"I've always had it. I wasn't born on this world." Inale watched to see if he reacted, but he only listened, his focus on her quiet and intent. "Joseph, one of the Ayamin, found me on a world he calls Earth. He comes and plays with me sometimes. But I was just a baby when he found me, and all I had was this and a letter from my mother. My first mother. Not the queen."
"Well, this certainly makes a lot more sense." WroOth returned the necklace and clasped his hands over hers. "You are a very special little girl, Inale. Though you'll be even more special when you grow up."
Bubbly happiness warmed Inale. She couldn't contain her smile. That sounded much better than being told she was a monster.
As she tried to tie the leather strap of her necklace back around her neck, she fumbled with the ends. It fell to the ground. She tried again. Still, it wouldn't stay. Frustrated, Inale huffed at it and attempted a third time. Once more, it slipped off.
"Here. Let me help you." Before Inale could object, WroOth turned her around and tied the leather thongs together in a snug bow. "There we go. Just as pretty as before."
Inale touched the pendant again, the smooth surface cool to her fingertips. "Thank you." He really was the kindest person she had ever met. She didn't even mind if he called her "little" again.
"You're welcome, dearest." He rubbed his hands together, standing. "Now, as lovely as it has been to meet you, Inale, I am afraid I must be going. At least for now."
"Wait! Please don't go." Inale seized his hand. A pang of fear stabbed through her, destroying the warmth she'd felt only seconds before. "Are you leaving because you're afraid of me too? Please don't be."
"Why would I be afraid of you, Inale?" WroOth chuckled. He gave his arm a light shake, but she hung on.
"My parents say I'm dangerous. I know that's what the necklace says, but it's not a bad thing. Father says it's for a good reason. As long as I'm careful I won't be all evil. I promise. I'll never hurt you, WroOth. I'm not a monster." Inale clenched her right hand into a fist and pressed it to her mouth and then her chest as she had seen the Ayamin do when they made their vows. "Can you stay and tell me about the Vawtrians?"
WroOth's gaze softened. "And why would you want to know about Vawtrians? Do you like shapeshifters or do you just want to hear a story?"
"I'm two things." Inale held up her fingers. King Theol and Queen Alita had told her repeatedly that she was not supposed to tell anyone this, but surely that was because they hadn't expected her to meet a real Vawtrian. He had to know she wasn't a threat. It made sense to tell him everything. "First, I'm a blood child, which means I might be evil. Second, I'm the Third Nalenth. That's what makes me dangerous. Father told me all about it. When I grow up, three shapeshifters are going to attack Libysha and try to take over all the worlds and all of the Tue-Rahs, the portals to the other worlds. Natas, Hacker, and Ruth. I have to kill them after I restore the Tue-Rah on Eiram. But I don't know how. Momma says I don't have to know right now. But you could tell me about the shapeshifters, can't you? I could learn before they come. And then when that's all done, I don't have to be alone." She tugged his arm. "See! You don't have to be afraid of me. I'm really not a monster. I'd never hurt you, WroOth. I promise. Can't you stay?"
"Ahh." WroOth crouched once more. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he met her gaze. "I'm afraid I can't stay, but I am not leaving because you're a monster. In fact, you're not a monster at all. You're a very special little girl who is going to do many great things when she grows up. Good things."
Inale flung her arms around his neck. He smelled like sunshine and wind, and as she held on, that familiar comforting sensation intensified. "You'll come back soon?"
"Before you know it." WroOth hugged her tight. "Your time of being alone is almost over." He squeezed her and set her down.
Inale wished he didn't have to leave, but she understood. "Can I watch you shift?"
"Only if you watch very closely." WroOth winked before he stepped away and lifted his arms. In a swift flowing motion, his body shrunk, as if he was being pulled into a much smaller mold. The brown and red of his clothing merged and darkened into indigo, then cerulean, and feathers sprouted over his body. It took only a breath for the transformation to complete, and once again he appeared to be a perfect bluebird, complete with twinkling black eyes and bright-orange breast.
Inale clapped her hands over her mouth, delighted at the change. It was even more incredible now that she knew what to expect.
WroOth sprang into the air, circling the center of the labyrinth before flying off. Inale watched until he darted through the small gap between the mesh and the wall and then disappeared to the south.
Picking up the ball, she tossed it in the air. More laughter came from the southern garden, but it didn't bother her this time. She had her own friend now, and WroOth would be coming back very soon.
2
The Attempted Escape
The hot summer sun beat down on the back of Cohsaw's head. As his feet punched down the tall waving grass, the yellow sap from the crushed stalks stained his thin leather boots. Sweat dripped down his neck and soaked his clothing. His thin brown cotton garments clung to his body, and each time he sucked in a breath, he got a mouthful of his own shaggy hair.
Cohsaw clutched as many of the precious mahogany boxes to his chest as he could. Even if these few were all he could save, it meant that their hope had not been entirely lost. He neared the edge of the valley, almost to the chasm with its inviting crevices and hiding places. If he made it there, he had a chance.
"He's getting away!" one of the mercenaries shouted behind him. "Faster!"
"Watch out for an ambush!" another bellowed. "Look to the cliffs."
Cohsaw ground his teeth together, furious with himself. At fourteen, he'd been convinced that he was old enough to have the sufficient skill and speed to launch a heroic salvage attempt. But his gift of foresight had abandoned him; it was blank, a tapestry without markings. I should have waited, he thought.
His fingers dug into the intricate carvings on the box. The corner closest to his heart cut against his chest at a painful angle. Maybe Inale will live if I can save just one.
He glanced over his shoulder. Only the human mercenaries clad in black and green uniforms pursued him. No sign of the Vawtrians. That doesn't mean anything, he thought.
Fear clawed through Cohsaw's body as he forced himself to run. Shapeshifters could be anywhere. Particularly these three. They could be almost anything, and he would not be able to spot their false forms until it was too late.
Please don't let them be gone, he prayed.
If only he had listened to his father. Kepsalon had only wanted him to scout Naatos and his brothers' camp and report back about their movements. He'd warned Cohsaw not to intervene. Not even if they were about to do something unspeakable. Naatos was one of the most skilled Vawtrians ever known, and his two brothers were almost as good. Cohsaw hadn't planned to disobey. He wasn't stupid, after all. But the sight of all the boxes containing the Salvation of the Third Nalenth piled up in the abandoned marketplace had been more than Cohsaw could bear. Inale would have been doomed if he hadn't intervened.
"Faster!" one of the mercenaries yelled again.
Fear spiked through Cohsaw, pulsing in his veins. Though his lungs ached, he urged himself forward. Already a running stitch formed in his side. Up ahead, just to the right, was a low-lying crevice. He angled toward it. Prayers to Elonumato for speed and favor filled his mind. Just a little farther.
A massive sand lizard lunged from the crevice, its frills shooting out and its teeth exposed.
With a shriek, Cohsaw fell backwards. His feet skidded into the ground, and he struck his head on a rock. The boxes flew out of his grasp, his sweat-soaked hands driven hard against the pebbled dirt and grass. Sharp pain sliced through his arms and elbows. As warm blood flowed from his head, all he could do was lie there, groaning.
The sand lizard roared, its voice strange and undulating, and reared
back on its hind legs. Instead of striking as the lion-sized lizards generally did, this one expanded, morphing into a man. The transformation was as smooth as water flowing into a mold. The scales expanded and darkened, forming clothing and a body. The head elongated, hair growing from the lizard skull as the snout sank back. It happened too fast for Cohsaw to react. He could only hope against hope it wasn't Naatos.
The man cracked his neck and popped his shoulders back into place as the transformation completed. Cohsaw's heart clenched, choking the air from his lungs.
It was Naatos, just as fierce and terrifying as he was in every depiction Cohsaw had ever seen. A tall man with black shoulder-length hair, pale skin, and fierce light-blue eyes, Naatos commanded attention. But right now his attention was focused on Cohsaw.
His mouth gaping, Cohsaw stared. His tawny hair clung to his sweaty skin. What should he say? He couldn't sit there in silence. But all he could think about was how to get at least one of the boxes and throw it down into the crevices. A few had tumbled away. Maybe some had fallen to safety. What Cohsaw knew for certain was he had no strength left.
The mercenaries halted behind him, looking to Naatos for their cue, hands clenched over weapons, brows soaked with sweat.
Naatos regarded Cohsaw in silence for what felt like quite a long time. "What were you trying to accomplish, boy?" he asked at last. His voice was both deep and cold, though his expression revealed no particular mood. "The Third Nalenth must have all forty of these boxes if she is to succeed, is that not true?"
Cohsaw shook his head. "She'll succeed, no matter what. These just keep her alive." He struggled to steady his cracking voice. "The Salvation of the Third Nalenth is not a weapon. It never has been! We would not disguise weapons as instruments of healing."
"Wouldn't you?" A faint smile reached Naatos's mouth as he chuckled. He picked up one of the intricately carved boxes, unfastened the top, and tipped the single orb onto his palm. It glinted in the sunlight, glistening with the faintest of hues, afterthoughts of color. "I suppose that is possible, if improbable. Given all the time that your people and those few Unato spent on these, I find that unlikely. Indeed, it seems that you would hope I would believe you now. What better way to hide such a weapon?"
"They are her salvation, not your destruction," Cohsaw said. He might have been scared, but he hadn't lost all of his nerve. He had to be careful. As a Machat, he had been entrusted with many secrets. And though he could have told Naatos a great deal to convince him to change his mind, he did not dare break any more of his father's commands or his people's traditions. His disobedience would already cost him his life. At the very least, he wouldn't dishonor himself or his people further.
Cohsaw lifted his hand, bloodied from skidding on the ground and stained with grass sap. "Please, Lord Para. At least leave her one. You'll want her to have one."
"If it takes all forty to save her, why save one?" The half-smile curled further at the edges of Naatos's mouth. "It is better to have no hope rather than false hope."
"It's not about hope." A knot formed in Cohsaw's throat. "It's about her life."
He'd seen Inale once, the little Neyeb girl that the king and queen had adopted when the strange warrior, Joseph, had appeared from Eiram, though he had insisted it was called Earth. She had always had her elmis, the markings on her forehead and wrists, covered to keep her from reading minds. How such a small child kept in such isolation could ever be expected to defeat someone like Naatos as well as his two brothers boggled his mind. Even knowing what he did, it made little sense. A terrible fate lay before her, and she was in no way prepared for it. No matter how the lot fell, she had a long and painful road ahead of her.
"The Third Nalenth has nothing to fear from me so long as she does as she is told." Naatos shook his head, mildly amused. He pointed to the guards behind Cohsaw. "You two, take him to the marketplace. Restrain him there, and make sure he doesn't get away." He tossed the box to the third soldier. "And you—, find the rest of these and get them back with the others."
The guards hauled Cohsaw to his feet. Their grip pinched his arms, but his legs were so rubbery he couldn't lift himself even enough to alleviate the pain. Rousing what marginal strength he had left, Cohsaw shouted, "Inale needs them! At least one. Save her one, at least. That's all. You can give it to her later. But you will want her to have at least one!"
It did no good. Naatos turned his back to him. Then he transformed into a sand lizard again and scuttled up the side of the nearest cliff. Once he reached the top, he scanned the chasm and turned his gaze toward Telhetum. He was probably searching for his brothers, whom he had sent off to prepare for the attack that night. Previous Machat scouts had brought back those details.
Cohsaw's heart sank. His father was waiting for this new information. Needed this information to confirm which of the foretellings was about to come true. Perhaps they could have done more to save the innocents that night if he had done as he was told. I'm sorry, Father, he thought.
The Vawtrian-trained mercenaries said nothing to him as they dragged him back to their camp, which was situated in the ruined city of Istador.
Cohsaw blinked back tears. This place was painfully appropriate. The ruins bore little resemblance to the great Machat city his father had once told him about. Back in the days when WroOth was a good Para and leader, the city had thrived as a center of commerce and prophecy. All that remained now were broken stones, dust, and betrayal.
The sole recognizable portion of the city was the marketplace dais. During the festivals, the Machat leader, the Most Honorable One, would come to bless visitors and present the prophecies and foretellings. He would stand in the center amid the sand art and glass work, his hands raised, periwinkle and amber petals all about him. He always started the festival with words of comfort and renewal, reminding everyone of Elonumato's care.
I wish I could hear one of those blessings now, Cohsaw thought. He tried to remember one while also avoiding the most painful question of all: would Elonumato save him?
In the center of the dais sat the pile of boxes that held the Salvation of the Third Nalenth. A few had tumbled away from the main heap, a fine coating of dust on their once immaculate sides. His people and the few surviving Unatos had worked so hard on those, laboring long into the cold hours of the night to give Inale an edge over these monsters. Some minor hope that she could perhaps survive the curse even when she fulfilled her duties. Now they lay there, waiting to be destroyed. Just like him.
It was wrong and unfair. Tears stung the backs of his eyes, but Cohsaw refused to cry.
Three thick posts were staked into the ground where the pale-brown stones had cracked. Large unlit torches hung from the stakes. The guards dragged him to the closest one and bound his wrists to the stake so tight it hurt.
"She's just a little girl. Can't you save her one?" Cohsaw asked, his voice thick.
"Stupid Machat." The guard with a hook scar on his cheek glared at him with scorn. "You people are supposed to be prophets. Shouldn't you have seen this?"
"We can't see everything, especially not all at once. Sometimes we get knowledge too late to do anything. But what I can see is that if you don't save one, she's going to die! She has to have one. Why can't you understand?" Cohsaw didn't care if they thought he was weak. His last hope was this.
The second guard with a blackened ear cuffed him across the mouth. "No more of that."
Blood trickled from Cohsaw's mouth, and he wasn't able to stifle back the cry or the tears anymore. The two guards strode away, returning to their duties. Dismally, Cohsaw stared at the ground, willing himself not to be any more of a fool.
Little brown ants streamed across the cracks in the stone. They disappeared from sight and then reappeared in perpetual lines, utterly unaware of the horror that was about to unfold. If he could have talked to the animals like the Bealorns, he could have perhaps convinced them to carry some of the boxes away. Maybe even asked them to untie him and help him escape.
But not even Awdawms listened to him now. He had nothing left, and he had made a great mess of things. Terror clawed within him. How he longed for one of the sweet songs of his people to comfort him now. Something to soften the end he knew was coming. Even if he had failed to see some of the events this morning, there was one he could see now with utter clarity. He was a prophet, after all. And prophets always knew when they would die.
3
Preparations
Naatos paced along the hill down to where the river curled at its base. The waters rushed and broke against the rocks, cooling the hot summer air and filling it with a fresh scent that mixed with the smell of the flowering olnas lining the banks.
Behind him and throughout the ruined city stood his infiltrating force, fully armed and recently trained in Vawtrian warfare. Adapting Vawtrian fighting and training methods for humans had been difficult. But these human mercenaries would have been willing to accept even less gold for the chance to learn such skills. True, such mercenaries couldn't shift shapes as he and his brothers could, nor could they heal themselves in battle. But Naatos had taken care to ensure they were equipped with the strongest armor, fed well, and paid even better. When it came to hiring forces to take over worlds, Naatos did not believe in paying for anything less than the best.
The setting sun hung over the mountains, casting its deep golden light across the valley and the river. A crumbling statue rested half out of the water. Its alabaster arm reached for the heavens in a proclamation of peace. How ironic that it was to be used as the meeting place for battle.
AaQar, his older brother, was due to return any moment, and he would give Naatos the final report on the troop placement. If all went well, the country would be conquered within a matter of hours. The infiltration force with him now waited, each warrior holding his primary weapon at attention. They were alert, eagerly waiting for the opportunity to prove their worth. This would be the first official battle under Naatos's command, but it would not be their last.
Identity Revealed: The Tue-Rah Chronicles Page 2
