by Wendy Wang
The child closed her eyes and Eryn watched, astounded as the wound began to stitch itself together. His belly contracted a few times and he blinked wildly, gurgling blood at first then finally spittle. He coughed and Y’Ana kissed his head again, sitting back on her heels.
“All better,” the child said.
“Y’Ana, where did you learn to do that?” Eryn asked her mouth agape.
“Trygg,” Y’Ana said, stroking his hair.
“Trygg?” Eryn gazed into his face. He turned his head and smiled. “Oh, my sweet goddess! Are you all right?”
“Help me up,” he said, his voice weak and scratchy. Eryn pulled him to a sitting position before launching into his arms.
“I thought I’d lost you,” she wept against his neck.
“Still here,” he said. His arms tightened around her. “The passage is open.”
Eryn pulled out of his arms and glanced over her shoulder. “It is.”
“We could just walk through. The three of us,” he said softly.
“We could,” Eryn said, pressing her forehead to his, her nose resting against his. “But Peter will hunt us. He needs Harbee. He loves Y’Ana, but he needs Harbee — for his plans.”
“He told you his plans?”
“Not everything, not enough. Harbee is… was giving him the means to conquer all the realms. Without her…”
“The paintings?” Trygg said. Eryn nodded and he stared over her shoulder, his eyes focusing on the spinning, ethereal light between the identical tree trunks. “We should take her away.”
Eryn pressed her lips to his, soaking in the soft warmth, and love he cast over her. He kissed her softly at first, and then pulled away.
“What is it?” Trygg asked. “I feel your ambivalence. I thought you wanted this, thought you wanted to take her someplace safe.”
“I do. More than anything,” Eryn said. A tear burned its way down her cheek. “But I want to stop him, too.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.
“He feels close to me now. With Harbee and Y’Ana gone, I can get even closer to him. I can—” Her heart beat in her throat. She couldn’t believe she was having such thoughts. “I can pass them on to Callan — and she can get them to you and Cai.”
“No!” Trygg said. “You come with us. We’ll get to Tamarik. We’ll talk to the chief and the new Queen. We will find another way to defeat him.”
“Trygg — we both know there is no other way.” She stroked his face. “I’ll tell him Harbee escaped through the Zoie with Y’Ana. I’ll tell him you and the others were killed.”
“He’s gonna ask why you didn’t die.”
“I’ll tell him the truth. That the trees protected me. He’ll believe that.”
“Eryn —” He grabbed her and pulled her to him. “Please don’t make me do this without you.”
For a split second, she almost grabbed his and Y’Ana’s hands and headed towards the tree. It would be so easy to leave all this behind. To finally finish this journey, she had started with her father what seemed like ages now.
“I have a voice because of you. Did you know that? It’s time to learn to use it instead of staying silent. Don’t you think?” She dragged her lips over his cheek until she found his mouth. She kissed him deeply, longingly, wanting it to never end.
“I will come back for you. I will get the girl to safety. And I will come back for you.” he whispered against her lips. “You promise me you will stay alive until that day.”
“I promise,” Eryn said softly.
His arms pulled away from her body and he got to his feet. He held out his hand. “Come on, sweetie.”
Y’Ana looked to Eryn. “It’s okay, honey. Go with Trygg. I’ll come soon.”
“Promise?” Y’Ana said.
“I promise,” Eryn said, and it was not a lie. Y’Ana wrapped her arms around Eryn’s neck and hugged her tightly. Then she slipped her little handed into Trygg’s.
Eryn watched as the light flickered around the two of them. A blinding flash made her cover her eyes as they passed through to their destination. When Eryn pulled her hand away from her eyes, the tree trunk had joined together again, and somewhere in the distance the chatter of squirrels and the song of birds echoed through the forest.
******
When she told him her account of everything that happened, she braced herself for him to throw something at her, as her father had done whenever he was angry with her. It shocked her when he fell to his knees, grabbed her around the waist and wept. Eryn ran her fingers through his thick dark hair.
“Shh,” she said softly “I’m here. It’s all going to be all right.”
“You have to promise me, Mouse,” he said, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe. “Promise me you will never leave me and you will never betray me.”
Eryn took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “I promise.”
******
“I will only be a minute,” Eryn said to the guardsman. “I just want to try on these things.”
He looked bored and more interested in the shop girl than the armful of clothing Eryn held up. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, giving the shop girl a smile. The shop girl, a beauty with thick, raven-colored hair braided down her back, smiled at the guardsman and batted her eyes. When the guardsman’s attention was fully on the girl, Eryn saw the signal— the shop girl’s waving hand as she brushed something off of the guardsman’s shoulder.
Eryn slipped inside the dressing tent and pulled the flap shut. She undressed and sat down on the stool. Tearing the four stitches holding the flap over the pocket inside her wide fabric belt, she opened it and removed two folded pieces of paper with the information she’d written down carefully from memory. She put on one of the long dresses she’d brought into the dressing room, tucked the papers into the pocket and stepped into the shop to look in the full length mirror. The shop girl laughed and pulled herself away from the guardsman. He leaned against the counter and watched the shop girl attend to her.
“I’m not so certain about this one,” Eryn said. “I think the pattern may be too fussy for me.”
The shop girl nodded. “Yes. I believe you may be right.”
“I think I like the dark lilac dress better.” Eryn’s eyes flickered to the girl’s in the mirror and she patted the right pocket.
“I think it would suit your coloring better.” The shop girl nodded.
“And it is my favorite color. I’ll just get out of this, then.”
A smile curved the shop girl’s lips. “Fine. You can just hand me the dress through the door and I’ll hang it back on the rack.”
Eryn disappeared into the dressing tent and changed back into her clothes. She picked up the dark lilac dress and hung it in the crook of her arm, not bothering to try it on.
“This is for you,” Eryn said, handing the shop girl the patterned dress. “And I’ll take this one.” Eryn pointed to the dress hanging over her arm.
“Wonderful.” The shop girl’s smile widened. She held her hand over the pocket where Eryn had placed the two notes for Callan to deliver—one with information on Peter’s next target and one a note to be sent to Tamarik. For Trygg and Y’Ana.
“Can you just charge this to the Emperor’s account?” Eryn said. The title still stuck in her throat every time she said.
“Yes, ma’am.” The shop girl nodded and wrapped up the dress in brown paper and tied it with a long strip of red ribbon. The girl handed her the package and grinned wide as she said, “Give the Emperor my best wishes.”
“Indeed, I will.” Eryn nodded and stepped into the sunlight, stopping briefly to breathe in the scents and sounds of the bustling city before heading home.
To be continued in The Metal Kael: The Book of Kaels Vol. 3
The Metal Kael
The Book of Kaels
Vol. 3
By
Wendy Wang
Copyright © 2015 by Wendy Wang
w
ww.wendywangauthor.com
One
Sorrel Qinsa stood against the wall waiting her turn. Her eyes flitted between the five elders sitting in a semicircle on the floor and the girl standing before them. Hadlyn Roche would definitely be accepted. No doubt about it. Even though she was younger than Sorrel, she was a powerful seer, or at least she had the makings of one. The elders looked at each other, not saying a word before finally Paltrin Veit nodded and Hadlyn knelt down bowing her head. She had been accepted. Sorrel's stomach dropped to her feet. It was her turn.
“Sorrel Qinsa,” said Paltrin Veit. The older woman shifted on her ornately embroidered pillow. Her straight dark hair was pulled into a long braid down the middle of her back, and thinner silver braids formed from her graying hair stretched in a band across her forehead. Small rough-cut gems of green and red wrapped in gold wire hung from the braid, adorning her face, marking her as the prima elder. The four other women wore their hair the same with silver braids across their foreheads. Each had strands of hair that had been dyed blue, purple or crimson woven into the band of braids, denoting their rank.
Sorrel took a deep breath and stepped into the semi-circle and nodded. Her eyes scanned their faces once, only stopping briefly before moving on to the next elder. Only one of them smiled at her, Beland Pope, the medicine woman and healer for their small village.
A weak smile tugged at one corner of Sorrel’s mouth and the knot in her belly twisted tighter. Her fingers squeezed the papers in her hand, making them rustle and crinkle.
“Well?” Paltrin said. Her hazel eyes steadied on Sorrel’s. “What do you have to show us child?”
Sorrel swallowed hard and laid out the papers on the floor in front of the elders, smoothing the wrinkles as best she could. The drawings were simple, mostly symbols she’d drawn in the white heat of a vision. Her throat constricted when she opened her mouth to speak.
“What are these supposed to be?” Paltrin Veit asked. A heavy line formed between her dark brows.
“M-m-my visions.” Heat filled her cheeks and she glanced away. She had practiced this moment in the mirror and had said it almost perfectly this morning with barely any stutter. Paltrin did not look at her. Everyone else shifted on their pillows, and stared at the drawings before them. Paltrin frowned and leaned forward, grabbing one of the drawings.
“Your visions,” Paltrin said and the lines of around her mouth grew long and deep as she studied the sketch.
“Th-th-that is a vision of th-th—” Sorrel’s tongue felt thick and heavy. She squeezed her eyes closed and pressed her lips together.
“It's all right Sorrel,” Beland said, softly. It was the same voice she used when she worked with Sorrel on improving her stutter. Usually it calmed Sorrel. “Just take your time.”
“Take her time?” Paltrin clucked her tongue. “How can anyone take their time with a vision? The child will need to be able to communicate to be an effective seer. The paintings aren't enough. And they're not even that good. Too simplistic.”
“It sounds as if you've already made your decision Paltrin.” Beland’s lips contorted and her strong, thick fingers curled into fists. Paltrin glowered at her subordinate, but the medicine woman did not shrink from her leader's gaze. “Go on Sorrel. Tell us more about the picture.”
Sorrel nodded. “Th-the image came t-to m-me before the attack on th-the queen.”
Paltrin snickered, “So, this is to depict the queen's death? Is that what this is? Our dead queen?”
Sorrel nodded, ignoring Paltrin’s condescending tone. If only the words would come easier she could explain them better. Paltrin passed the image to the elder next to her. The woman glanced at it grimaced, and passed it to the next elder. “Is that all?”
“N-no.” Sorrel knelt to the ground and picked up another image, handing it to Paltrin. “Th-th-this one is th-the new queen. Sh-sh-she’s fighting for t-t-the realms. S-see?”
Paltrin held it lightly in her fingers, as if she didn't want to touch it. “Sorrel, the point of drawing our visions is so it leaves no questions for the interpreter. This just looks like a bunch of lines and stick-figures to me. Sometimes the seer may not get the opportunity to interpret. These drawings of yours are very crude. While I have no doubt about your abilities to see, I have serious doubts about your ability to paint and communicate those visions effectively. Everyone in this village has the potential to be a great seer. But only a few are chosen Sorrel because they must have all the skills necessary. Perhaps in another year or two, if you continue to work with healer Pope on improving your speech and work on your artistry then we will consider you for an apprenticeship,” Paltrin said each of the words carefully. “Are we in agreement elders?” Sorrel's eyes drifted to each elder, landing on Beland Pope last. Each elder said her “Ay.” Beland glance away and nodded when it came her turn to voice her “Ay.”
Tears burned at the back of Sorrel’s throat, but she refused to cry in front of them. She gathered her drawings not bothering to shuffle or put them into order. She pushed past the other contenders, not caring who she knocked into and exited the community house, where meals were eaten and important decisions were made. Once outside she crumpled the drawings into a ball, and tossed them into the dirty snow. Three years in a row she had tried and now failed. Her legs moved faster and faster until she was running down the main thoroughfare of her village, heading towards the forest.
******
Neala stared at the coffered ceiling of her bedroom, listening to the soft snore next to her. Cai was going to be so angry with her when he woke up and found her gone, but really what should he have expected? He married her knowing exactly what she was like. She took a deep breath and slid from beneath his arm, careful to lay it gently on top of the pillow. He snorted, and clutched the pillow to him. Her heart sung in her chest and she bit back a grin. Sometimes she still couldn't believe how much she loved him. But her love would not stop her from what she needed to do today.
She stepped into the closet and dressed, taking care not to make any noise. Autumn in Tamarik meant chilly mornings and almost warm afternoons, but this morning she reached for her heaviest winter coat—thick, green wool lined with the softest flannel and fur trimming the wrists and hood. There would be snow where she was going today. She grabbed her field bag and glanced over her shoulder to make sure Cai's eyes were still closed before gathering the half a dozen sheets of parchment lying on her desk. She straightened them, rolled them into a cylinder and tied them with the piece of jute before putting them inside her bag. Her fingers made a quick braid of her hair and she pinned it to the base of her head before grabbing her favorite scarf and knit hat. Lastly, she leaned over Cai placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. He didn't move. The folded paper on his bedside table explained everything. He would find it when he woke and he would be livid, of that she had no doubt. They could yell at each other later. And then they could make up. Yes, making up was the best part of fighting, often leading to deep hungry kisses and other things that made her cheeks burn. She liked being married, liked being part of a team, even though sometimes she wasn't very good at it. Like today.
The brass door knob tingled against her fingers and she cursed under her breath. The map. It was tucked safely inside the top drawer of her desk where Cai would never see it. Neala moved across the floor quickly. The floorboard creaked and she froze in place. Cai mumbled something and Neala held her breath, waiting. When he didn’t move again, she took care to open the drawer and grab the map. She didn’t breathe again until she closed the door behind her. Once in the hallway, she sailed past the posts of wardens along her way to the kitchen, saying hello or good morning. None of them would stop her now that she was queen. Well, not quite true, one of them would stop her. But she had planned very carefully how to handle him.
“Good morning Cook,” Neala said as she entered the kitchen. Cook turned around, her round face reddening with fluster.
“Good morning Your Majesty,” Cook said, bowing her head.
“So what do you have for me today?” Neala asked giving her a gentle smile.
“Well, since you said you'd be going someplace cold today, I've packed a jar with some vegetable soup along with four sandwiches just as you asked. A couple of apples. And a couple of hand pies. Along with some ginger beer. Which is my own special recipe so it should warm you up as well,” Cook grinned and winked at her.
“Sounds wonderful,” Neala said looking over the food Cook had made. Fitting all of it her bag might be a little tricky.
“Good morning Your Majesty,” a voice said from behind. She winced and grinned at the same time.
“Good morning Gordon,” she said turning to face him.
“And where exactly are we off to this morning that calls for a jug of soup, and ginger beer to keep you warm?” He folded his arms across his metal chest plate and focused his deep green eyes on her.
“Nowhere special.” She shrugged and bit the inside of her cheeks to keep from grinning. “Just a walk in the woods.”
“A walk in the woods, eh? That’s quite a bit of food for a simple walk in the woods.” He shook his head and the line between his bushy reddish-blond brows grew deep. “You wouldn’t be up to your old tricks again?” His eyes narrowed. “I know it's been a while since you’ve been hiking through the mountains but—” his eyes flitted between her and Cook. The old woman’s jowls sagged and she looked at the floor. “It has been a while since you've been into the mountains, hasn't it?”
“We should let Cook get back to work.” Neala patted the woman’s arm and picked up the insulated jar. She opened the flap of her bag, surveying the space. How was she going to make everything fit?
“Sweet Jerugia are you really going to eat four sandwiches?” Gordon said, looking over the feast on the table.
“Of course not. Half of it is yours.” She gave him a sly grin. “Assuming it takes two days to get there. May take less time if you stop complaining.”
