Heir of Hope (Follower of the Word Book 3)

by Morgan L. Busse

  Caleb yelled and stumbled against a column. Fiery ribbons tore through his back. He fell to his knees and panted. His daggers clattered to the ground.

  The soldiers moved on.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. Nierne was right. He couldn’t promise he would return.

  Nierne.

  He pictured her, red curls bobbing across her shoulders, the tiny red speckles across her nose, the way her grey eyes would flash—

  His back flared again and he grit his teeth.

  Had this all been for nothing? Were they really going to lose?

  Word, where are you?

  A warm pulse triggered deep inside his chest. Caleb sucked in a lungful of air and looked up. What the—

  The pulse grew, spreading across his chest and into his back. A light caught his eye. He glanced down. Beneath his palm light shone across the cobblestone.

  Was he . . . healing himself?

  The warmth rippled across his back like water, washing away the fire, spreading through his skin and muscles.

  Caleb pushed off the ground and stumbled back to the column. He leaned against the stone, warmth filling his being. Moments later the pain vanished.

  He gave his shoulders a cautious roll. No tearing, no spasm of fire across his back.

  His breath stalled and he blinked. He could heal—

  His head slumped to the side and his vision dimmed. Apparently the healing had taken what small strength he had left.

  He sat there, breathing, little by little. Maybe not all was lost. If he could heal, then he could go on.

  Through lidded eyes, he watched the rest of the men taken by the twisted soldiers. Some fell, some were dragged away. Another woman cried out in the crowd below.

  Cargan lay a couple feet away. Caleb wasn’t sure if the man was dead or just unconscious.

  He closed his eyes. He didn’t care much for Cargan, but they had fought together, and the man never gave up. He hoped for the latter.

  So tired.

  A feather-like touch brushed his soul.

  He pried his eyes open.

  A hush fell across the crowd.

  Across the arena, a stage jutted out from the base of the tower. A man exited the tower, dragging another figure covered in a burlap sack. His hair was black and wavy, his face perfect, each feature exactly as it should be. He wore a dark blue tunic embroidered in silver and black pants.

  As the man approached the edge of the stage, Caleb switched his attention to the figure whose head was covered.

  The prisoner was thin and wore a long dress that was stained and torn past the knee, exposing a leg with each step. A woman. The prisoner was a woman.

  The feather-like touch brushed him again.

  She was here. The Truthsayer who had touched him so long ago.

  Rowen.

  Chapter

  48

  Lore and Regessus crept along the side of the buildings that circled the tower. Most of the soldiers were on the far left side of the columns, fighting Cargan and his men. There were still a handful of soldiers left, their backs to Lore and Regessus, positioned between each column.

  Lore stopped at the four o’clock position, right on the corner of one of the main streets. He wiped his face and pushed his hair back. “Are you ready?” he whispered to Regessus.

  “I’ll try to keep up with you. But I’m not much of a fighter.”

  Lore nodded. He readied himself for the upcoming clash. He loosened each muscle beginning with his arms. Fear was only a feeling, a feeling that would get in the way. It had no place here.

  He motioned toward the tower. “We’ll skirt the columns and follow the side of the tower. If we fight, we fight on the street, not down amongst the people.”

  “I agree.”

  His arms and legs were limber now, tingling with adrenaline. Lore hefted his sword. “All right, let’s—”

  Regessus grabbed his arm and pointed at the tower. “Wait! It’s Valin. He’s just come out of the tower.”

  Lore blinked against the rain, searching past the soldiers and the columns. Far off he spotted a stage at the base of the tower and a man walking across it, dragging another person behind him. The person’s head was covered with a sack.

  “Why would he come out?” Regessus whispered. “Unless . . .”

  Lore glanced to the left. The fighting had died down. Only the twisted soldiers remained. Cargan and his men had fallen. “He thinks he’s won. We need to move now if we are going to—”

  “I think it’s more.”

  Lore looked back.

  Valin was only a finger in height from this distance. He stopped at the edge of the stage and let go of the prisoner. The prisoner fell to her knees beside Valin, head bowed.

  As Valin pulled the sack off his prisoner, Lore’s middle gave a hard lurch.

  “Rowen . . .” The air froze inside his lungs. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. He could only stare at her.

  Her pale hair hung around her face like a curtain, her body covered by a tattered dress.

  Valin started speaking. His words barely reached them. His tone was harsh and bitter as it bounced between the pillars and across the arena. Then Valin reached down and grabbed Rowen by the hair, pulling her face up.

  Voltage surged through his body. Lore started across the street, his sword raised.

  It was now or never.

  Blood pounded through his veins. The first row of Thyrian soldiers near the columns turned. A single thought flickered through the red haze in his mind before drifting away: do not harm these men.

  Lore met the first soldier half way across the circular street.

  The soldier attacked with his sword.

  He caught the man’s blow across his blade, lifted his sword along with the soldier’s and wrapped his blade around it. With a sharp twist, he brought his blade down and jerked hard, sending the soldier’s sword flying.

  Without missing a step, Lore kicked out, catching the man in the middle, and sent him back into the two other soldiers who had turned.

  It had been months since he had fought or trained, but his body knew exactly how to move. He raised his sword again.

  More and more soldiers turned his way.

  He disarmed another soldier and kicked him as well. The third soldier he hit with his pommel, knocking the man flat on his back.

  They were converging on him now, a mass of yellow. Between them and past the pillars he saw Valin pull Rowen up onto her feet.

  Then the soldiers attacked.

  Lore sent another sword flying, and kicked another soldier, but there were too many now. They swarmed on him.

  A fist caught him in the face, another in the belly. A sword slashed his arm. He lost his hold on his weapon and it clattered to the ground.

  Another fist connected with his cheek and sent his face reeling back.

  Hands grabbed his arms.

  Lore struggled back up. “Rowen!” He stared at her between the pillars and past the sea of people gathered inside the arena.

  The soldiers dragged him back. A couple feet away they had Regessus at sword point.

  He strained against their grasp. “Rowwwen!” Word, please. Let her hear me. Let her know I’m here. “Rowen!”

  The wind began to blow, whisking across his face and pulling his cloak back. He stumbled to the side, the soldiers along with him. The wind blew even harder until he had to turn away from it to breathe. His cheek throbbed right below his eye and his arm stung from the gash he had received.

  The soldiers held their hands up, blocking the wind from their faces. The rain came down hard, pelting them.

  Above, the sky grew even darker.

  Thunder boomed, shaking the ground.

  Chapter

  49

  Rowen felt the rain the moment they
left the tower, a harsh patter across the sack on her head. At the edges of her senses, she could feel the people gathered. Their fear was a billowing storm, and she pulled in deep inside herself. She could not handle it.

  Valin dragged her forward, her legs unable to keep up. She fell to the floor and still he continued to drag her. Her right hand was of no use, the stump hitting the ground, and she could barely get her left hand under her to push herself up. She scrambled along, a flush rising across her cheeks.

  Valin stopped and let go.

  She fell on her knees, panting.

  The people’s fear and grief pressed in on her again until she was suffocating under the load.

  He pulled the sack from her head.

  She kept her head bowed. She couldn’t look up. She could not look at the faces of the people she had failed.

  “I would welcome you, like your senate of old. But your senate is no more. And I am not here to welcome you.”

  There was a pause and Rowen imagined Valin was looking over the crowd. “You thought you could stop us. You came slinking back into Thyra like rats. And like rats, we caught you. For that is what you are: Filthy, wallowing rats, consumed by greed, selfishness, and pettiness. It was your own that turned you in, a man from your midst that gave me the location of your villages and hideouts. He also gave me the location of the mines. And soon those women and children will join your fate.”

  A murmur rose up from the crowd.

  “Yes, he was a traitor. But who amongst you would not do anything to save your own skin?”

  A Thyrian had betrayed these people to Valin? How could he? Why should she even fight for such people?

  “I know hope still fuels your soul.” His voice echoed across the arena. “Hope that you will be rescued, that somehow you will win today. That perhaps the Word still cares about you. But I stand here and I ask, ‘Where is the Word?’ Where is your salvation?” He laughed and grabbed her by the hair. “I will show you . . .”

  Valin jerked her head up, ripping out the strands.

  A cry escaped her.

  Then she saw them, the sea of faces spread out in front of her. Terrified faces. Weary faces. Lost faces.

  “Here she is. The last Eldaran. The last Truthsayer.” Valin shook her head, tearing more of her hair. “But no more. I took her power. Show them, Rowen.” Her name came out as a sneer. “Show them your mark.”

  Her arm refused to move.

  Valin yanked until it felt like her scalp would come off. “I said show them!”

  Slowly, Rowen raised her arm. Heat spread across her body like a fever. A cripple, that’s what she was. A broken dream.

  The arena was silent, save for the patter of rain.

  His hold loosened, leaving her head tingling. “Now you will watch the last Eldaran die. I will take her life before you, the same way I have taken every life from this land . . .”

  Rowen closed her eyes, drawing so deep inside herself that she could no longer hear Valin, could no longer feel the people, only the small ember of fire that still burned inside her being. It was all she had left. Nothing else. No mark, no power, not even a hand. And soon no life.

  This was the end of her dark path, but where was the light she had always seen at the end? Instead, there was only more darkness. The power inside her was dying. And soon so would she.

  The first tear fell, mingling with the rain falling across her face. Word, hear me one more time. The words came from the deep place inside her. One more request. Give me my power back. Fill me, and let me finish this. Let me save these people.

  The sea of faces flashed across her mind. Then more faces appeared, a whirr of color and images. The villagers she had grown up with in Cinad. The guards from the White City. Lady Astrea, Aren, and those she had left behind. Newer faces appeared. The people she had healed in Temanin. The child with the burn. Nierne, the scribe who had traveled all the way to the White City to find her.

  Let me save all the people of the Lands.

  Another face appeared. The man she had touched that night outside the White City. That evil, vile—wait. He . . . he was here now. She could feel him. His presence was strong, cutting through the other wisps of life like a blade of steel.

  He was like her. He was an Eldaran. She wasn’t the only one.

  Somewhere outside her mind, Valin pulled her up to her unsteady legs. The end was near.

  One last face appeared inside her mind. Lore. She could almost hear him shouting her name.

  Word. Her mouth formed His name. Let me save him. Help me save all of them. Just one more time.

  Her eyes were still shut, her entire being crying out to the Word. Use me. All of me.

  A harsh wind sprang up, twisting around her, pulling at her dress, wrapping her hair around her face. Valin let go of her, but she did not open her eyes. Everything inside her centered on the Word.

  Then she heard His voice, full of warmth and power.

  In the moment of your greatest weakness, you will know my power.

  The Word’s voice echoed around her, through her, and deep within her. Will you give yourself to my power, Daughter of Light? Will you open yourself and let me pour myself through you?

  Yes. All that I am.

  For a moment, nothing happened. The wind blew across her face and cold drops of rain splattered across her cheeks.

  Then the ember inside her, the source of her Eldaran power, came alive.

  The heat grew, expanding like a ball of fire. It spread through her, reaching to her head, her fingers, her toes. And still the heat grew until it burned across her body.

  She rose, as if lifted by an unseen hand.

  The wind howled through the arena. The people cowered together and covered their faces.

  She turned toward Valin and, for the first time, his arrogant look was gone, and in its place . . .

  A mask of fear.

  “Valin.” It was her voice, but with a deeper undertone, like two voices blending together. “For years I called to you. You cut yourself off from me, even though I spoke your name. You perverted your power and took what was not yours. The lives you stole cry out to me.”

  Valin held his gloved hand up in a fist. “You never stopped me!” he yelled over the wind.

  “I love you. I whispered to you each night, with each star and moon. I shouted to you with the rise of the sun—”

  He slashed the air. “I want nothing to do with you!”

  There was a lull in the wind. “I know.” Rowen felt such sorrow pass through her it made her own heart ache. This vile, cruel man the Word loved even still. She could feel it.

  “Now I must answer the souls you took. Your time has come to an end.”

  “No!” Valin flung himself at Rowen, but was caught midair and hung there, unable to move.

  Her eyes burned and steam rose from her body. “Valin, I will speak your name no more.”

  His body began to glitter like gold, starting from the tip of his nose. The shimmering brightness spread across him until his skin shone with light. He hung in the air, a sparkling statue. All except his eyes. She could still see his eyes. Then they too disappeared into two white specks.

  The gilded body rose a foot into the air. With a blast, it exploded into a thousand tiny specks, like sand strewn across the sky. The specks hung there for one heartbeat. And then, in a gust of wind, the gold dust scattered high into the sky until it disappeared into the storm above.

  Valin was no more.

  Rowen wanted to fall to her knees, but the Word’s power still coursed through her, leaving her upright. Now, Daughter of Light, let us free these people.

  A roar filled her ears and shook her body. A voice boomed and she felt it through her entire being. It was thunder, and wind, and singing, and a child’s laugh all rolled into one glorious sound.

  The voice o
f the Word.

  Fire like molten lead poured through her, the same inferno she had felt the night she saved the White City. It connected with the power inside her and burst. She could only see the white light surrounding her, and hear the continuous roar of His voice through her. Her Eldaran power, instead of flowing toward her missing hand, spread across her entire body. The wind whipped around her. Her entire being glowed with the light.

  The floodwaters of the Word’s power poured down on her like a torrential rain from the sky above. She raised her arms and laughed. This was the light, that light at the end of her dark road. She had reached it at last. Her journey was finally over.

  As the light passed through her, it spread across the arena, touching every soul there. With each soul, she saw their lives spin across her vision—each and every one. The images moved so fast that all she saw were colors and blurred pictures. Feelings pressed down on her until she was bare beneath the onslaught. Shadow memories were burned away and gasps of new life entered those who had been twisted.

  Then she felt it. The tearing inside her. Her body could not handle all this power. She was mortal, and the seam between her body and soul was unraveling. Each second, the tear grew.

  She would not survive.

  Rowen closed her eyes, concentrating on her truthsaying power. It flowed alongside the light of the Word, brushing each person it reached. More images came flying back, of lives lived, and people loved, and darkness committed.

  I can’t do this. She was drowning now, looking up from beneath the waves of light. So many people . . .

  I am here, Daughter of Light. Hold onto me.

  She reached for the Word.

  A hand gripped hers. She could not see it, but she knew it was His. The images became bearable, each one moving at dizzying speed.

  Then, slowly, the images faded. So did the thunderous voice. The wind shrank to a whisper.

  It was done.

  The Word pulled her up. The tear split across her being and she rose above the waves of light. Like a hand being pulled from a glove, she pulled away from her body, leaving behind the pain and aches and sorrow she had carried for so long.