The Third Scroll

by Dana Marton

  At least, I did not have to fear freezing at night without a tent as long as I found enough dry leaves to gather around me. Spring grew warmer with every passing day.

  Free.

  I smiled at the fading stars. My plans of sneaking out of the city with the caravan had come to naught, and yet here I was. The spirits rarely gave me the exact help I had asked for, but in all important things, they had always helped me in their own way.

  I filled my lungs with the crisp air, the familiar scent of the forest—the scent of freedom. I could not ask for more. I had neither food nor water, but I trusted the spirits to watch over me on the journey. I would look for edible leaves and fruit and roots. Eggs and nuts would be my nourishment, morning dew my drink.

  I did not slow nor did I look back. My mother had fled from Karamur; the Guardian of the Scrolls had said so. The Guardians could not blame me for doing the same.

  How good running free felt in my legs, and yet…something deep in my heart, a whisper so low I could not fully hear…it called me back. I refused, even as I knew the heart, like the spirit, bore refusal not.

  “A person cannot refuse their heart without losing it,” my mother’s voice whispered into my ear from a long ago conversation we had on the top of a numaba tree.

  My feet faltered, then halted.

  The Guardians had waited for me for a long time. Since when did a Shahala run away from a request for help? Maybe I could stay a little longer. Just until they called the mist the next time. Until I learned what said the prophecies.

  I looked at the woods around me, at the needle-covered Kadar trees that had once seemed strange but became familiar to me during my long journey to Karamur. A few drab little birds of winter, lacking in so many things compared to the colorful beauties of my home, watched me from their branches.

  What made them stay here through the season of snow, the heavy storms, and the punishing winds? Why did they not fly south? Many of them did not survive the hard freezes, of that I was sure. They had strength, these small creatures, strength and courage—two things much valued by the Kadar. The Shahala prized humility and self-sacrifice.

  I stood there for some time before I turned around. The sky grew lighter. I hurried back the way I had come, then climbed down the face of the cliff, an easier task now that I had full command of my body and my strength back again.

  Once I reached the ramparts, the climb became easier yet, the mist clearing enough so I could find my way to the palace without trouble. I entered through the kitchen door I had left unlocked when I had escaped. The kitchen stood empty, although somebody had already fed the fire. I hurried through, paying little mind to the orange flames.

  Luck favored me, as I did not see anyone on my way to Pleasure Hall. It seemed Leena had not raised the alarm. I thanked the spirits for that and soon found the reason.

  She still lay at the foot of my bed where she had fallen asleep, worn out by the events of the previous evening. I hid my bundle of sleeping sticks quietly in a small jar I kept for herbs in the corner.

  But as I sat upon the bed, her eyes popped open. “Thank the goddesses, your health has returned,” she stammered, her eyes suddenly glistening.

  She pushed to her feet at once to fuss over me. She bade me to rest, which I did but for only a short while, as I had not found my return down the cliff and across the fortress all that exhausting. A strange energy hummed through my body, likely an after-effect of being healed by the Guardians or the excitement of all that I had learned in their city.

  For the next few days, Leena refused to leave my side. All day long, she ordered the servants around, chiding them for bothering me, pushing them out the door as they brought choice sweets and other small treats from the kitchen until I thought I would burst.

  They watched my smallest wish and provided me with comforts before I ever asked for anything. I had little to occupy my time, as no sick came to me. I wondered if the mist the Guardians had sent might have had some healing in it.

  Finally, on the fourth day, I could not languish in Pleasure Hall any longer and decided to walk to the kitchen to thank the cook for yet another wonderful creation of mosan-berry pie. I did so, distracted by the aroma of baking apples. The cook noticed and insisted on serving me a dish immediately.

  I had sat enough in the past few days, so I walked with my plate, and soon a couple of strange fish, swimming in the tub in the back, distracted me. Their scales glistened in the colors of the sunset with stripes of midnight. Pretty they would have been if not for their enormous teeth, thin as fishbone but the length of my little finger.

  I stared at the fearsome creatures, wondering if they might yet eat each other, when the sudden yelp of pain behind me made me jump.

  I turned. “Who is hurt?”

  Nobody would look at me as I glanced from face to uneasy face. The cook had her hand behind her back.

  “What is it?” I stepped closer.

  “Nothing but a small cut, Lady Tera.” Still she would not show me. Blood dripped to the stones behind her.

  “I would see just the same.”

  She pulled her hand forth with great reluctance, holding the nearly severed thumb in place with her other hand. “Just a scratch. It will quickly heal.” She forced a painful smile and moved to hide the hand again.

  What nonsense was this? I set the plate aside and reached for her. “Let me see.”

  The woman fell on her knees, tears filling her eyes. “I beg you, Lady Tera. You will make yourself ill again.”

  “That was but once and had nothing to do with this.” I took the pain and closed the wound fast, leaving not even a scar. A sudden rush of fatigue cut through me, taking away the glow of the past few days, but I felt no other ill effects.

  I looked around the kitchen then and knew why I had not seen anyone sick. They thought to hide their ailments from me.

  “I have been foolish with my own strength.” I owed them the truth. “I shall not do that again, but I would not have anyone suffer as long as I can help.”

  They bowed, some looking hopeful, others unconvinced.

  “They need not worry so,” I told Leena on the way back to Pleasure Hall.

  “We worry because we care for you, my Lady. Our High Lord is much loved by his people. You are his only concubine.”

  I understood the words she spoke as well as the ones she had left unsaid. The House of Batumar did not have an heir.

  I swallowed my unease, for I had not realized how much his people had put their hopes in me. But as much as I wished for everyone’s dreams to come true, I planned to be gone from Karamur as soon as I had found out more about my mother’s last days from the Guardians, and about the prophecies, the secrets which drew me to them.

  Then something else occurred to me, something so terrible and distasteful to the spirits I barely dared to utter the words, and yet they had to be said.

  “Is Batumar Barmorid’s son?” I held my breath for the answer. Was Batumar my half brother? If so, my presence in his Pleasure Hall was nothing less than an abomination.

  Leena looked at my sudden agitation with concern. “Of course not.”

  I exhaled.

  “In the old days, after the first High Lord was chosen by the warlords, his title passed down to his descendants, but soon our people learned what a bad governance that made. For hundreds of years now, at the death of each High Lord or when he decides he is too old for battle and takes the advisor’s seat, the new one is chosen by the rest from among them. The strongest man with the most courage and wisdom enough to rule.”

  She gave me a curious glance. “Batumar is such. Respected he is and much beloved.”

  Truly, sometimes I wondered if despite their difference in age, Leena was not a little in love with the High Lord. I nodded in agreement to her words, not wanting to offend her obvious worship.

  We reached Pleasure Hall, and I sank onto a bench by the pool. I missed that glowing sense of well-being, the gift of the Guardians, wished I had be
en able to keep it a little longer. And then, too late, I remembered the warning of the Guardian of the Cave.

  I had spared little thought for sending someone for my herbs when I had looked at that wound back in the kitchen. Why should I have, when my powers were so much quicker?

  Then I remembered the scores of healing plants my mother had collected and used. In truth, she had brought forth her powers only in the direst circumstances, but since those were the most spectacular, I remembered them the best.

  Perhaps the Guardian had been right. Like a child with a powerful tool, I was using my gift badly, wasting it, perhaps. I looked at Leena’s kind face, now pinched with worry. She mistook my pensive silence and thought something was amiss.

  “I promise to be more careful with the healing,” I told her.

  A motherly smile spread on her face as she nodded with relief.

  My mind returned to Batumar. “When a new High Lord comes to the High Seat, does he give up his House to come to rule at the palace at Karamur?”

  “Our High Lord still has his House, run by his stewards, not too far south of here. He visits when he can, although not much of late. He will return there once he leaves Karamur for the advisor’s seat.”

  She must have read my confusion because she went on. “If the High Lord is not killed in fight, he steps down once he passes into old age. As the leader of the combined Kadar troops, our High Lord must be fit for battle.”

  I thought about that and had to admit, as strange as the Kadar customs were, some held a grain of logic.

  “Will you not lie down, my Lady?” Leena gestured toward my chamber, apparently still worried.

  “Maybe for a little while,” I agreed, mostly to appease her.

  She followed me into my chamber and covered me once I lay down, but did not leave. “I saw one of Lord Gilrem’s house servants in the kitchen today,” she said with hesitation. “He said Shartor no longer visits their House.”

  I sat up at the news. “Did the soothsayer leave the city?”

  “I do not think so, my Lady. His following has grown strong of late. The coming war worries many people. They take reassurance where they can find it.”

  “But Lord Gilrem no longer follows him?”

  “Maybe not, my Lady. Servants gossip… Shartor forbade the servants to seek you when Lord Gilrem’s concubine and son were dying. He told them you would kill both and curse the House of Gilrem for good measure.”

  No wonder they had looked at me with much anxiety when I had arrived.

  “Do you think Lord Gilrem sent Shartor away?”

  “I would not know, my Lady.”

  “How fares the babe and mother?”

  “Fair well, my Lady. Lord Gilrem shows both much favor as I hear.”

  Had Lord Gilrem shaken off Shartor’s influence? I hoped so for Lord Gilrem’s sake as much as my own.

  * * *

  As days passed, each warmer than the one before, full spring arriving at last, little by little the sick returned to seek me once again. They came from the palace and from the city outside, some even from beyond the fortress walls. With my herbs and skills I had learned from my mother, I healed—mindful of the Guardian’s warning—and waited for the mist to descend.

  It came soon enough as a low cloud on the mountaintop that grew as it made its way down to us. I hurried to Pleasure Hall to prepare, but in the corridor, I met Lord Gilrem.

  “I hope the day finds you well, my Lord.”

  “Lady Tera.”

  Since he stopped, I could not press on, either.

  “I see you are fully recovered.”

  “Had but a temporary weakness, my Lord.”

  An eyebrow slid up his forehead. “I saw the servants preparing your funeral wreath in the Great Hall.”

  Nobody had told me about that. Yet I wasn’t surprised. The servants had seen enough death to know the look of it, and without the Guardians, I would have most certainly died.

  He strode to Rorin’s altar. I thought he looked pale, although I could not be sure whether it was only a trick of the flickering torches.

  “My son is growing stronger with every passing day,” he said. “A miracle, my servants insist. Shartor foretold, in confidence, that the child would not be born alive.”

  “What says the soothsayer now?” Maybe I could find out more about the man.

  “I have not seen him these past days.” He watched me closely, his gaze sharpening. “Have you practiced sorcery upon mine in my House?”

  The blood chilled in my veins. “No, my Lord.”

  Silence filled the space between us.

  “Perhaps you speak the truth,” he said at long last. “I have heard of sorcerers taking lives, but never heard of any risking their own life for another, sapping their own strength and power.”

  He reached to the neck of his doublet where a golden brooch held together the rich fabric. Gold bands held in place an emerald nearly the size of a grape in the middle. He unclipped this brooch and handed it to me.

  “My Lord…” My gaze flew to his as I tried to give back his stunning gift.

  But he turned on his heels without a word and left me standing in the hallway, my mouth agape.

  I gathered myself at last, after another moment, and flew to my chamber, for the mist was upon us fully, and I was ready to learn my destiny.

  ~~~***~~~

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  (The High Lord’s Return)

  I hid the brooch once I reached my chamber. Never had I owned anything as beautiful and valuable. It would buy my passage with the caravan, I thought with a sudden thrill.

  Tilia brought food, charms jingling on her belt with every step. Tension sat on her forehead. Nobody liked the mist, but out of everyone at the palace, the oldest servant women liked it the least.

  “Thank you, Tilia.” I made a show of stifling a yawn. “I should not require more of your kind help today. I think I shall retire.”

  She bowed, relief evident on her lined face.

  But no sooner did she leave than Leena came in.

  “I am retiring for the day. I shall not need anything until morning. You may return to seek your own bed.” Although I had given Leena leave to use an empty chamber in Pleasure Hall, she would not hear of it and continued to live among the servants.

  When the mist descended on the city, the servants preferred to keep to their own quarters. Leena had told me some even barred their doors, the most superstitious among them painting the wood with symbols of protection.

  She laid my sleeping gown out on the bed and assisted with unlacing the maroon dress I had worn all day. “I will stay and make sure the fire burns warm, my Lady.”

  The mist did bring a certain grayness and chill, but I opened my mouth to protest. Then closed it. I had not yet once succeeded in talking Leena out of doing things she considered her duty.

  While she shook the wrinkles out of my gown and folded it over the back of a chair, I sidled to the jar in the corner for a sleeping stick. I held the end of the stick into the flame of the candle burning by my bed, then set it into an empty tankard. The stick did not burn with a flame but rather smoldered, letting off a thin, snaking plume of smoke.

  I held my breath as I inched forward.

  Leena suddenly sagged against the bed, than sank to the floor little by little, her eyes closing. She blinked a few times; then her eyes stayed closed as she gave in to what must have been overwhelming sleepiness.

  I grabbed my Shahala clothes from the wooden chest and ran for the door, my lungs burning. I did not dare take a breath until I was outside my chamber.

  I donned the thudi and tunic, then cut through the empty Pleasure Hall and peeked out into the corridor that stretched on the other side of the great carved doors. Torches burned in their brackets on the walls. I could not see a soul, but some indistinct voices reached me from behind the turn in the hallway. I drew back and waited until the servants passed, then a few moments later checked again. All quiet.

&n
bsp; I hurried to the kitchen, hoping to exit the same way as I had before, but this time, I could hear people talking as I approached, two servant girls gossiping about the blacksmith’s son. I did not have time to wait until they grew tired of the topic and retired to their quarters.

  Good thing I had a backup plan.

  I sneaked to the stairway, then down a flight, into the storeroom where great piles of firewood towered to the ceiling. A narrow chute connected the room with the street. Up into this filthy chute I squeezed myself, my hands and feet slipping on sawdust and dirt.

  I conquered the climb and, reaching the top in short order, crawled out. Nobody walked the streets but me. Even if the mist caught some unfortunate soul out there in the middle of running some errand, he would not have seen me unless we bumped into each other.

  I placed a hand onto the palace wall and walked, not breaking the connection, toward the cliff. Once I reached the rock wall, I felt for a foothold, then a handhold, and began the climb. I could see little, so I went by feel.

  I found my way to the Guardians without trouble. The Guardian of the Cave and the Gate greeted me warmly and offered food; the Guardian of the Scrolls nodded from the back where he sat bundled in his robe, even his bald head covered, his face in a frown.

  “He looks tired,” I thought, and did not realize that worry pushed those words from my mouth, until the Guardian of the Cave beside me nodded.

  “And complains of it enough to drive us mad,” the Guardian of the Gate grumbled from next to the fire, his carved stick lying next to him. “Had you any trouble getting away?”

  “No one walks the streets. They think man-eater beasts roam the mist.”

  “Oh, for all that is sacred,” the Guardian of the Scrolls grumbled loudly in the back.

  The Guardian of the Cave chuckled. “Not one of us has been down there for at least a hundred years.”

  “My grandfather used to visit. He told me many tales,” the Guardian of the Gate said. “Man-eater beasts…” He snorted.