out as he awoke, from surprise as much as pain, when the blunt end of one of the boatmen’s oars struck sharply against his back. He had just enough time to realize his mistake before a booted foot then swiftly kicked the side of his ribs. Have to stay silent, Wyand scolded himself. Though the rules these murderers lived by were strange, they were deceptively simple. Still catching his breath, Wyand was surprised to find that he had been allowed to sleep for most of the afternoon and even part of Third Calling. A cool breeze flowed through the canyon and the sun hung low on the horizon.
Wyand’s two guards hoisted him upright as soon as he began to sit up. Without even an instant to shake off the sleep, he was forced to resume the same relentless walking pace from earlier. Near dusk, the group passed through a section of the valley where the walls were more like mounded piles of boulders instead of sharp and vertical cliffs. The stones took on a reddish light as the sun faded, and the breeze quickly intensified into a constant wind. Within a few dozen strides, the light in the canyon was so dim that Wyand had difficulty seeing where to place each step. He tripped, stumbled, and the guards even allowed him to fall once completely before the group reluctantly came to a stop.
“You’re too weak to survive here, Two-knot,” the man to his left leaned down and whispered.
Wyand was jerked back up to his feet when the woman approached from the front of the group. She reached between two of the plates on her back as she stared at him intently. Something large glowed between her hands as she walked slowly closer with unwavering focus. Wyand recognized that glow and immediately shook with fear. That’s one of the haugaeldr! he thought in horror. They’re going to kill me! Wyand writhed against his captors’ grip, but they would not release him.
“You are slowing us down, Newfallen,” the woman said coldly. “Hold still.” She lifted the haugaeldr and lowered it towards his head. Wyand shut his eyes tight and braced for inevitable pain. There was a sudden sensation of pressure around his head, followed immediately by an eerie, stifling silence. Wyand clenched his teeth and waited for the end. “Open your eyes,” the woman commanded; her voice sounded distorted and muffled.
Wyand tentatively peered through one squinting eyelid, then stared out in amazement at the scene before him. Where before the canyon was shrouded in darkness, now every detail was somehow clearly visible through the sickly yellow skin of the haugaeldr’s body. The creature did not move, and Wyand noticed that there were no tendrils hanging against his neck. That means it’s dead…doesn’t it? he thought worriedly. Wyand was relieved when the rest of the group began donning haugaeldr carcasses of their own, including the woman who stood in front of him. It was unsettling to know that she still watched his every move, though he could no longer see her eyes to prove it.
“All things serve a purpose,” she said, her voice now even stranger than before. “The haugaeldr are no exception. Do not slow us down again.” The woman returned to the front of the group and the silent journey resumed.
---
Ryna screamed as the white-hot bar of metal was once again pressed onto her arm. The Fyrnraed stared at her, expressionless in spite of her agony, and repeated the same phrase for a sixth time.
“I will focus on my task always,” the Fyrnraed said. “Say it.”
“I will focus on my task always!” Ryna shouted, begging for the pain to stop. After a few more excruciating seconds, the Fyrnraed lifted the bar. Ryna panted and sagged against her restraints. This can’t be real, she thought. None of this is possible! Yet, looking at the bubbling skin on her forearm she knew this was no illusion. As before, the Fyrnraed looked pleased with her response and placed his staff onto her arm. A cool, soothing rush of energy flowed into Ryna’s wounds and calmed her scorched nerves. When the pain receded, the Fyrnraed removed the staff and Ryna’s arm looked as though no damage had ever occurred.
The first time this process happened, Ryna was amazed and attempted to thank the Fyrnraed for the gift of healing. As soon as she spoke, however, the searing bar of metal had returned, so for the next five iterations of this torture she remained silent. She grew hopeful now, seeing the bar grow cool as it lay on the metal table beside her. Even though it was many hours into the night, the three chimes to signal the start of a Calling sounded from some unseen source, and instantly Ryna felt her mind purge all thought and worry. She absently looked around the small room in the Hall as the Fyrnraed spoke in a relaxing voice.
“The Common Wright Onaela was chosen for High Calling today,” the Fyrnraed said. “You helped her achieve that honor. Work diligently and you will share her joy. Now arise and walk with me back to your living quarters.” Ryna heard herself agree with the Fyrnraed’s words and comply with his instructions, but thoughts buried deeper than she knew possible shouted for her to remember the truth. Those shouts faded into silence with each step she took by the Fyrnraed’s side.
Ryna felt like she was moving through a dream; the light windows were blurred streaks that rushed past as she continued down the spiraling hallway. By the time she reached her living quarters, Ryna was convinced that the events of the day had occurred exactly as the Fyrnraed described. She entered her quarters and found Aemetta standing alone in the d
ark.
“Ryna!” Aemetta whispered. “Where did you go?” The Fyrnraed’s staff suddenly flared with light and the three Calling chimes sounded once more.
“You both spent the entire night asleep in this room,” the Fyrnraed said calmly. “Any other thoughts you may have are simply dreams that can be forgotten. Now get back in your beds.” Ryna felt herself accept the Fyrnraed’s words, but once again the echoes of doubt stirred within her subconscious mind. The memory of a terrible dream plagued her thoughts as she drifted to sleep—it involved something about Onaela being burned, but she couldn’t remember any more than that. It’s just a dream, Ryna reminded herself. It can be forgotten.
---
Ryna’s heart raced as she flung her eyes open. A night sky filled with stars stared back at her between the two walls of solid stone. I’m not in Locboran, she remembered. I was cast out. She lifted her arm close to her face and searched for signs of the terrible burns she had just endured in her dream. Thankfully there was nothing to see that was a cause for concern, but Ryna could still feel the sensation of the burning metal being pressed against her skin. The muscles in her arm spasmed, as though they were recoiling from another round of the Fyrnraed’s punishment. Much like her newfound recollection of the events surrounding Onaela’s death, Ryna knew this memory of being tortured by the Fyrnraed existed outside of her dreams. Why the memory had remained obscured for so long she did not understand, but she trusted that it was all part of the Fyrnraed’s plan for her.
Kingdomturn Page 19
