by R. J. Larson
Most often, silence met her pleas. But now and then, a doorway creaked in the darkness, followed by whispers and footsteps in the courtyards below. And weeping, mingled with cries of despair that wrung Ela’s heart.
The stench of death permeated every street. All avoidable losses!
Pray, she urged the starving mourners. Listen to the Infinite and escape with your lives!
The Infinite whispered, If they call to Me, I will save them!
They would survive famine, sword, and flames.
Oh, Parne, listen to your Creator. . . .
In the highest sector of the city, just below the temple, Ela paused on the roof of Zade Chacen’s house. “Chacen! Even now, He will spare you if you call to Him.”
The rooftop door creaked open and Chacen lunged toward her from the darkness. But not fast enough—and unarmed.
Ela skittered away into the deepening night. “Surrender and live!”
At dawn, she stood on the wall and stared out at the sea of crested tents and rippling banners. Banners, bearing badges of writhing reptiles and a golden flower—delicately incongruous in life as in her vision—heralded two western tribes, the Agocii and the Eosyths, who’d allied with Belaal and merged their small armies to King Bel-Tygeon’s, hoping to share Parne’s treasures.
No doubt they’d feasted on Parne’s captured supplies.
And, obviously, they’d seen her standing here, looking down on them. A number of Belaal’s gold-and-blue clad soldiers clustered together in the wall’s shadow watching her, their infrequent glances over their shoulders telling her that they were awaiting someone else’s arrival.
She watched, remembering her vision.
Bel-Tygeon, striking, self-assured, and filled with the arrogance of spoiled royalty, strode toward the gathering. His men bowed, but the king ignored them, calling to Ela, “Now, Prophet! Am I shamed? Have you come to curse me again?”
“You bring curses and shame to yourself, O King, by allowing yourself to be worshiped as a god. Only the Infinite rules in the heavens.”
He laughed and yelled, “Is it so? I’ve seen nothing to persuade me of your words—your idle threats! What will you do to convince me Belaal’s ways are wrong?”
Prill would not like his tone. Or his manner. The confidence of a man used to treating all women as his own. Handsome as he was, his soul was nothing like Kien’s. Unmoved, Ela said, “Within seven days, Bel-Tygeon, another king will take Parne, and you will know you are not a god.”
The king’s amusement faded. “By what means?”
“By the Infinite’s Word. Until then, know that He watches you!”
She felt the sweep of air against her cheek. The unseen current encircled Ela, removing her from the sight of Parne and its enemies.
For Ela! Two days until they reached Parne!
Kien gritted his teeth as Lorteus struck his arm with the flat of a sword. The fightmaster snarled in a chant, “Always moving, always moving! Expect every foe to deliver you a fatal strike at any instant!”
What about a mortally beastly fightmaster? Kien scowled into his opponent’s battered face. How were his broken toes going to finish mending if this man kept hounding him? While Kien tried to move without reinjuring his toes, a thunderous cadence shook the ground. Recognizing its rage-inspired pace, Kien nearly howled, sensing imminent victory over his ruthless trainer.
Lorteus clearly felt the same fearsome beats, which sent vibrations upward from the very soil, shaking Siphra’s whole encampment. Lorteus shifted his gaze toward the sound, distracted just long enough for Kien to lunge and grab him in the same stranglehold he’d used to bring down Maseth.
They dropped like two felled trees. The fightmaster spit syllables of outrage until a massive black monster-horse snapped him up by his thick tunic. Lorteus screamed.
Kien released his howl of laughter, then yelled, “No, don’t hurt him! Scythe! Drop the fightmaster!”
Scythe grumbled in supreme disapproval. But he dropped Lorteus like a rejected snack, then bent to lift Kien instead.
Dangling midair, Kien warned, “Careful of my toes, you lummox.” The instant he was on his feet, Kien stroked the monster’s glossy black neck. “How are you?”
The destroyer groaned tellingly and sighed unmistakable noises of sorrow.
Kien smoothed what he could reach of Scythe’s mane. He could almost feel the beast’s grief for Tzana, his longing to see Ela. “I understand. Believe me. The wait is killing me too!”
Scythe shifted and exhaled a moisture-laden gust of breath into Kien’s hair. It was all Kien could do to refrain from checking for slobber.
By now, Lorteus had scrambled to his feet. He started to reach for his sword. But Scythe bit toward his hand. To his credit, the fightmaster didn’t retreat, though his complexion went ghastly in evident alarm. He muttered to Kien, “You’ve a . . . destroyer?”
“Yes.” He grinned at the shocked man. “Why? Is this important?”
“It is in-indeed.” Lorteus scraped together something resembling an air of command. He studied Scythe and his eyes lit like an eager boy’s. “You must learn new fighting tactics!”
Scythe rumbled a threat. Lorteus’s fight-scarred face tightened, but he didn’t step back.
Kien felt obligated to say, “Again, Scythe, don’t hurt him. He’s a fightmaster. We’re supposed to quarrel. It’s his job to swat me with swords.”
The destroyer curled his equine lips back from his big teeth in obvious disgust.
Lorteus bowed and said, “We’ll delay the remainder of today’s lesson.”
Good. “Thank you, Lorteus. Most likely my sister and her husband are on their way into camp.” When the man left, Kien gave Scythe a fond cuff. “Have you behaved for Jon and Beka?”
The monster warhorse sniffed and looked away.
Not good. That sort of avoidance behavior guaranteed some costly mischief. “Did you eat someone’s garden?”
The black monster grazed near Kien’s booted feet. Feigning innocence, Kien suspected. Wonderful. Scythe had probably chomped down several estates somewhere.
More thunderous hoofbeats shook the encampment. Kien waited, certain Jon and Beka’s destroyers would bring them directly to him. Or, more accurately, to Scythe.
Jon rode into the open space first, splendid in his black commander’s uniform. He saw Kien and called over his shoulder to a yet unseen person, “He’s here and in one piece!”
“Were you wagering I’d lost a limb?”
“Not precisely.” Jon reined in Savage, then descended to the ground. “Beka’s been fretting over you. Particularly now.”
“Why particularly now?”
Jon grinned. “You’ll hear why soon enough.”
Looking thoroughly aggravated, Beka rode up and commanded Audacity to stand with Savage. The female destroyer obeyed but fussed and huffed as if certain Beka was making a terrible mistake. Beka stormed in turn, “Really, Aud! Will you just behave?”
Kien laughed. “Now, girls—”
Audacity snapped at him and so did Beka. “Oh hush, Kien!”
Scythe tugged Kien backward. Gently. Kien muttered to the beast, “Obviously, you know something I don’t. So what is it?”
The destroyer sighed. Humid monster-horse breath saturated Kien’s hair. He suppressed a shudder.
After Jon had helped Beka dismount, and after she’d stretched and shaken the wrinkles from her gown, Beka offered him an apologetic look. “Kien, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound testy. It’s just that I feel awful!”
She looked awful too, but Kien wasn’t about to mention her sickly coloring or the circles beneath her eyes. Before he could ask if she’d contracted an exotic fever, which he intended to run from, Beka beamed. She patted Jon’s arm in obvious delight and said, “I’m pregnant!”
Kien hesitated. “This is good news, right? You won’t bite me if I congratulate you? And Audacity won’t bite me if I hug you?”
“No! Here.” Beka rushed to h
ug him. Kien gave her a gentle squeeze and kissed the top of her braided, veiled hair. Beka sighed. “Oh, Kien, I’m so tired! And I’m hungry and swelling like—”
“Stop!” Kien raised a hand in warning. “I want to be the proud and ignorant uncle, remember? I don’t want to hear your symptoms.”
“If you know how miserable I feel, you’ll be more sympathetic. Really, I have to tell you . . .” She continued to talk as if she’d mistaken him for one of her friends. Xiana Iscove, for example. Kien shot a squeamish look at his brother-in-law.
Jon smiled and deliberately looked away.
Coward!
“Oh.” Midstream, Beka stopped complaining. She patted Kien’s hand. “I told Ela that I would tell you she loves you.”
What? Trust Beka to confuse him with something that ought to be simple. “Can you rephrase that?”
As if Kien were a toddler, Beka carefully enunciated, “I said to Ela, ‘I’ll tell Kien you love him.’ And she agreed I should.”
“She didn’t argue?”
“No. Why should she? It’s the truth.”
Kien laughed and lightly jostled his sister. “You are my favorite meddler. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now, please, can we eat?”
“Of course. If you don’t mind rations.” Two days. He sent up a silent, fierce prayer.
Infinite, I beg You, let me see Ela soon!
Even as Kien finished the prayer, a young crimson-clad royal servant scurried toward him. Breathless, the scrawny servant bowed. “My lord, the king requests your presence. The prime minister of Istgard waits with him.”
Aware of Beka’s questioning look and Jon’s sudden frown, Kien nodded to the boy. “Yes, thank you. Tell the king I’m on my way.”
The youth turned and ran, his movements so uncoordinated that his official red cloak swung precariously, becoming awkwardly misaligned about his neck. Obviously new at his job. Kien shook his head, then realized Beka and Jon were both staring.
Beka said, “‘My lord?’ What’s this about, Kien?”
He grimaced. “Akabe, the king, has declared me Lord of Aeyrievale, against my will, because I saved his life. He’s also declared me Siphran.”
Jon’s frown deepened. “Is this sanctioned by the Tracelands’ Grand Assembly?”
“The Grand Assembly isn’t aware of my situation, and I’m told it’s irrevocable in Siphra. Imagine being a king unable to rescind an order! I’ve sent General Rol a message, requesting his advice and asking him to speak to the Assembly.”
Somber, Beka gripped Kien’s sleeve. “You don’t suppose the Tracelands will censure you . . . do you?”
Her words mirrored Kien’s growing fears. Censure was a possibility, particularly if certain anti-Lantec factions took control of any official debates regarding Kien’s Siphran status and his unwanted title. What if his homeland did condemn him? What if he was stripped of martial authority mid-campaign as he tried to save Ela and Parne? He’d be rendered powerless. “We’ll find out soon enough. Meanwhile, the king and the prime minister are waiting.”
“Well,” Beka said, a gleam of mischief and inspiration brightening her face, “while the prime minister’s wife and I are here, waiting for the siege to end, we’ll wage our own battle. I’ll write letters to the wives of every possible sympathetic member of the Grand Assembly. I’ll humbly explain your dilemma and beg the ladies, in their wisdom, to speak on your behalf to their husbands and anyone else who might question your devotion to the Tracelands.”
Despite himself, Kien laughed. “As I said, you’re my favorite meddler.”
“Of course I am.”
Ela set the flickering lamps into niches within the tunnel walls, then stepped back, trying to gauge the men’s progress in finishing the stairs.
Wearing scarves tied over their noses and mouths, Father, Deuel, Ishvah, and half a dozen others worked together, chiseling at the stone and passing rocks down the steps in an unspoken communication forged through long days of joint labor. Their mutual masterpiece, the stairs, resembled one of Parne’s ascending paths, though it approached the crest of a cavern rather than the edge of a roof. Surely they were within days of completion. Then, once Father and the others were certain they could safely reach Siphran or Istgardian forces, they would escape Parne’s destruction.
Ela wished she could escape with them. Yet, somehow, that would become impossible.
Infinite, guard them, please.
A sense of His waiting patience answered. With something like an unspoken rebuke. All right. Ela frowned, sifting through her thoughts. Her emotions. Her attitude. How had she erred? Infinite?
Do you not yet trust Me with those you love?
Ow. Yes, there it was. She still doubted His provision for her family and friends. Hadn’t she conquered this weakness? Would she struggle with it until she died, all too soon? Dejection made her droop like some sort of wilting plant. Infinite, forgive me, please. I’m thinking and behaving like someone who doesn’t understand You. Help me.
I am here.
Something in His words alerted her. Nudged her. Ela shook off her feelings of dejection, then looked around the tunnel. Now that she’d replenished the lamps and brought a cache of fruit from the tree, she wasn’t needed here. She called up to Father, “I’m leaving!”
Dan grunted. “Take a torch.”
“Thank you, I will.” She lifted one of the crudely fashioned, resin-soaked torches from a pile near the steps, then cautiously lit it with a lamp’s flame. Torches didn’t burn nearly as long as lamps, but their glow was brighter. Just holding this torch made her long for her prophet’s insignia, the branch. She hadn’t realized how much she’d depended upon the branch’s light and its surrounding sense of protection. Was this part of the reason the Infinite had removed it from her? Had she been using the branch as a spiritual crutch? She hoped not.
Such a prophet she’d proven to be. An absolute failure. Ela shoved away her self-accusations before they took hold of her thoughts. Why was she feeling so dismal today? What was wrong?
Praying silently, she lifted the flaring torch high and hurried through the tunnel, her boots crunching over stray bits of rock and dust. Here and there along the walls, the poisonous golden crystals glinted from the shadows like claws. Delicate yet lethal talons clutching rocks throughout this passageway. Just waiting to attack and carve toxic furrows into her flesh. No. Not yet. She must contemplate greater things and consider her blessings. She shivered.
Just as she reached the end of the tunnel, a low, ominous reverberation shuddered through the cavern beyond, permeating Ela’s body and rattling her to the core. She froze in her tracks. What was that? A rockfall? Infinite?
His answer was a whisper of images sent to rest uneasily within her thoughts, provoking a pounding headache. She saw Chacen, gaunt, hateful, and armed with a yellow blade, storming a home in the city above, accompanied by his equally furious weapon-wielding followers. They were invading Parne’s innermost locales, placing oily cakes within walls and igniting trailing wicks. Destroying hidden tomb houses within Parne.
“He’s trying to find me?” Ela nearly choked on the insight. “He’s destroying tomb houses and shrines to uncover our hiding place?”
Yes.
“Oh no!” Still seeing the weapons in her enemies’ hands, she dashed from the tunnel and turned, her focus drawn to the tree’s luminous presence. Toward the precious souls sheltered beneath its branches. Men, women, and children. Mother. Jess. “Infinite, is Chacen very near?”
Yes.
She approached the tree, breathless, not daring to speak aloud. Can I stop him?
Yes.
By surrendering to Chacen, she realized.
Then he would kill her. Sweat filmed Ela’s palms. She quivered, causing the torch to waver in her grasp. To give herself time to pray and overcome the panic, Ela knelt and rolled the torch over the cavern’s floor, extinguishing its flickering light.
Infinite? If I surrender to C
hacen by dawn tomorrow, will it be soon enough?
An unspoken affirmation settled her. Ela breathed a sigh. Thank You.
She mustn’t cry. She wouldn’t. She needed to trust her Creator and think instead of a blessing. Her family and His faithful ones would be spared.
Still trembling inwardly, Ela found her mother.
Sheltered in the tree’s glow with Jess in her lap, Kalme lifted her dark brows, eyes wide with fear. “What was that noise? That quaking?”
“The Infinite showed me it was a tomb house collapsing in the city. Rather close, but everyone will be safe enough down here.”
Kalme’s distress eased visibly. “How is your father?”
“He’s fine. They’ll finish the stairs in a day or two. May I hold Jess?”
“Of course.” Mother looked down at Jess, clearly doting over his plump little form, his sweet face and bright brown eyes. “He’s getting heavy.”
Ela snatched her baby brother and kissed him, mumbling into his warm little cheek until he rewarded her with a toothless, soul-soothing grin.
Another more ominous boom rumbled through the vast cavern, shaking everyone. And shaking the walls. Ela huddled over her brother, shielding Jess from a spattering rain of clods and dust. Was Chacen bringing down the whole city?
Around her, she heard the other women and children shrieking. Jess cried, evidently resentful of Ela’s protective grip. When the dustfall stopped, Ela sat up, jostling her infant brother to soothe him. He scrunched his tiny face at her and put out his lower lip, Tzana-like. Yes, beyond doubt offended. “If only you knew,” she told him.
Kalme reached for Jess. “That one was closer! You’re sure we’re safe here?”
“Yes, Mother. Don’t worry.”
Though the attacks would succeed if she didn’t surrender. Everyone here would be condemned as traitors to Parne. Ela shivered, almost seeing the bloodied swords and knives wielded by Chacen and his followers, exacting revenge on the Infinite’s faithful without reason or pity.
Infinite? I’m ready. I’ll go.
29
Kien shifted on Scythe’s back, settling his feet into place along the destroyer’s war collar.
