by Linda Mooney
Yulen opened his mouth but no sound would come out. All his mind could fathom at that moment were the first words George had spoken.
Give us Atty so we can take her back to her home where she belongs.
Take her away from Alta Novis, away from him. Let her die where she was born. Let her die among those who love her. Let her die without him near. Without him there to see her last breath.
“May the Battle Lord accompany her with you to Wallis?” MaGrath requested, giving Yulen an extra moment to collect himself.
“For what reason?” George inquired.
“For no other reason than to allow a husband to accompany his wife to her final resting site,” the physician replied.
The shock on the representatives’ faces was evident to everyone watching in the main hall.
Kalich gasped, clearly appalled. “You lie! Atty would never have willingly married—”
Pike reached over to lay a hand on the man’s shoulder. “He tells the truth, Fortune. I also sense that Atty has given her virtue to the Battle Lord, and I sense it was done willingly, without coercion.” The huge man gave Yulen a sad look. “I also sense a deep sadness coming from this man. You loved our Atty, didn’t you, D’Jacques?”
Yulen grimaced. “Love. Not loved. My feelings for her will remain unchanged, even after her death.”
George gave a deep sigh. “I’m sorry, D’Jacques, but the tension among our kind is as strong as it is here. If we allowed you to come back with us, I can’t guarantee your safety. Not without a full regiment of men accompanying you, and you know that can’t be allowed either. I’m sorry,” he apologized again. “We’ll be back in the morning with a wagon to take her home. Until then, say your goodbyes tonight.”
The elderly man turned and began to walk out of the main hall, followed by the other four. They strode unhindered through the main gates where Yulen’s men let them out, locking the doors behind them. MaGrath watched their departure as Yulen left to return to his bedroom.
The sound of his door closing was like the sound of a hammer hitting the last nail in the lid on Atty’s coffin.
Chapter Forty-Five
Vows
Yulen remained by her bedside throughout the night. Around midnight Mastin came to give his final report for the day. The mutant army remained encamped around the whole of the compound, but there was no sign of advancement or readying for war. Yulen understood. George was a man of his word. He no more wanted bloodshed than Yulen did. What he and the others of his kind were trying to do was to make a bold and brave attempt at a compromise that would spare generations to come.
After bidding his Second goodnight, Yulen fetched a basin of water and gave Atty another sponge bath in one more vain attempt to bring down her fever. He watched as his hands ran the yellow sponge over her pale skin, unable to stop the memories of the past few days from washing over him.
How she shivered in his embrace. Her playful smile and her laughter. The way she demanded him to ride her harder while they were in the throes of satiating their passion for each other.
How she brushed away his hair from his shoulders so she could place tiny kisses along his neck and upper arms. The ice in her eyes as she aimed her weapon to kill. The way she tilted her head whenever she was thinking. The guttural sound of her voice as he brought her to her climax.
She never woke as he bathed her. Caressed her. Placed kisses against her throat, and sighed, aching, as he felt her weakening pulse against his lips.
He breathed her hair and remembered the first time he knew its true color. Warm, salty tears fell onto her forehead as he brushed the sweat-soaked locks. He wiped the wetness off her skin with the sleeve of his shirt, then pressed his cheek to hers and whispered loving words into her ear. Words he wished she could hear. Words that came from his heart.
The sky lightened in the east. Yulen doused the last lantern, returning to the bed to hold her hand as he watched the sun send its warmth through the window. He was past needing to sleep and beyond the ability to eat. His time with her was measured in heartbeats now, and he memorized every pore in her skin as it turned golden in the light.
Pressing her fingers to his lips, he waited to hear the knock on the door that would let him know it was time to take her out beyond the gates. When the knock finally came, softly and hesitantly, he called out for them to enter, keeping his eyes on her.
“Yulen. Hurry and dress. There’s not much time.”
He turned slightly to see Madigan standing at the foot of the bed. She was carrying something white. Another hand touched his shoulder, and he looked up to see MaGrath behind him.
“Folchen is downstairs in the courtyard. Hurry up. George and his men will be here within the hour.”
The physician handed him a bundle of clothes. Yulen started, recognizing his ceremonial tunic. The deep blue one he’d told Atty about. The one he’d said he wanted to wear on their wedding day because it was the same color as her hair.
He glanced over at his mother and finally saw what she was carrying. It was a wedding gown of pure white linen. Plain and simple in design, with long sleeves and a plunging neckline. How she’d managed to have it completed overnight was a mystery to him.
Seeing his expression, Madigan smiled tenderly. “I’ll dress her while you get ready.”
Giving him another shove that guided him in the direction of the bathroom, MaGrath added, “I don’t like having to lie to the enemy. I told them you were husband and wife. Now we have to make good on it. Yulen, go get dressed.”
By the time he emerged from the bathroom, Madigan had dressed Atty and was braiding her hair to loop in a crown around her head. Pinning the hair in place, she proceeded to weave morning glory blossoms through it. In the early dawn, the flowers were just beginning to open up, revealing their deep, rich petals.
“Can you carry her outside? Or do you want me to?” MaGrath asked.
In answer, Yulen lifted her tenderly into his arms, careful to keep her head propped under his chin. There was a slight fluttering of her eyes, and he jerked around to look at the physician.
“I gave her a little draught to awaken her. It won’t last long, but she should be cognizant enough to recite her vows. It was dangerous for me to do it, but we have no choice. Come. We must hurry.”
They exited the room, quickly descending the staircase, where Yulen paused in astonishment. His men filled the main hall, all of them dressed in their ceremonial uniforms. All of them bearing their weapons as they presented a guard of honor to their Battle Lord and his Lady.
A tug on his sleeve reminded him that time was precious. They exited the main hall and entered the courtyard where Yulen got another shock.
Overnight his people had erected a large white tent in the center of the open area. Garlands of fresh spring flowers hung across ropes tied from poles planted on opposite ends of the compound.
Mastin walked up as Yulen took in the decorations. “I believe the Battle Lady wanted her pomp and pageantry?” the Second told him.
“But...” The Battle Lord watched as his people began filling the courtyard. He gave the soldier an accusing stare.
“Not me, Sir. Blame your mother. She was the one who got word out to the compound about your sacrifice. It was her and their decision to have the ceremony.” He motioned with his head toward the tent where Yulen could see everyone was gathered, including Folchen, the man of faith for Alta Novis.
He carried Atty to the tent, feeling her stirring. Quickly he beat down the bud of hope that wanted to raise itself toward the rays the morning sun. Her movements were false, brought about by one of MaGrath’s medical miracles. He could only pray she would have enough of her wits about her to understand what was about to happen.
Before Folchen began, Madigan walked over and pressed something in Yulen’s left hand, the one that cradled Atty’s ribcage. Yulen recognized the slender platinum band, and he stared questioningly at her.
“This ring has been in our family for generatio
ns. Your father gave it to me, but I don’t need it anymore. It rightfully belongs to her now.” She glanced over at MaGrath, who was watching. Getting up on tiptoe, she gave her son a kiss on his cheek. Leaning over, she placed an equally gentle kiss on Atty’s temple.
“Sir?”
A sigh came from his arms. Yulen could feel his heart tying to break through the bonds he’d tried so hard to put around it in preparation for her death. MaGrath came over and checked her pulse. “Hey, there,” he whispered. “Wake up, Atty. It’s your wedding day.”
She moved a fraction in his arms, and Yulen caught himself before he dropped her. He could feel his face flush as he fought the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. His arms were trembling, and the physician noticed his reactions.
“It’s okay, Yulen. We all understand.”
“Yul?”
Atty’s eyes fluttered open, and she found herself looking up into a pair of blue-gray eyes almost identical in color to her own. She blinked against the bright morning light, despite the fact that they were standing underneath the tent.
“I’m here, Atrilan. Can you see me? Can you understand me?” he asked her in a low voice.
“Where...are we?”
“We’re outside in the courtyard. Are you ready to say your vows with me? Will you?”
He lifted her head slightly so she could get a better view of what was happening. Her eyes traveled down to the white linen dress covering her, and she sighed. “Thank you.”
“No.” Yulen shook his head and kissed her brow, keeping his lips against her hot skin. “Thank you. You’ve sacrificed everything to be with me, and you’ll have my heart forever because of it.”
He carried her over to where they were directly underneath the center of the tent. Folchen was dressed in his black robes, ready to officiate. “Forgive the brevity, sir.”
“I understand,” Yulen assured him.
Lifting his hands, he enunciated. “Yulen D’Jacques, do you take this woman, Atrilan Ferran, as your wedded wife? If so, please answer with ‘I will’.”
“I will.”
“Atrilan Ferran, do you take this man, Yulen D’Jacques, as your wedded husband. If so, please answer with ‘I will’.”
Atty took a breath. “I...” And a second breath to finish. “Will.”
The man of faith leaned over to make sure the woman spoke with a clear and open mind. Satisfied, he nodded. “Present the ring, sir,” he ordered the Battle Lord.
MaGrath stepped forward to take Atty into his arms so Yulen could be free to perform the next step.
“Place the ring on her hand and repeat after me. With this ring...”
“With this ring...” He slipped the band onto her finger. For a moment his breath caught in his throat as her hand convulsed and gripped his in return.
“I take you as my wife...”
“I take you as my wife...” Yulen repeated.
“Until death parts us.”
“Until...” He bowed his head and felt himself trembling. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to repeat the final part of his vows as his voice cracked under the strain. “Until death parts us.”
Folchen glanced at him, aware of what the man was going through, and lifted his arms. “In front of all those present, I now pronounce these two to be husband and wife! May no man break their bonds of love!”
Outside the tent, people began to cheer, but their jubilation would be short-lived. Already a small squad of Mutah soldiers were approaching the tent. Yulen took Atty from the physician and turned to face them. She moved slightly against him, snuggling into his embrace. He glanced down to see if she was aware of them, but she had already succumbed once more to darkness. MaGrath’s potions had done their job.
Silently, everyone watched as the squad stopped before the Battle Lord. The Mutah at the lead raked his eyes over Atty’s unconscious form, and he raised an eyebrow at Yulen.
“The wagon is ready.”
“Lead me to it,” Yulen said.
The crowd parted to let them through as Yulen, with his new bride in his arms, followed the squad of Mutah to where the huge double doors stood open. Behind him, Madigan clutched MaGrath and sobbed quietly against his shoulder, the both of them unable to watch the travesty taking place, yet unable to keep themselves from witnessing every moment.
Throughout the courtyard, people reached outward, showing their Battle Lord their support and gratitude. Many wept, lost in the grief written on their leader’s face, shedding the tears he couldn’t as he sedately carried his Battle Lady to where her people were waiting. Here was their leader, forfeiting everything to keep the peace. Here was a man, relinquishing the woman he loved more than life, in order to save the lives of everyone else in the compound.
Along the parapet and battlements, Yulen’s men lifted their swords, raising them high over their heads by the blade with the hilts facing upward. The symbol of peace. The sign of the end of a conflict. If Yulen saw their accolade, he made no gesture toward it. Slowly, steadily, he continued to walk out the double gates, into the front yard of the compound, and toward the wagon where the men he’d spoken with yesterday were waiting.
The Mutah force was a giant blanket of humanity covering the land as far as he could see.
Reaching the wagon, Yulen gave the men a cursory glance before tenderly laying Atty on the bed of blankets they’d arranged for her. He straightened out her wedding gown, and tucked a stray lock of hair back into place. That done, he leaned over to place his goodbye kiss on her breast, directly over her heart. “Farewell, my beloved Atrilan,” he murmured into her ear, then stepped back.
Fortune Kalich walked over to fasten the tailgate over the back of the wagon. But before he climbed onto the seat, he stopped and reached over to take Atty’s hand where it lay across her stomach. Yulen watched in silent agony as the man designated as her guardian removed the wedding band from her hand and held it out toward him. The Mutah’s face was dark with suppressed anger.
Taking back the ring, Yulen grasped it tightly in the palm of his hand. He remained standing there and watched as the wagon bearing Atty’s body gradually pulled away. He continued to watch as the Mutah army turned and silently withdrew. Some went south, others headed west, but most followed the small wagon. Like receding waves, they disappeared into the distance.
He waited until the wagon vanished at the top of the rise. By then every Mutah soldier was gone from sight. Slowly, the Battle Lord turned around and walked back into the compound, past the honor guard, past his people, and into the main lodge. Silently, he climbed the stairs leading back up to the bedroom where, less than an hour ago, he’d held Atty in his arms.
And he closed the door.
Outside on the bell tower, Mastin rung the bell twelve times—three for birth, three for life, three for death, and three for love everlasting.
The traditional twelve bells of a wedding.
Chapter Forty-Six
Wallis
“I’m going to Wallis.”
MaGrath and Mastin jumped up from the long table where they had gathered for dinner. Madigan also gasped and rose unsteadily to her feet.
Yulen had not come out of his room for the past three days, eating little and seeing no one. Now he stood before them, gaunt and pale but determined. His weapons belt was around his waist. Around his neck, suspended on a thin leather lacing, was Atty’s wedding ring.
“Yulen, that’s suicide,” MaGrath started to object. At the Battle Lord’s upraised hand, he sighed loudly, shaking his head. “Then at least take a small garrison with you.”
“No. I have to go this one alone.”
“Why, Yulen?” Madigan asked. She knew beyond a doubt that if he tried to go to the Mutah compound, the chances were he’d never return alive. Her tears caught in her throat. What did it matter anyway, when the man was perishing before their eyes?
“Yes, why, Yulen?” MaGrath echoed. “What do you hope to accomplish by such a stupid stunt?”
�
��I have to know, Liam. I have to have some sort of...closure. I’m losing what sanity I have left. I can’t take this not knowing if she died. When she died. Where she’s buried. The uncertainty is eating me alive.” He tried to say more but the words wouldn’t come. Turning around, he started to walk out of the main hall. Mastin hurried after him.
“Take me with you, sir!”
Yulen shook his head, only to have MaGrath run up and shove him hard on the shoulder.
“If we can’t talk you out of this suicide mission, at least give us some faint piece of mind in knowing you have a sword guarding your back. Think about what Atty would have wanted.”
Yulen paused to glare at the man. “You fight dirty, you know that?” he accused him.
The physician managed a small smile. “She told me the exact same thing.”
“Very well. Cole, grab your things. We’re leaving now.”
He strode out the door and called for Paxton. The lieutenant appeared almost instantly outside the stables.
“I’m leaving you in charge of the forces,” Yulen told the man. “You will take your orders directly from Madigan or MaGrath, am I clear?”
“Yes, sir! Where are you going, sir?”
Rather than answer him, Yulen jumped on his horse and left the compound at a dead gallop. Mastin did his best to keep up.
They raced down the road, setting a ground-eating lope that wouldn’t tire the horses too quickly. The Second stayed to the side but behind the Battle Lord, aware of the change that slowly came over the man’s visage as they left familiar territory. It was almost as if he was coming to peace with himself.
Mile after mile they traveled, until Yulen began to slow down. He glanced over at Mastin, signaling for a brief stop. Mastin nodded. They broke bread for a quick lunch. Yulen impatiently waited the hour for the horses to rest. Then they were back on the road.
It was a five days’ journey to Wallis by slow horse. Yulen was determined to make it in four. He bypassed Foster City yet kept to the main road. They passed several groups of travelers, mostly traders who went from compound to compound hawking their wares. On this major highway that linked north to south, everyone was allowed access, including certain Mutah who bore special papers signifying their right to travel. Yulen had no doubt, though, that the army of Mutah warriors may have gone a different route he was unfamiliar with. He couldn’t see hundreds of armed mutant men risking a confrontation with armed soldiers from other compounds.
