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—Nikla
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Mountain Above Welloch
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“Told ’em to stay behind me. Told ’em I’d protect them. But as soon as the arrows started, they bolted like rabbits. Had to leave the barricade to follow them.” The Bone Reader recounted the story of his harrowing and improbable escape to the crowd around the fire. He was still animated, despite having repeated that same story all evening.
Quint hung near the back, watching the stars play peekaboo through the smoke and clouds. He’d heard the fabrication countless times. He assumed he’d hear it many more as they moved from fire to fire, visiting with the evacuees. With the Bone Reader’s return, Quint had gone from leader to an afterthought in the liar’s entourage. That there was fire at all emphasized the unimportance of his views. He’d prevented the Dragonborn from burning anything, lest they give away their location. The Bone Reader had dismissed those concerns. “This is a time of mourning. Fire succors the soul,” he’d announced with Quint in tow, reinforcing the impotence of their Shades adviser. Then he’d spoken under his breath so only Quint could hear. “We’ll be gone by morning. The army’s the Shades’ problem, not ours.”
“By the time I caught up with them,” the Bone Reader said, “the spot where we’d been waiting was in flames. If not for their cowardice, I’d never have survived to return to you.” The story continued. The defenders had fought valiantly, but in vain. While trying to defend the cowering Mother and Daughter, he’d been knocked out and left for dead. When he’d come to, Welloch had been burning around him.
“But the gods spoke to me when I awoke. They spared me, their servant, and sent me back to give you hope. They’ve named a new Mother. I’ll reveal her in the morrow.”
Quint yawned. It had been a rough few days, with little sleep and much time spent waiting, something he despised. He’d waited to be tossed to the Dragons Teeth. Then he’d waited for the survivors after the evacuation. Now, he was stuck waiting for an end to the Bone Reader’s yammering—waiting to see Nikla. He’d convinced himself before that she’d understand, but his confidence in that happening was flagging. He stared into the fire, pretending to listen, but actually lost in his own thoughts.
I should be doing something to help. But what? He was ashamed to be worried about his personal affairs amid such staggering devastation and loss. He felt like he was in the same situation as before. Only this time, it was the black-lipped and black-hearted liar ignoring him instead of the Mother. He looked up and realized the story had finished, and the others were moving on to the next fire. He hurried to catch up, Nikla’s words fresh in his mind. Now’s not the time to make enemies.
After several more fires and several more tellings of the same story, the Bone Reader announced they were finished for the night. He dismissed the rest of his entourage, comprised primarily of the surviving elders who’d been his supporters before the attack, and urged them to return to their families and prepare for the morning departure. He’d not dismissed Quint. They walked together toward the three tents outside the main camp.
The sight of the two empty tents prepared for the Mother and Daughter saddened Quint. Before, he’d taken solace in the belief the Mother had sealed her own fate. But now, he couldn’t shake the gut-wrenching feeling that the Dragonborn might have been better off had he never come to Welloch. He tried to push the thought from his mind and focus on the future.
“You’ll be needed going forward,” the Bone Reader stated when they reached his tent. “To steer our new Mother down the right path.” Someone had driven a new decoration into the dirt beside the entrance—a human skull affixed to the tip of a spear, the point extending from the crown by a thumb’s length. There were no markings, but the teeth and eye sockets had been covered with a substance that made them glow a dull yellow in the darkness.
Quint promised justice with unspoken words as he stared at the skull. When Nikla is Mother and the people are settled, I’ll deal with you. You’re as much a threat as the army pursuing us.
“You hear me, boy?” The man’s stinking breath warmed Quint’s face as he leaned in close. “There are plenty of other orphans now who could just as easily become Mother.”
“I understand.” Quint cursed himself for the quiver in his voice.
“That’s my boy.” The vile man patted Quint’s cheek. “Don’t forget, the gods have taken a Mother and Daughter as punishment for our abandonment. They could take another Mother and her foreign adviser just as easily.”
“I understand,” Quint repeated and headed toward his tent.
“Long night?” Nikla’s voice startled him as he entered.
“You’re here?” His mood improved instantly. He’d still been ruminating on the Bone Reader’s threat and, based on how things had gone earlier in the day, hadn’t expected to see her until morning.
“Couldn’t stay away.” Her words were laced with regret.
“About earlier. What you said. I’m sorry.”
“What’s done is done.” There was a distance in her voice—an iciness he yearned to melt.
“I wish I’d taken you up on your offer. The night Dermot arrived, you said you’d leave with me. I wish we’d gone then and never come back.”
“Just tell me one thing.” Her voice was gentle, but pointed. “What did he offer to make you agree?”
Quint didn’t answer right away. He’d hoped to wait, but the Bone Reader had mentioned making an announcement in the morning. He felt that she deserved to hear it directly from him. “You.”
“What do you mean, me?”
“The Dragonborn need a leader who will act—someone smart and clever, but good.” Quint realized how pompous it must sound for him to claim he could better select their leader than could the people, but it didn’t make the words untrue. “I wasn’t thinking of myself, I swear. He’s going to name you Mother.”
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Nikla felt like she’d been kicked in the chest. She didn’t even try to speak, because her every effort was required just to breathe. The moment Quint had said the words, she realized how catastrophically she’d failed to prepare him to advise her people. That he’d do this and still profess his love, shows how little he understands. This was what I was charged to prevent—someone taking advantage of his ignorance. I should have spent less time in his arms, more time teaching.
“Oh.” It wasn’t the response she’d have chosen given time to consider, but it was all she’d been able to manage. “I’ll do my best,” she built upon the paltry single syllable answer a few moments later. She reached out to him then and drew him against her. She didn’t want to be touched, but wanted even less to be required to speak. She feared her voice would betray her true feelings.
“I love you,” he whispered in her ear with the hot breath that once drove her wild. This night it felt sticky and uncomfortable.
She kissed him, knowing answering in that way would forestall any discussion. With a few well-timed moans, he didn’t seem to notice her distraction. When they finished, he whispered again of his love. His words were drops of water on a hot skillet. They sizzled, then disappeared.
When she’d taken the teaching assignment, winning Quint’s heart hadn’t been her aim. She’d been there to accomplish an important task for the Mother. But being selected for that task had made Nikla feel special, important. Quint’s attention had done the same. The more time they’d spent together, the closer she’d felt to him, despite the barrier of responsibility she’d placed between them.
Then he’d kissed her. She should have been offended. Instead, she’d kissed him back. After, she’d run straight to the GreatHall to confess her failure—both as teacher and as a respectable Dragonborn woman. She’d assumed she’d never be allowed to meet with him again.
His kiss had surprised her. The Mother’s reaction to that kiss had left her stunned. “I said to do whatever you must,” the tattooed leader had replied. “I meant anything needed.” She’d stressed “anything” so as to leave no doubt about her meaning. Nikla had returned to Quint’s tent that night, and many times in the days and moons following. At first, she’d tried to convince herself it was strictly in service to her people, and refused to admit to the feelings that had taken her intent hostage. She’d not conceded she loved him until she’d offered to leave with him—choosing his life over her duty to the Mother and her people.
Now, she lay curled against his chest, his leg draped over her hip. He’d unwittingly made the opposite choice. He loved her. She loved him. But if she was to be Mother, that love was ill-fated. Even if he could feel the same after I’ve been marked by the Bone Reader’s ink, branded by his hot irons and cut inside by whatever he’ll use to carve away my womanhood, being Mother is more than a title. It means placing my people first, and forsaking any hope for a future of my own.
Careful not to wake Quint, she extricated herself from under his leg, then dressed. She slipped from the tent into the darkness of the camp and wandered without destination, the embers of the night’s fires tracking her with ocher eyes. I could refuse. If I described to Quint what was required to become Mother, he’d understand. In fact, he might refuse on my behalf if he knew. Besides, what could I possibly offer my people as leader?
She continued to deliberate until her wandering took her to the edge of the camp, where three tents stood away from the others. She’d almost convinced herself that refusing would be the best choice for all involved. Then she saw the luminous teeth and eyes of the skull—the staff used during human sacrifices before the Mother had forbidden them.
When the Mother and Daughter had held the burden of leadership, Nikla had felt free to leave. If she left now, though, she’d be leaving her people in the Bone Reader’s care. She remembered the many times her people had treated her unkindly. She considered how they’d have discarded her as Forsaken if not for her uncle’s intervention. A part of her felt they deserved him.
Still, though many of her people had treated her poorly, there were also kindnesses for which she was grateful. I can’t let my bitterness prevail and leave Widow Estings, my uncle, and so many others to suffer under his leadership. They need a Mother who will fight to rid them of the Bone Reader and his bloodthirsty gods. Else, they’re likely to be sacrificed to them. If she had her way, she’d not stop with eliminating the position of Bone Reader. She’d scrap the caste system and welcome back the Forsaken. Times of war, she knew, engendered change. I’ll turn this time of tragedy into something to strengthen my people, so they may endure the trials ahead.
She tapped on the outside of the Bone Reader’s tent. Mark me. Burn me. Cut me. I’ll bring your end. I swear it!
Small Dragonborn Village North of Welloch, Chapter 55
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To mother is to sacrifice and suffer. A child draws its nourishment from its mother’s body and grows strong at her expense. Yet a mother welcomes her weakness. To be the Mother is no different. To you, Daughter, I command:
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Thou shalt remind your children of their heritage, so they may respect the gods and the Fire. The symbols shall be burned into your flesh.
Thou shalt remind your children of their heritage, so they will respect the sacrifices of their ancestors and be willing to themselves sacrifice. The symbols shall be written on your flesh.
Thou shalt remind your children of their heritage, so they will know you place the Tunga above all others. The means of creating life shall be cut from your womb.
Thou shalt not marry, nor bring any of your children to your bed. Incest is punishable by death.
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—Excerpt from the Tungresh,
the sacred scrolls of the Dragonborn
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Small Dragonborn Village North of Welloch
Half Moon Later
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“Feeling better?” Quint squeezed the cloth, and a few drops fell onto Nikla’s cracked lips. The healer had said the tea contained nettles and horsetail among a list of other herbs, but the forceful scent of peppermint overpowered the other ingredients.
Nikla parted her lips to receive the liquid. “Better.” The effort required to utter so little ripped at his heartstrings.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” He tapped his fingers against the tips of hers—nearly the only part of her body the Bone Reader had left untouched by his needles and brands. Her fingers were calloused and tough. She’s tough—much tougher than me.
“What’s done is done.” That she should be the one to comfort him made Quint feel even worse. What had been done to her was his fault. He’d plotted and schemed to make her Mother, working hard to ensure an outcome that was beyond his comprehension. He’d seen the tattoos and markings on the previous Mother’s face and hands, but to him, they were strange and exotic. He’d never imagined their extent, nor the suffering endured to receive them.
It had taken three days following the private ceremony before Nikla had awakened, another day before she’d spoken. Now, seven days later, the tattoos and burns were crusted over, leaving her looking as if she’d been badly burned in a fire.
“Ahem.” The healer, a squat elderly woman with a face like a raisin, stood at the doorway holding a bowl. It was time to apply the salve to Nikla’s body, and Quint was unwelcome during the application. In truth, almost everyone made him feel unwelcome these days. People no longer overlooked his improper relationship with Nikla now that she was the Mother. If the Bone Reader had not commanded otherwise, he was certain the healers and guards would have denied him access to her.
“Get better soon.” He smiled—a broad, toothy smile forced for her benefit. He thought he noticed the corners of her mouth move slightly upward in response.
“Ahem.”
“Sorry. I’m going.” He stood, forced another smile as he locked eyes with the new Mother, then shuffled from the room. As soon as he was outside, his shoulders sagged beneath the weight of his guilt.
He surveyed the town. It wasn’t a tenth the size of Welloch, and was overflowing with Dragonborn refugees. Only a few of the buildings even looked permanent, the rest mere shells. The next place will be worse. The place after, worse still. I just hope the army leaves us alone long enough for Nikla to heal.
“She’s improving?” The Bone Reader, sporting the jaguar cape from the Reaping, approached from his left.
Quint nodded, doing his best to hide his contempt for the man. “She’s strong.”
“Good.” The man spit into his cup, leaving a cinnamon-colored slaver dribbling from his black lips and down his chin. “Want some?” He proffered a lump of what he was chewing.
“No.” Quint flinched away then remembered his manners. “Thank you.”
The Bone Reader transitioned to business. “She’ll be needed soon. The gods have called for many changes. The people need to know the Mother supports them.”
Quint, certain Nikla would instead meet the changes with scorn, didn’t ask what they were. He’d be expected to ensure her approval—consent, at least. Or else. “She needs time to heal.”
“I don’t control the time we’re given. You must speak with your Shades friends about that.” The Bone Reader raised an eyebrow. “Have you heard from them?”
Quint had supposed he’d see Dermot or one of the Shades’ scouts after the battle, but there’d been no contact. He prayed that meant the army hadn’t followed, that the Dragonborn would have time to rest before fleeing again. “Not yet.”
“Make sure to inform me when you d
o.” The Bone Reader started to leave then stopped. “And you? How are you?”
It’s my fault that the love of my life was mutilated by your hands. How do you think I’m doing? “Fine.”
The man licked his black lips. “She’ll be no use for a while, so I’ll arrange for your needs.” He winked and thrust his pelvis forward. “The Mother needn’t know.”
“Thank you, but no.” Quint was nauseated, but did his best to hide his disgust. How can the Dragonborn have tolerated scum such as him?
The Bone Reader shrugged and ambled over to the building he’d confiscated for his own use. A young woman around Nikla’s age lingered by the entrance.
Quint returned to his own tent, then spent the rest of the day meeting with the few Dragonborn who still accepted his visits. Despite the hardships, the naming of a new Mother and being settled—although temporarily—had improved their spirits. After an early dinner, he returned to his tent carrying two offering boxes Fadia had made for him. He’d expected the bent and wrinkled woman to struggle with the journey. Like so many others, though, she’d proven tougher than his estimation. She’d actually ended up supporting some of the younger and physically stronger of her people who were distraught from their loss.
He opened the flap to his tent and, in his surprise, dropped the offering boxes. Blue eyes stared up at him. The young woman he’d seen outside the Bone Reader’s dwelling lay on the furs. She lifted the one covering her to reveal her nakedness.
“What are —” he stammered.
“It’s all right,” she interrupted, “he sent me to you.”
I should have expected something like this from him. He probably made sure others saw her enter my tent. A perfect trap. Even if Quint made a show of throwing her out, word would spread, and he’d have made an enemy of the woman and anyone who cared about her. “Please, get dressed.” He sat to hide his unwelcome erection.
She looked hurt and afraid, but determined. She crawled over to him, her body lithe and tempting. “It’s all right,” she repeated.
Birthrights_Revisions to the Truth Page 35
