Whispers of Heaven (Saga of the Rose Book 1)

by Krista Rose

  Marla gasped.

  He grinned. “You haven’t heard of the Darkling Prince?”

  Didn’t you just say that? Kylee’s thoughts were biting, her discomfort making her waspish. Why are we listening to this idiot?

  This idiot is helping Kryssa, Lanya reminded her mildly. Be nice.

  Bah.

  “We are the people of the Forest.” The man gestured expansively, though his eyes were somewhat mocking. “We relieve the rich of their excess possessions, in an effort to finance our nobler cause.”

  They’re thieves, I realized at last.

  Of course they are. I could almost feel Kylee roll her eyes. Did you really think this was a summer palace for bored nobles? Who else would live in the damned trees?

  “Nobler cause?” Alyxen repeated, ignoring her. “What nobler cause?”

  The Prince’s gaze was intent. “Freeing slaves.”

  It was just the right tone of dramatic emphasis that would have made a trained actor swoon, and yet it was lost upon us. We merely stared at him blankly.

  We knew of slavery, of course, but in a distant way, from books rather than experience. Valory was an empire, and empires were always built upon the backs of slaves. They worked in the lumber yards or the silver mines or the Salt Flats, harvested our fields and tended our livestock. Without them, Valory had no labor force for its resources, no ability to keep the prices fair and reasonable at market.

  But I’d never been forced to think on it before, for slavery had not existed in Desperation, and we’d had our hands full with our own survival.

  “What does this have to do with us?” Kylee asked after a moment, saving me from having to respond- though my heart did jump a bit, expecting a cutting remark that never came. I had worries enough by the dozen, and Kylee mouthing off to this Prince was one more I didn’t need.

  He blinked, and his amusement vanished. “I had thought it would be obvious. I am offering you sanctuary.”

  It took me moment to make sense of his words, and then I started to laugh. “You think we’re slaves.”

  “It was assumed, due to your dress and your sister’s condition.” He stared at me. “You are not runaway slaves, then?”

  I shook my head, still smiling. “No. We’re not.”

  His head tilted. “Then who are you?”

  My muscles clenched in warning, making me wary, and my smile faded. For all his deceptive calm, this man was dangerous. One wrong word could end in disaster. “We’re orphans,” I replied carefully. “Our home burned down, and our sister was hurt. We were looking for a healer when Marla found us.”

  Whatever he thought of my tale, it did not show on his face. “Born free, all of you? Brothers and sisters?”

  I nodded.

  “And what are your thoughts on the ownership of other men?”

  Unbidden, an image rose in my mind, ripped from the mind of the Crone: Alyxen, tortured and mutilated while Kylee sat in chains, waiting for her soul to be consumed. Kryssa’s screams echoed in my head.

  My stomach revolted, and my breath caught in my lungs as I forced the vision away. My voice was harsh. “No one should be able to possess someone else.”

  He stared, considering, and finally relaxed into his throne. “Well then, welcome to the Camp of the Darkling Prince.”

  I swallowed my sickness and tried to smile. “Thank you.”

  The Prince motioned to two men, who carried over a table and set it before him. A bench was placed opposite the throne, and he gestured graciously for us to sit as someone brought us a tray laden with steaming bowls of stew.

  I suddenly remembered I was starving.

  The Prince watched as we ate ravenously, his gaze tolerant. It was only when we were sated, our bowls wiped clean with thick dark bread, that he spoke again. “What are your names?”

  I saw no harm in giving them, and so I made introductions, adding Kryssa’s name despite her absence. The Prince nodded and folded his hands, tapping his index fingers together. “And what services can you provide to the Camp?”

  I blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged. “Surely you have realized by now that no gift ever comes without a cost? My healers have been tending to your sister’s injuries, and they say it will be some time before she is ready to travel again. You will want to stay here until she is recovered, yes? That means staying in one of my houses, eating meals made from my supplies. We are charitable, but we can hardly afford five new mouths to feed without expecting something in return.”

  I nodded, understanding. I had not considered before, in our exhausted, heartsick search, but we had no means to pay for the services of a healer. We were poor, only a handful of copper dhabis between us.

  “We were raised on a farm,” I said, unwilling to tell him of our other gifts. The lesson of the Crone’s treachery had been well-learned: trust no one. “I worked the fields. Lanya mends, and has a small gift with herbs. Kylee tended to our animals. Alyxen has some of the skills of a tinker, and Reyce-” I hesitated, remembering my brother plunging a blade into our father’s back “-helped me.”

  The Prince nodded thoughtfully at this list. “And your sister, the eldest?”

  “Protector,” I said immediately without thinking, and could have bitten off my tongue.

  His head tilted quizzically. “Protector?”

  “She looks out for us,” I amended lamely. “Whatever needs doing, she does.”

  He nodded again, his lips pursing in thought. “I have no need of farming. Can you hunt?”

  “Adequately.”

  “I can,” Reyce spoke up. “And I’m good at it.”

  The Prince grinned. “We shall have to test that, then.” His smile lingered as he looked us over once more, and then snapped his fingers. “Marla.”

  She stepped forward, and I blinked; I had almost forgotten she was there. “My lord?”

  “See that they are comfortable in their new home, and jobs assigned to them. This one-” he pointed at me “-put on one of the retrieval teams.”

  She bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

  He waved a hand at us. “Marla will take you to see your sister now. If you have any questions, she will answer them.”

  It was a dismissal, and so I stood, bowing awkwardly in imitation of Marla, hand over heart. “Thank you.”

  He nodded, and Marla took my elbow. Though his bearing remained regal in his wooden throne, his eyes were mocking as he watched her lead us away.

  I wondered, a little too late, what we had gotten ourselves into.

  The healer’s building, which Marla referred to as the Infirmary, was similar in design to the other houses of the Camp, though slightly larger and much more crowded. Men in the black smocks of healers hurried back and forth, their faces both intent and emotionless as they attended to the wounded. The smell of blood and death and lemon mixed nauseatingly, and I clenched my jaw against the urge to flee.

  In place of hammocks, there were low cots, lined neatly against two walls. The far wall was crammed with bookshelves, upon which sat rows of bottles, each labelled with a careful hand. A small desk, laden with scrolls and blank parchments, was the room’s only other furnishing.

  There were a few other patients in the Infirmary, but Kryssa appeared to be the worst of them, three healers hovering at her side. As I watched, one of them lifted her head, pouring a cup of some dark liquid into her mouth as another massaged her throat to make her swallow. I thought again of the Crone, forcing her to drink the potion that had been Father’s vice, and shuddered.

  One of her healers spotted us, and walked over. He was older, perhaps late thirties, with the worn, lined face of someone who cared too much. He attempted a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m Bryonis,” he introduced himself. “Is one of you Vitric? She’s been asking for you.”

  “I know. We’ve been hearing that name for days.” I shrugged. “We don’t know who that is.”

  “Oh. My apologies, then. What is your rel
ationship with the patient?”

  I gave him a flat stare. “She’s our sister.”

  “Ah.” He nodded, oblivious to my mood. “Well, there isn’t much to tell you, yet. We’ve drained her wounds and cleaned them, and we’re giving her feverbreak tea every quarter of an hour or so. She hasn’t woken up since she arrived, but we’re hopeful.”

  I swallowed, his false cheer tasting bitter. “How bad is it, really?”

  He sighed, and his shoulders slumped as the smile vanished. “It’s not the worst I’ve ever seen, but it’s not good, either.”

  I nodded, unable to speak around the sudden lump in my throat.

  “When will she wake up?” Reyce’s eyes were wide and frightened.

  “I don’t know,” Bryonis replied honestly. “It could be a few days, or a few weeks.”

  Or never. I stared at Kryssa. In sleep, with the intensity of her eyes hidden behind pale lids, I could at last see her as these strangers did: young, too young for the burdens thrust upon her, too young to be a ghost haunting her own skin. Her face seemed carved from warm marble, and her hair spread across the pillows, stark as blood against the white.

  She looked fragile, and helpless fury coursed through me, mixing with my shame. Protector, I had named her, and it was true. But why hadn’t I protected her?

  I sighed, and looked at Marla. Her dark gaze was sympathetic, and I wondered if she had read my emotions on my face. I felt again that odd flutter of nerves, as if the ground swayed beneath my feet.

  But she said nothing, and led us back out of the Infirmary into the star-filled night, where I gulped in clean air like a drowning man.

  We were given a brief tour, Marla pointing out places of interest as we made our way across the bridges by the light of lanterns that glimmered like fireflies among the leaves. The Camp had its own carpenters, tinkers, armorers, and seamstresses, and all, she claimed, were important to the success of their mission. I listened with half an ear, weariness pounding on my bones. It had been days since I’d had more than a couple of hours of sleep, and my relief that Kryssa was at last being seen by healers left me weak and lightheaded.

  We were finally led back to our house, and Marla bid us good night, promising to return for us in the morning to assign us jobs in the Camp. I scarcely heard her leave, already crawling into my hammock, and was asleep within moments.

  I only woke once, which I suppose was a mercy in itself, given the discomfort of sleeping in hammocks. It was fully dark when I awoke, the moon settling over the distant trees, my heart hammering in abrupt terror. A shadow loomed over me, outlined against the blackness by the faint stars.

  For a brief moment, I thought it was Father, returned to kill me.

  Golden light touched my mind, and a cool hand brushed my cheek. Lanya. “You were having a nightmare,” she murmured, comforting and quiet in the dark. “Is it alright now?”

  I smiled, my heart calming, and reached up to touch her hair, as I often had when we were small. “Yes. I’m alright.”

  “Good. Go back to sleep, then.”

  I sighed, and tumbled back into dreamlessness.

  BRANNYN

  20 Llares 577A.F.

  Morning dawned with fair skies, and Marla returned. Farm life had ingrained rising before the sun, and so I was already awake and alert when she arrived, shivering as I dried myself from my bath behind the privacy of my cloak. She had brought us clean clothes, and I donned mine hurriedly: a sturdy pair of cambric breeches and a black linen shirt and tunic. Soft leather boots replaced my old, crumbling pair, and I swung on a dark, weather-proofed cloak, blushing as she looked me over with a careful eye.

  I bid farewell to my siblings, and followed her out into the early morning sunlight. Curiosity was beginning to filter its way through the previous day’s exhaustion, and I looked at her as she led me across the bridges. “So, what is this retrieval team?”

  She shrugged. “The retrieval team is simply that: a team sent out to retrieve whatever we need. Supplies, mostly. Occasionally they assist the rescue teams with their efforts.”

  “Rescue teams?”

  “The ones sent out to rescue slaves.” She glanced at me, and I struggled to ignore the clutch in my stomach. “Surely you figured out that was our purpose by now.”

  I hadn’t, but I saw no reason to let her know that. “Of course.”

  She continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “There are eight teams. Three for retrieval, three for rescue, and two for reports. Retrieval gathers supplies and assists rescue and the hunters when needed. Rescue finds slaves, liberates them, and brings them back here for safety before relocating them. I’m on rescue. Reports is our information network. They bring us news of possible supplies, slave traffic, potential threats against the Camp, and so on.”

  “Threats against the Camp?” I repeated.

  “We’re freeing slaves.” She smiled at me, her dark eyes fierce. “Merchants and slave owners don’t take kindly to people taking their property. Believe me, if they could find us, they would kill us all. Why else would we live so high in the trees?”

  A shiver traced itself down my spine at her matter-of-fact tone. I had thought we might be safe here in the Camp- but then what need would they have of so many healers? I began to feel foolish, and more than a little worried.

  My concern must have shown on my face, because Marla put a hand on my arm, drawing us to a stop on a small landing. The sun glinted on her hair, revealing streaks of gold amid the curls. “There is good purpose here,” she told me, her face serious. “To help those who need us, to give the desperate and the caged a better way of life. It’s the Gods’ own will that moves us, that all should be free.”

  I could see her conviction, and the nearly spiritual peace that she found in her calling, and it pulled at my own sense of purposelessness. To have that utter faith that what she was doing was right… It must be euphoric.

  But I had my brothers and sisters to think of, and the dangers this place might hold for them. While Kryssa was injured, it was a haven, where we could heal and recover. But I was unwilling to plunge headlong into blind devotion to this cause, when it might place my family in jeopardy.

  So all I did was nod, and we resumed our walk.

  After a few moments of quiet, I asked her a question that had been bothering me. “Where are all the other women? I assume you rescue them as well.”

  “We do.” Her face shifted, her gaze not quite reaching mine. “They usually choose to leave. Very few stay.”

  “Ah.” Her answer seemed off, but I couldn’t understand why. I wanted to ask if she had once been a slave as well, but I didn’t know her well enough to pry. “What about children?”

  “We take the children to temples, and leave them there as foundlings with donations from our raids. Most choose to enter the temple’s service when they come of age. It’s a better life than they might have had.”

  “Where do you rescue them from?”

  “The Salt Flats, mostly. A few farms and quarries. Sometimes we go as far as the silver mines.”

  “What about towns, or cities?”

  “Oh, no. Too many guards. We’d all end up dead.”

  I blinked, taken aback. My mouth opened, another question on the tip of my tongue, but she stopped, and gestured. “Retrieval headquarters.”

  It was merely a house, nearly identical to the one I shared with my siblings, and filled with stony-faced men, who measured me with bland, disconcerting gazes. Marla quickly introduced me as their newest recruit, and left.

  A large, darkly-tanned man looked me over, his face revealing nothing of his thoughts. I was tall, but this man towered over me, and his shaved head gleamed with oil. His thick mustache all but hid his mouth from view. I gulped with nerves, but when he spoke his voice was surprisingly mild. “Retrieval team, eh? What did you do before?”

  “I ran a farm,” I replied truthfully.

  Some of the men snickered.

  The big man simply looked at them, and they
fell silent. “Farmboy, eh? Big lad like you ought to be used to honest labor.”

  It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. “Yes, sir.”

  He smiled, his mustache bristling like a hedgehog. “There’ll be no ‘sirs’ around here, lad. I’m Rigger, and that’s what you’ll call me.”

  “Rigger.” I returned his grin. “I’m Brannyn.”

  “Good lad.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder, nearly sending me to my knees. “You’ll be with Tanner’s team.” He pointed toward a corner, where three men sat on empty crates. “Any questions, bring ‘em to me. Otherwise, be off.”

  I murmured my thanks as he turned to other things, and made my way through the crowd to Tanner. He was a thin, sharp man with a pointed nose and brownish-blonde hair, and he looked familiar to me, though it took long moments to place him. “You’re the one who checked on my sister.”

  He grinned, his expression more friendly without the dark face paint. “Well, if it isn’t the kid who tried to stare down Marla. How’s your sister faring?”

  “Much better,” I lied, wishing it were true. “Thank you.”

  His face softened for a moment in sympathy. Then he glanced to the two men sitting beside him. They almost seemed part of a matching set: large, menacing, with shaved heads and heavy muscles that strained the seams of their clothing. They stared at me, expressionless, as Tanner gestured to them. “This is Digger and Breaker.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I managed.

  They nodded, unspeaking.

  “They’re mute,” Tanner told me helpfully, pushing a heavy bow and quiver full of arrows into my hands. “Their old master cut their tongues out before selling them to the silver mines. We freed them a couple of years ago, and named them after that old mining song. You know it?”

  “No.” I held the longbow clumsily, unused to its weight and length.

  “Here.” He helped slide the strap of the quiver over my chest, then showed me how to unstring the bow and carry it over my shoulder so I wouldn’t trip over it. “There. Try not to lose all the arrows. And don’t kill anyone if you can help it. We’re not rescue, after all.” He looked me over with a grin. “Well, come on, Farmboy.” He set off through the crowd, Digger and Breaker close on his heels, and I trailed after them, bewildered.