Embers

by Ronie Kendig

  “You fled the safety of our warriors and now return for what? To bring us all down?”

  “No,” she cried. “I did not want to leave. You know better than anyone, Archon, that it was not of my choosing.”

  “It was mine,” came a firm but quiet voice that shook not with anger but old age. A wobbly woman hobbled forward with her walking staff.

  Thiel cupped her hand. “Cranna.” She shook her head, overwhelmed by the memories. The heartache.

  “I warned you not to return,” Cranna said

  Thiel fought the tears. “I didn’t mean to. We . . .”

  The glow brightened.

  “He must be destroyed,” Cranna said, pointing a gnarled finger. “Or he will destroy us all.”

  Through her tears, she looked at Haegan and finally found his eyes on hers. She touched two fingers to her lips, reminding him of the pill. Take it, she mouthed.

  “She does not take this seriously,” someone grumbled. “Even now she prefers the twig over her archon.”

  “Please,” Thiel said, dragging her gaze back to Cadeif, who stood conferring with Cranna and—O Abiassa, no—Fut, the one warrior who’d hated her from the start because Cadeif had claimed her beneath the banner of Kedardokith.

  “She should be hanged as we should have done when she stole into our camp years ago,” Fut growled.

  “That is neither here nor there,” Cranna countered. “She is Etelide and an Ematahri by lifeoath with Cadeif. She must face the punishment for abandoning him and her people. For bringing this abomination before us.”

  “Truth,” Fut said in his gravelly voice. “What purpose is there but to kill us all with this twig?”

  Thiel turned her attention to Haegan again. Pleaded with her eyes for him to take the pill. But he shook his head, the glow and his anger brightening. If he did not—he may very well kill everyone.

  What terrified her most is that he had no idea what was happening. Or how to stop it. In truth, neither did she, other than what had happened under his wrath previously. She would lose everyone here all over again. This time it would be permanent. He had to take the pill. She tilted her head, pleading through her tears.

  “Bring her!” Cadeif shouted. “Remove the twig.”

  “No!” Haegan stepped forward.

  Thiel’s panic peaked. “Rigar, please!” She knew his heart. Knew the only way to end this. “Help me. Take it.”

  Grief-stricken, he hesitated. Stared at her. Then finally broke. His shoulders sagged. He lifted the pill to his mouth, and she nodded encouragement. He took it.

  She closed her eyes in relief. At least she had prevented that much.

  “Secure the twig!”

  “No!” Hot tears coursed down her cheeks as the warriors closed in on Haegan. “Please! I beg your mercy, for myself and for my friends.”

  “No!” the answer boomed, deafening its own silent wake. “No, I will not give you his life! His life is mine to claim for my brothers he killed.”

  25

  Waves of dizziness crashed over Haegan as two Ematahri warriors cuffed Thiel and trailed their leader to the back of the great pavilion. Haegan wrestled against Zoijan, whose powerful hands crushed his resistance with ease. Spots whirled in his vision and his hearing hollowed.

  “No!” Even his own words sounded as if he’d been pushed under water. His limbs were leaden, heavy and cumbersome.

  Darkness swallowed him, but his mind still fought. He could not see or hear, but he could feel. The thuds against his body. The punches he landed . . . or did he? In the thickness of his mind it grew impossible to discern.

  His eyelids felt glued shut. He tried to open them, but his eyes rolled. He saw beams. Or were they bars?

  Boarbeast den!

  • • •

  “Leave us,” Cadeif said, flinging the archon cloak at Raleng, who caught it, shot Thiel a strong warning look but left without a word. Cadeif stripped off the cords of the archon. Coiled them up and tossed them to the side as he faced them. “Fut.”

  The tall warrior gave a stiff bow of his head then backed out. The flap dropped shut, a quiet snap, but it felt like a hammer’s blow against her conscience. They had never been alone, even when she lived here. Cranna had forbidden it. Among other things.

  “I have no power to protect your twig,” Cadeif said, pacing before a small fire. “I cannot give you his life. Unless you can deny he killed Cerar’s clan.”

  She couldn’t. She’d been there, seen it with her own eyes. Except she hadn’t realized so many had died in order for her and Haegan to escape.

  “Do you understand the position you have put me in?”

  Thiel didn’t know what to say, how to act. When she’d been here last, he was her friend. He’d taught her to hunt. Taught her to track. To fight. To blend in.

  Now, he was her archon. And not, all at once.

  Fists at his side, he stared at her. “Do. You. Understand?”

  Confusion riffled through her like the wind tugged at the tent. “I . . .”

  “You claimed Kedardokith.” Now he looked tormented. “In doing so, you have made his victories yours. His training yours. You are responsible for him.”

  “But you refused to release him to—”

  “Because you are mine!” he roared, the veins in his temples bulging. “Mine!” He beat a fist against his chest. “Mine to teach, mine to train, mine to victor with, mine to l—” He pivoted away. His broad back heaved with ragged breaths. His shoulders sagged. “Mine to share failings.”

  Failings?

  “My failings? But I made them. I—”

  “We are one!” He slammed his fist against the table that sat to the side with maps and a wooden pitcher and cup. “Lifeoath!”

  “Then . . . when I left . . .”

  Palms on the table, emphasizing his large arms and shoulders, he closed his eyes and hung his head. “Seveired was forced to try me.”

  A wash of cold rushed through Thiel. “Try . . .” Try to kill him. “He’s . . .” Seveired died forcing Cadeif to defend his honor.

  “He lost.” Cadeif straightened.

  “He was like a father to you!” Pained for the price he’d paid because of her choice—one that had been forced, but still hers—she started forward.

  “The choice was mine. Just as it was yours to walk out of the woods and leave me.”

  “That is not fair.”

  “No, it wasn’t.” His meaning, twisting her own words back on her, hung clear and sharp between them. “You left me to answer to the Ematahri. You left me shamed and dishonored among my brothers.” His words morphed into a growl, his lip curling. “You were mine to defend, mine to lead—and you left!”

  “Cadeif—”

  He held up a hand. “It is not for us to argue the past.” After a sidelong glance, he walked around the table so that its slats stretched between them. “What is for us to argue is your fate.”

  “My fate.”

  “You claimed Kedardokith with a second male. It’s forbidden.”

  “I—how is it forbidden? I hadn’t claimed it before. You claimed it.”

  He banged the table with his fist. “You are mine!” Again, he stood tall, daring her to challenge him.

  And only this time did she understand. “I thought the lifeoath was protection.”

  “It is a bond between brothers—between men. But between a man and a woman . . .” He swallowed and looked away.

  Heat spiraled through her as the realization finally washed through her. A realization that had not come in her two years spent here among the warriors. Not only had Cadeif claimed her as his protégé, but as much more. “But they forbade us!” Her mind tangled. Back then, she had wanted his love. Ached for it. “You sought permission as any warrior would do. Cranna and Seveired refused.”

  This time, he sighed. “I cared not what they said, Etelide.” His words were tender. Soft. “You were mine.” This time, his fist rested over his heart.

  “You would hav
e defied the Counsel?”

  He smirked. “I am Ematahri.”

  Grief crushed the breath from her lungs. “But they told me it was impossible, that I would bring destruction upon the nation.” Her chest ached with the pain of that night, walking away, believing she’d never see him again. “I left to protect you. To free you—” A cry choked her words.

  Cadeif rushed at her. Pulled her close. Cupped her face. “If you had not left, this night would not have come to be.”

  She collapsed, surrendering the tears she’d fought for so long. The ache for his laughter and for what the Counsel had forbidden. She clung to him, siphoning strength she no longer had. “I did not want to leave you. They told me . . . They said I should leave. Fut said you’d be released from the lifeoath. That it’d be as if you had never claimed me.” She dug her fingers into her grip on him.

  He arched back, his chest pushing her head up so that he could look at her. “He said this?”

  She gave a nod.

  Cadeif shook his head, but slowly the consternation gave way to something . . . more. Thiel’s stomach knotted, remembering that look. She hesitated, thinking to resist him.

  But his mouth was on hers. The years, the heartaches, the trials of the last month vanished beneath his warmth. He pulled her against his chest, deepening the kiss.

  But reason, the purpose behind their moments alone, rushed back at her. She pulled away, pressing her forehead against his well-muscled chest.

  He held her tight. Kissed the top of her head. “Your claim on my heart will never die. And I will deal with Fut for his lies. But Etelide—” He again held her face. “Look at me and tell me your twig did not do this—that he’s not responsible for Cerar’s people.”

  Thiel held his gaze, willing at this moment to do anything for Cadeif, as she had been when she lived among his people. Wanting, too, to save Haegan. But lying to Cadeif . . . would mean he would speak untruth, however innocently. And if discovered in that untruth, he would be condemned. Removed from his position as archon. Forcibly.

  “If you do not, I must condemn him.”

  Thiel’s resolution held fast.

  “Do you understand what your silence means?”

  She would not answer. Would not place that burden of guilt on Haegan. He hadn’t meant to kill anyone. She had prodded him. Encouraged him to use the light. Or whatever it was.

  “Because you declared to the nation that you are his protection, I must also condemn you.” Cadeif’s arm slid around her waist and tugged her tighter. “Do not make me do this, Etelide. You are my life.”

  Snugged against him, she rested her cheek against his chest. Listened to his heartbeat as she had done for so many moons. It was safe here, peaceful in a strange way. Wonderful in so many others. He had claimed her. Trained her. Loved her.

  “Is it him, then?” His hand cradled the back of her head. “Is he the one Cranna foretold?”

  At this, she found her voice but not her courage. “I . . . I fear he is, yes.”

  Cadeif released her and moved to the chair, his elbows on his knees as he bent forward, rubbing his scarred knuckles. “Then the Ematahri are at an end.”

  “Do not speak it!” She knelt before him, holding his hands. “You know these things are not clear. A future that has not come cannot be known.”

  “It is the present then, and we know futures can be known. Cranna said you would bring him here. That is why she and Seveired forbade our intimacy.”

  “What she saw could have different meanings.” To believe she had brought destruction upon the people she’d grown to love shattered something deep inside Thiel.

  Cadeif’s fingers traced her jaw and lips. “Death has but one meaning, Etelide.”

  “Cranna never said death—she said ‘an end.’”

  “As always, you seek happy solutions where there are none.”

  “I seek peace.”

  He smiled softly on her. “You are an Ematahri by lifeoath. Peace will never be yours.”

  Thiel closed her eyes, feeling another rift opening in her heart. On the one side, Haegan, faith, and duty. And on the other, what might have been. “Perhaps you are right—I will never be at peace.”

  Cadeif leaned forward and kissed her again.

  “Archon!” The slap of tent flaps severed the quiet moment. Raleng plowed in, his assessing eyes watching as Thiel stumbled off to the side.

  Cadeif straightened, head high and his bearing authoritative.

  “Something’s wrong with the twig. He’s not breathing.”

  26

  “No!” Thiel darted forward, only to realize she did not know where Cadeif’s men had taken Haegan. “He cannot die, Cadeif.”

  “His death releases us from—”

  “You cannot let him die!”

  A dark shadow passed over his handsome features. “You care so much for the twig?”

  “He is . . . his father is very powerful. If something were to happen to him here, among the Ematahri, the consequences could be unfathomable.”

  Cadeif lifted his proud head. “The Ematahri—”

  “Would not stand a chance against his father’s armies.”

  Confusion knotted his expression. “Armies? More than one?” He frowned. “Who is the twig?”

  “He has forbidden me from speaking it.” But perhaps she should, to spare the people she once thrived among.

  “There is only one king in the Nine with more than one army,” Raleng said.

  “Indeed,” Cadeif muttered, once more studying her. His suspicions were growing. No doubt thinking unimaginable things of her.

  “I did not say his father was a king,” Thiel countered.

  “Only a king commands armies.” His words edged toward anger. “You trifle with words when the lives of my people are in your hands!”

  A great shout went up from outside.

  Cadeif rushed out, and Thiel followed, her heart thrumming. Torchlight littered the night and brightened the camp—but the congestion of bodies made it impossible to make their way through.

  What was happening? Had Haegan died? Had he—

  Oh no! What if he’d wiped out more people? What if his power or whatever it was, decimated these people, those she’d once called family? The thought shoved her ahead. She wove through the bodies. “Move!” She pushed harder, wishing Cadeif had taken the lead. Where had he gone? She glanced around and slowed . . .

  Searched the faces. None were looking at her, but she saw the fear all the same. Fear? Since when? Ematahri were notorious for their boldness and unrelenting nature. Their reputation as ravagers had been well earned. But this crowd had all focused on something.

  No, someone. Cadeif stood with the Raleng, Ruldan and Zoijan. The four were talking with another warrior, who motioned frantically behind him. There, coming up the main road of the encampment was a silver-cloaked man, a gleaming sword strapped to his back. He walked straight through the warriors, determined. Focused. He stopped before Cadeif.

  Words drifted back to her through the crowd, like a teasing wind. Words like deliverer, rider, lucent.

  Her mind turned the words over as she watched the fierce warriors, their faces etched in fear. Their fear and words coalesced into a terrible name: Lucent Rider. The Ematahri had dozens of stories about the faceless riders who delivered judgment on behalf of Abiassa. It did not matter if you believed in the Beneficent One. She sent her Deliverers regardless of faith or conviction.

  A chill rippled through her. Why would a rider come? She had to get to him. Thiel grabbed the nearest warrior. “The boy, the one Cadeif calls Twig—where is he?”

  The warrior scowled and wrested his arm free, taking steps closer to his archon and clearly putting his back to her.

  If the Deliverer had come for Haegan, to stop his terrible power . . . She cornered a younger warrior. “If you want your people to live,” she said, fierce in her pose and words, “tell me where to find the one they call Twig.”

  When his eyebrows s
tarted to come together and his lips tightened, she shoved her forearm into his throat and pinned him to a tent support.

  “Now! Tell me now!”

  Eyes wide, he froze. Pointed to the left. “S-stables.”

  Thiel sprinted through the settlement toward the stables. She had to get Haegan out of here. Must get the others to help. What if only Haegan were there? What if he were guarded?

  Worries she would take care of later.

  She lunged around the corner, aiming toward the structure of wood and branches that served as the horse shelter. As she raced up the foot path, she slowed at the sight that met her. A guard lay prostrate across the threshold. The gate hung crookedly from its hinges. Across the yard, she saw no more disarray. Haegan. He’d already attacked the guards?

  No! She threw herself across the stable yard. Using his power would no doubt draw the Deliverer. He could harm no more warriors. She must get Haegan out before Cadeif could bring the Deliverer back here—which he would do, since the Lucent Riders had complete autonomy. No man or beast dared oppose one.

  But as she drew closer, she spied more bodies on the ground. Dead? Quickly, she assessed them, but saw no wounds. Stealthily, she knelt beside one warrior and felt his neck. A pulse thumped steadily. Strange. Quietly, she relieved him of his weapon. If someone had done this, she might need to defend herself. And ferreting Haegan out of the camp would require one.

  At the gate to the stables, she hesitated. It was quiet. Way too quiet. No nickering. Bleating. Nothing. Had the livestock and horses been freed?

  She firmed her grip on the hilt and inched forward, nudging the gate inward. Great warmth swelled over her, stopping her. Forcing Thiel to swallow her fear and surprise as marble-like eyes of a horse gazed quietly back at her. Didn’t blink. Head didn’t swivel. She moved to another stall. Another set of brown eyes. What . . .?

  The horses . . . they were there. In every stall. But they weren’t moving. Impossible. The beasts were as restless as the warriors who rode them.

  An eerie feeling traced her spine. She shivered involuntarily as she crept toward the open corral, where they would most likely keep Haegan tied up. Where she’d last seen him. She inched forward, praying nothing crunched or gave her away. As she rounded the interior corner, she stopped. Sniffed a quick breath.