The visions were useless, though, for learning how to use magic. The Zvine, the people of the Mirrored God, had been isolated in Endeling during the rise and fall of the Faerie. He’d hoped Tedel, even without magic of his own, would show him something useful. But Tedel hadn’t spoken to him in more than two moons—until the previous night.
Whym had heard his friend’s voice, and expected to be awed by memories of what the Faerie could do with their magic. Instead, he’d been forced to watch a child herding sheep. For most of the vision, he’d not even realized the child was doing anything, just sitting under the shade of a tree on a terraced hillside. Not until near the end had he realized the young boy was guiding the animals with his mind. More than two moons, and you show me a shepherd?
Kutan smiled mischievously when he saw Whym was awake. “You can’t beat my lungs. Wanna test your leaf blowing trick against something else? Those berries yesterday gave me powerful gas.”
Whym bit his lip to suppress his smile. He’d already thought of his fellow apprentice as a brother, but they’d grown even closer since the night of the bonding—when Whym had opened up about most of what had happened to him. He picked up a stone about half the size of his fist from the ground. “Try it and I’ll plug it for you.” Kutan laughed and changed stretches.
Stern, lips pressed together, listened to their banter from across the gray ashes of the previous night’s fire with sullen and downcast eyes. The chill that had developed between Whym and his master after finding Laatst had lessened, but Whym was still hurt Stern had even considered acting on the teller’s visions. He wasn’t sure whether the man’s present gloom was due to Whym’s grudge, or whether the seeker was wrestling with his own issues. Either way, Whym believed his anger to be justified, and he was not yet ready to release it unconditionally.
Whym finished the handful of nuts, gulped a few swigs of water, then returned to his hammock to wait for Kutan to finish. He tried to think of Kira and what he’d say to her, but couldn’t push the picture of the young shepherd from his mind. The boy had just sat, eyes closed, commanding his flock with his mind alone. Whym noticed a squirrel in a nearby tree, and on a lark, closed his eyes. He tried to guide the squirrel like the shepherd had his sheep.
Suddenly, he found he was looking down on himself, eyeing the half-empty sack of nuts atop his pack. The colors were strange, tinted yellow, with different hues from what he was used to seeing. Kutan was saying something. Whym could hear the sounds and see his mouth moving, but the words were gibberish.
In his excitement at what he’d done, Whym fell out of his hammock, his vision returning to his own eyes. “Blech!” He retched, then closed his eyes to fight back the feeling the world was spinning around him.
“What’s wrong?” Kutan rushed over, but stopped a couple steps from the vomit puddle.
Whym was on all fours, a bead of bile dangling from one corner of his mouth. “You. Have. To. See. This!” he managed between ragged breaths.
After he described what had happened, they sacrificed the entire day of travel so he could practice his newfound ability. By the time he was ready to quit, his head throbbing from the exertion, he’d made significant progress. He could sense which animals were near then look and listen to the surroundings using their eyes and ears. He could even control them a little, directing them to take a few awkward steps and to look in the direction he wanted.
“Four fingers,” Whym said, woozy. He still got nauseous with each perspective transition.
“Amazing!” Kutan pulled his hand from behind his back to reveal he’d been holding up four fingers. He’d been skeptical at first, but Whym had demonstrated he could see things there was no other way he could have seen. “Imagine all you could do with this—the things you could see and hear. And no one would know.”
“Shame on you!” Whym pointed at Kutan. “You’re thinking of spying on ladies in their chambers.”
“I was thinking of spying on the Council—” Kutan’s sly grin sold out his open-armed shrug of protest—“but now that you mention it…”
“No man should have such an advantage,” Stern brusquely interrupted. “It’s not natural.” He stood and put on his pack while Whym and Kutan shared a look of surprised confusion. “It’s time to go.”
The outburst silenced Whym, but Kutan was unbowed. “I, for one, am glad to have such a man—and advantage—on my side.” When Stern grunted and turned to leave, his head shaking with disapproval, Kutan faced Whym and winked. “Though I use the term ‘man’ loosely.”
Whym returned a closed-eye smile—his head hurt almost as much as when he’d been unable to control the visions in Endeling—and added with a weak voice, “I appreciate you two waiting for me today.”
“Of course,” Kutan dismissed the words of gratitude as unnecessary and turned to glower at their master.
Stern didn’t notice. He was busy digging in his pocket. He looked up, his face drained of color. “Which one of you took it?” He pointed at Whym. “Is thieving one of your new talents?”
Kutan stepped between them, so Stern’s finger was pointed at him. “What are you talking about?”
“The toad’s toe,” Stern said. “It’s gone.” He turned and stalked away, starting the day’s trek without them.
Kutan waited, watching Stern leave with a puzzled expression while Whym put on his pack. Stern’s reaction troubled Whym, but the morning’s breakthrough pushed the concern temporarily to the back of his mind. I can’t shift rivers or blow buildings from their foundations, but I finally discovered something useful I can do with my magic!
Small Dragonborn Village North of Welloch, Chapter 64
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By fingers burned
The lesson learned
A lover spurned
To foe is turned
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—Epitaph on the tomb of
Queen Melandril the Widowmaker
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Small Dragonborn Village North of Welloch
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Four days had passed, and Quint had received no news. Arianne hadn’t returned. Without a summons, he could neither visit the Bone Reader nor Nikla. He’d tried to pass the time as usual, meeting with people and devising the next retreat plan. But his mind was elsewhere, his thoughts drifting mid-conversation. He should have been worried about the diminishing food stocks or about the scourge of diarrhea and bloody vomiting sweeping through the camp. Instead, he could think of nothing but the plan he’d set into motion.
Four days. Dermot had told him the symptoms would start in two or three. Four days is too long. Something’s gone wrong.
Quint was readying to leave for a visit when he heard footsteps outside. The flap opened, and Arianne stepped inside without a greeting. She closed the flap behind her and turned to Whym. The welt on her cheek had faded into a soft pink outline, but he read fear in her eyes. She looked nervous and peeked outside again before dropping to the floor and leaning against him with a sigh. With her head on his chest, he instinctively laid his arm over her shoulders to comfort her. “He forbade me from seeing you.” Her words ran together in her haste to speak them. She was either near tears, terrified, or both.
“Are you okay?” he asked, holding back the questions he really wanted answered. Did you give him the powder? Did it work?
“At first, he thought he caught the sickness spreading through the camp. But I fear he now suspects otherwise. The way he looks at me…” She shivered. “He can’t keep his food down, and spends most of each day squatted over the pot. He makes me watch.” She wrinkled her face in disgust, then wrapped her arms around him. “How long does this take? I can’t stand it anymore.” Quint could feel from the shaking of her body she was crying.
She gave it to him! A w
ave of relief washed over him. “Days, at most.” He held and consoled her.
After a deep breath to calm herself, Arianne sat up and wiped the tears from her cheek. “I must get back,” she whispered then leaned in to kiss him.
Quint pulled back, avoiding the tempting supple lips. “Don’t—” He started to explain.
“Don’t?” She looked up at him, tears at first welling in her eyes. Then her expression hardened, her eyes narrowed, and she scooted back. “Don’t?” she asked again angrily. “You don’t care about me. You just used me to get what you wanted. You’re no different than him.” She stood, her body tense with rage. “No, you’re worse. At least he was honest about what he expected.” She threw open the flap and stormed off.
The words hurt because they were true. Initially, Quint had meant to recruit her as a co-conspirator. But when he’d worried her commitment was wavering, he’d manipulated her into doing what he wanted. He understood Arianne’s anger was justified, but he believed he had no choice, that he’d only done what was needed. He blamed the Bone Reader for the web of deception that had entangled him, longing to once again see the world with the hopeful idealism that had motivated him to join the Shades.
Quint had accomplished what he’d set out to accomplish—Nikla was the undisputed Mother, the Bone Reader was dying, and many Dragonborn had been saved from the Council’s army. Still, he felt numb and alone. Arianne despises me. I’ve probably lost Nikla as well. I hardly recognize who I’ve become.
After his embarrassing first moons with the Dragonborn, he’d vowed to never again wallow in self-pity. But that afternoon, he intended to break that vow and let the reality of his losses sink into his bones. Just as his back reached the furs, though, he heard more footsteps. Arianne? He sat up, hoping for forgiveness, if not understanding.
“You in there?” Dermot poked his head inside.
Quint felt a brief disappointment, then a sinking feeling when he realized what Dermot’s presence portended. “They’re coming?”
“Three days. Four if you’re lucky.” Dermot stepped inside and Quint wrapped his arms around the big man’s chest.
Although the approach of the Council’s army was unfortunate news, Dermot’s arrival gave Quint the excuse he needed to visit the Bone Reader’s tent. Nervous, he lingered outside before making his presence known. “The Shades have returned,” he announced, his voice cracking with a nervous excitement.
“Come in,” a dispirited voice answered.
Quint gasped as he entered. The tent reeked, a noxious mix of shit, bile, and rank perspiration. The man lay on furs in the middle of the tent, a wet strip of cloth across his forehead and his pale chest exposed and beaded with sweat. Arianne was hunched in the corner, knees pulled against her chest. “The Shades have returned,” he repeated.
“I heard you the first time.” The Bone Reader’s voice was faint, as if speaking required much effort. His stomach was distended—not fat, but bloated—and his skin was jaundiced from the poison.
“The army will arrive in three days. We must again retreat.” Quint glanced at Arianne in the corner. To his chagrin, if anything, her anger had turned to hatred. He’d hoped to repair, at least a little, her hurt feelings after the man died. But the look in her eye was something he feared explanations and apologies couldn’t cure.
The Bone Reader rolled over onto his elbow as if he were going to sit but gave up and returned to a supine position. “I’m surprised you showed your face.” His voice was raspy and weak. He nodded toward Arianne. “You didn’t trust her? Needed to see for yourself?”
Quint stole another glance at Arianne. You told? How could you? Hurt feelings are one thing. But to side with him…He felt suddenly justified to have taken the steps he took.
“You think you’ve won.” The Bone Reader winced in pain. “You’ve won nothing. When I finish with you, nothing is precisely what you’ll have.” He groaned and winced again, the action baring his blackened teeth. “What I have planned for you is worse than any death.”
The way the Bone Reader had said “nothing” shifted Quint’s thoughts immediately to the Mother. Nikla! He left Arianne and the dying man and rushed to her tent.
Two guards stood at the entrance, their simple wooden staffs belying their skill as warriors. “I’m here to see the Mother.” His voice was steeled with authority.
They moved to block him. “No one may enter,” the bigger of the two guards warned.
“Listen, the Bone Reader’s ill. He’s dying. The Council’s army is on the way. I must meet with the Mother.”
His plea fell on deaf ears. “No one may enter.”
A tattooed hand reached out to pull open the flap of the tent. “Children.” Nikla emerged wearing a pristine white robe. “He’s no threat. He will lead the retreat.”
The guards relaxed in her presence, and though they eyed Quint warily, moved apart to let him enter.
“He’s dying?” she asked when they were inside.
“The sickness in the camp—” Quint began, but her raised eyebrows cut him off. “Yes. A day or two at the most.”
“And the army’s coming again?”
He nodded. “Three, maybe four days.”
“I see.” She sat on a round cushion of sewn hides stuffed with straw and motioned for Quint to sit on the ground beside her. She ran her fingers through his hair when he did. “You’ve changed so much since we first met.” She stared at the tent wall, voice distant.
“I’ve grown up. I was just a boy when I first arrived in Welloch.”
She smiled in remembrance, then looked down at him, still twirling his hair. “That boy was something special.” Her eyes returned to the tent wall. “I miss him.”
I miss him, too. Quint thought about how much he’d changed in the time he’d spent with the Dragonborn. He’d been spoiled and petulant, but he liked better the boy than who he’d become. “Has something happened? You seem different.”
Nikla released a weary sigh. “When the Bone Reader passes, the fate of my people rests on my shoulders alone.”
“I’m here.” He tried to buoy her spirits. “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
“You’ve helped enough.” Her voice started with a sharp edge that smoothed when she continued. “But we do still need you. Would you warn the people of the attack? Get them ready to leave again.”
“Of course.” He stood to leave, relieved she was safe, but disappointed by the cool reception.
“Quint,” she called as he reached for the flap, “can you stay with me tonight?”
A smile crossed his lips for the first time in days. Maybe I’ve not lost her after all.
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He spent the night holding Nikla in his arms, reveling in the warmth of her body against his, letting that warmth melt his worries. He didn’t fear the Bone Readers’ retribution as long as he was there to protect her. He also felt silly for doubting her love—silly for being so needy when she was the one who’d suffered. In time, he drifted off to sleep.
They were still lying together in the early morning when the guards announced someone wished to meet with the Mother. “Come in,” Nikla called when she was dressed. Quint sat diagonally behind her at the edge of the tent to give the impression they’d been discussing strategy for the retreat.
The tent flap opened. Arianne stepped inside. She looked unsurprised to find Quint there. “Mother.” She lowered her blue eyes as was the custom. “He’s dead.” She lifted her eyes and glared at Quint, then turned and left without waiting for a response.
“You should go.” Nikla spoke in a hushed but urgent tone. “I must prepare to address my children.”
Quint left as requested, and returned to his tent to prepare for yet another retreat. He’d almost finished packing when the drums sounded to announce the Mother’s address. He hurried to the gathering. News of t
he Bone Reader’s death had swept through the camp as fast as the spring breeze. Many in the crowd already bore the sign of mourning, a smear of black ash across their forehead. Quint observed the gathered faces. Some seemed anxious, some angry, all looked bone-tired and despondent.
“Children—” Nikla’s voice rang out, quieting the crowd— “we must keep faith. The gods have recalled their servant, and the Council’s army again bears down on us.” She paused to let the murmurs in the crowd fade. “I know you are all weary. I know you are tired of retreat. Some, maybe many, of you are debating giving up and staying behind. I called this meeting to persuade you to follow me. One. Last. Time.”
Her speech was having an effect, Quint noticed. More and more were listening with hope in their eyes. “In the mountains beyond,” she continued, “lies the cave where Wyvern first met Siroth. That cave has been our salvation once. We will turn to it again. Though we may not find a dragon waiting there as Wyvern did, they will come for us in time. We must keep faith. Until then, we will shelter there and fight if we must. The army’s greater numbers would mean little in those dark passages.”
She paused again to allow what she’d said to sink in, but instead a woman’s voice sounded from the crowd. “Thou shalt remind your children of their heritage, so they may respect the gods and their Fire.” Quint strained to see but couldn’t make out who was speaking.
“Thou shalt remind your children of their heritage, so they will respect the sacrifices of their ancestors and be willing to themselves sacrifice.” The front of the crowd parted. Arianne stepped forward. She locked eyes with Quint before continuing, her look promising to deliver on the Bone Reader’s dying threat.
Birthrights_Revisions to the Truth Page 41
