Daughter of Light (Follower of the Word Book 1)

by Morgan L. Busse

  That feeling left a wake of pain. Rowen realized how lonely she had been since leaving Cinad. For weeks she had closed up her heart—moving and doing, but not feeling. Sparring with Lore and the guards had allowed her to keep her distance. But now, having to work closely with Lore made Rowen realize how much she craved companionship and touch.

  Suddenly she was aware of Lore standing behind her. He said something and moved her arm again. His light touch on her elbow intensified that longing. Rowen moved as he instructed, her heart feeling as though it had crawled out of a dark place into light.

  By the time evening crept across the glass dome above, Rowen found every muscle in her body sore. She had fallen down countless times. Lore kept making it past her unrefined defensive moves. But every time she felt the firm grip of his hand as he helped her back up, and every time he touched her glove and nothing happened, her heart sang. Who cared about sore muscles? She could touch again!

  “Well,” Lore said as he reached down for the hundredth time that day, “we should probably quit for the evening.”

  Rowen could only nod, barely able to get to her feet even with his help.

  He seemed to notice. “I’ll have a servant bring a basin of warm water to your room.”

  “That would be nice.” It wouldn’t be a bath, quite, but the warm water would feel good on her sore muscles.

  Instead of letting her go, he moved his hand to her elbow. “Let’s see if we can find some dinner in the common room first.”

  Rowen nodded, and they walked toward the doors at the end of the training room.

  In the common room, only a handful of guards were there. They lingered around the large table. Lore led her to the nearest bench and let go of her elbow. She sat down with a groan.

  Without saying a word, he walked to the smaller table, grabbed a plate and mug, and began to fill both. Moments later, he returned and placed both before Rowen. “Here.” He smiled when she looked up.

  Her heart twisted inside her chest. “Thank you.” Then she caught scent of the meat and bread. Her stomach grumbled.

  Lore chuckled and turned back toward the smaller table, where he filled his own plate and mug.

  By the time he took a seat across from her, Rowen had already torn into the bread and meat, her stomach guiding her movements. She slowed slightly, remembering her manners.

  He smiled and tore off a piece of bread, which he popped into his mouth. “Tell me a little about Cinad.”

  Rowen stopped her mug just before her lips and stared at Lore over its metal rim. Immediately her mind rushed back to her last days there: the sudden turn of her people, their fear, her banishment…

  She caught Lore studying her again. Rowen tipped the mug and took a drink, dredging up earlier, happier memories. “Cinad is a small village,” she began and put her mug down. “About twenty families. Most of them are farmers.” She continued to think, her mind moving away from facts to pictures. “I lived at the southern end of the village, near Anwin Forest.”

  “So Jedrek was a farmer?” Lore said before taking another bite.

  “Not really.” Rowen’s mind went deeper into her past. She remembered the rolling hills of grain to the east, the orchards just north of the village, and the towering trees of Anwin to the west. “He did whatever was needed. He helped during harvest time, traveled to nearby towns to trade the villagers’ goods, and carved furniture during the winter.”

  “I see.” Lore picked up his mug. “Was it hard to leave Cinad?”

  Rowen’s hand tightened around the handle of her own mug. Lore’s eyes darted toward her hand as he took a drink.

  Rowen forced herself to relax, her face warming. She hoped Lore hadn’t noticed. “Yes.” She moved her hand back to her plate of food and tore off a piece of bread. She liked Lore, but there were times it felt as though he could see through her words right to her thoughts. It was hard to leave Cinad, but she would never tell him why.

  “Would you like to go back to visit?” he asked.

  Rowen looked up and found Lore staring at her softly.

  “I— That is—” she stumbled, her face warming even more. Yes, she would love to go back to see the people she loved. Or at least to see Calya. But she could never go back. If she did, she would be put to death.

  “I’m sorry,” Lore said a moment later. “I can see my questions are making you uncomfortable. I only wanted to get to know you more.” He turned his attention back to his food.

  Rowen stared at Lore, struck by his kindness. She watched him break off another piece of bread and felt her heart grow warm toward the man across from her. He’d known that any other person would have felt homesick by now, especially a small village person like herself, who had lived in the same village, the same house, all her life. Lore had thought of her and had offered her the chance to return. Her heart grew even warmer at that knowledge. Captain Lore was not like any other man she had met.

  “Thank you,” Rowen said.

  Lore looked back up and smiled. “Certainly. If you change your mind and wish to go back for a visit, let me know.”

  Rowen nodded. But she would never change her mind.

  • • •

  Lore finished his drink, still watching the young woman across from him. Rowen was an enigma, a puzzle he could not seem to figure out. Every time he tried to draw her out, whether by asking about her home or more about herself, her answers seemed…dodgy. Like she was hiding something.

  But what could she be hiding? He watched her chew, her eyes now looking down at her plate.

  Then again, perhaps he was reading too much into Rowen’s words and actions. Perhaps she was only shy and took a while to warm up to those she did not know. But it’s been two months now. Surely she is over any kind of shyness by now.

  Lore sighed and tore at his bread. He could tell she missed her village, he had heard the way her voice had turned soft as she’d spoken of Cinad and her father. He glanced at Rowen from the corner of his eye. He could not understand why a young woman like her would leave her village to come here. For the adventure, maybe?

  Lore laughed, then put the bit of bread in his mouth. Rowen looked up at the noise. He shook his head slightly, and she went back to eating.

  Guard duty was no thrill. He knew that firsthand. It was a life of waiting. Waiting for that one thing to happen that you had trained for, all the while hoping it never did. He chewed slowly. No, if Rowen had come to the White City hoping for adventure, she had come to the wrong place.

  He glanced at her again. Could it be that there was nothing back in Cinad for her? Lore swallowed and broke off another piece. This thought had plagued him since she had first arrived. How was a beautiful young woman like her alone? She should have bonded with some young man long ago and been unable to accept Lord Gaynor’s offer. Instead, she had come here.

  Then Lore had wondered if perhaps Rowen’s physical beauty was a façade. Perhaps what lay beneath was a woman no man would ever want to live with. But as he’d gotten to know her more through their sparring and training sessions, Rowen had proved to be gentle and teachable, with a hidden strength inside.

  She was beautiful both inside and out.

  Lore tore off a piece of meat and began to chew. Perhaps he was trying to see something that wasn’t there. Other than her reserve, he could find no reason not to offer Rowen the position of varor. She possessed the skill, the heart, and the mind needed for such a position. And her oath would bind her to the protection of Lady Astrea.

  He just wished he could know her more.

  8

  Weeks later, Rowen stood by the window, marveling at the first snowfall, watching how it covered the city in a blanket of winter white. Behind her, a large fire crackled and spit as logs were consumed in its blaze. She could feel the heat near the window, causing the snowflakes to melt on contact.

  Rowen had arrived in this room shortly after dinner to quietly prepare herself for her oath. The room was empty save for a long dark blue rug that co
vered the stone floor and a dark bookshelf filled with leather bound books, a small decorative dagger and a gold trimmed vase. Two swords hung above the fireplace.

  As the time drew close, her stomach churned with anticipation. It was a serious act to take a vow in the Ryland Plains. Oathbreakers were worse than sorcery.

  Rowen turned her head and caught a glimpse of herself reflected in the window. Gone was the simple village girl. In her place, she saw a young woman, her pale hair carefully braided and hanging over one shoulder. Her shirt was a pristine white covered by a dark blue tabard with an eagle embroidered with silver thread. Her cloak was slung over one shoulder, exposing the smallsword she carried with her at all times.

  She looked like a varor.

  Rowen raised her hand to touch the glass. She could feel the smooth surface beneath her fingertips. The rest of her hand felt only the leather of her glove. It had taken weeks to get used to the fact that she would always need to wear the small piece of leather. Her only reprieve was when she washed her glove. But it was better to wear the glove than the alternative.

  An image of a frozen wasteland filled her mind, snow as far as the eye could see without a tree or bush or any living thing. A slow, white death for those with nowhere else to go. That’s where she would be right now if it hadn’t been for Lord Gaynor’s offer.

  The thick wooden door behind her swung inward with a groan. Startled, Rowen turned and quickly straightened her uniform. It was time.

  Slowly, people entered the room. For one moment, she found herself back in Cinad, in Noland’s house, facing the people gathered. People who, with short deliberation, had changed her fate. Rowen blinked and shook the image away. It wasn’t like that this time. This time she would be given life, not have it taken away.

  Lore entered first. He gave her a reassuring smile then walked toward the fireplace.

  Behind Lore came a tall man with long dark hair and goatee. He wore a white silk shirt with a rich blue vest embroidered in silver thread, dark pants, and boots. A simple crown of silver sat upon his head. Rowen felt her heart lurch. He was Gaynor Celestis, High Lord of the White City and the Ryland Plains. She had met him briefly when she had first arrived in the White City.

  Next came a young woman, shorter but with equally dark hair and a silver circlet set on her head. Her pale blue gown shimmered in the dark room. She was Lady Astrea, Rowen’s future charge. Lady Astrea’s dark eyes glanced briefly toward Rowen before she followed her father.

  Aren, the Nordic varor, followed the high lord and lady into the room, flashing his trademark smile at Rowen before taking up his position near the door.

  Rowen smiled back, then watched the next person enter. He was an older man dressed in the long white robes of healers. His hair was grey and curly with a matching thin grey mustache. The older man glanced at her and smiled before moving toward Lord Gaynor’s side.

  Justus, Lord Gaynor’s third varor, entered the room. He was shorter than Lore, with thinning brown hair and hazel eyes. He wore the same blue tabard as Rowen and Aren. Rowen had found him more reserved than Aren during their brief encounters. He was a quiet man who did his duty.

  Justus turned and shut the thick wooden door behind him. At the subtle click, all eyes turned toward her.

  “Come here, Rowen Mar.” Lord Gaynor’s voice was deep and rang with authority.

  Rowen walked toward the assembly, her heart beating against her chest. She came to stand in front of Lord Gaynor.

  “The oath of a varor is not to be taken lightly,” he said. “It is an oath that may require your life someday. But in protecting my daughter, you protect the future of the Ryland Plains, the future of your people. Do you still desire to take this position?”

  “I do,” Rowen said, her voice firm with conviction.

  “So be it.” Lord Gaynor backed away.

  The older man in healer’s robes moved forward. “I am Balint Kedem,” he said, “Chief Healer of the White City and Oathmaker. I will be binding you to your oath today. Please kneel.”

  Rowen knelt before him.

  Balint gently placed his hand upon her head. “Rowen, daughter of Jedrek Mar, you vow today to become the varor of Lady Astrea; to be by her side, to protect her from harm, and if it so happens, to give your life for her. Do you bind yourself to this?”

  “I do,” Rowen said, more softly than before. The solemnity of what she was vowing lay heavily upon her. She was promising to die for Lady Astrea.

  “Then I declare this oath bound until such a time that Lady Astrea marries, takes up the mantle of High Lady, or passes away, whichever shall come first.”

  Rowen suddenly felt something rush through her like wind.

  Balint removed his hand. “Now stand Rowen Mar, varor of Lady Astrea Celestis.”

  • • •

  Rowen found herself near the window again as the people made their way out of the room. They had come to witness her oath, congratulate her afterward, and were now going back to their duties.

  She watched those gathered make their way toward the door and rubbed the back of her neck, wondering where the wind-like sensation she had felt at the end of her oath had come from. A slight winter breeze escaping from some hidden crack in the wall?

  Rowen searched the wall with a sideways glance. Every stone looked solidly in place. She dropped her hand. Perhaps she had only imagined it.

  “Rowen.”

  Rowen turned to face Lore. “Captain.”

  He stood nearby, dressed casually in a simple white shirt and dark blue leather jerkin. “Now that you have taken your oath, I have something to show you.”

  “Yes, Captain,” she said, straightening up.

  She followed Lore out the door and down the hallway. After rounding two corners and descending a set of stairs, she began to wonder where he was leading her. But Lore did not say a word. He only led.

  Soon the stone the castle was carved from began to change from alabaster white to a dreary grey. There were fewer doors along this hallway. And the air felt cooler.

  “Are we nearing the mountain?” Rowen’s voice echoed along the empty passageway.

  “Yes.” Lore held out a torch he had picked up a couple of corridors back. Near the end of the hall he stopped. “Here we are.” He paused before an ordinary door. He pushed down the latch. The door swung open without a sound. Lore entered first with Rowen close behind.

  The room was small and bare. No furniture, no fireplace. A couple of cobwebs fluttered in one corner. Lore crossed the room and began to run his hand across the far wall. Rowen walked up beside him, watching his hand move over the jagged surface. It took a moment for her to realize that what he was touching was not a wall but the actual face of the mountain.

  “There is a small indent along the surface.” Lore held the torch close to the mountainside and searched with both his hand and eyes. Suddenly his finger stopped. “There.” He pressed a hidden switch. They both stepped back. The silhouette of a door appeared, outlined by a strange blue light.

  Lore moved forward again and pushed the door open. Rowen peered around Lore. She could see a long tunnel disappearing into the mountain, lit with more of that odd blue light.

  “This is the Gateway of the Mountain.” Lore turned toward Rowen. “It is a secret pathway that leads out of Celestis Castle.”

  “Where does it end?” Rowen continued to study the tunnel.

  “West of here, on the outer edge of Anwin Forest. This hidden passage has served as an escape route from the city for many generations of High Lords and Ladies.”

  Suddenly Rowen understood why Lore was showing her this. Should the city ever come under siege and Lady Astrea’s life be in danger, she would need to lead her to safety. “What are the strange lights?” Rowen asked, studying the blue stones that jutted out of the sides of the tunnel.

  “Fre stones from Nordica.”

  “Fray stones?”

  “Yes. It sounds like fray, but the Nordics spell it F-R-E.”

 
; Rowen raised an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

  Lore stepped inside the passageway. “They shine indefinitely, making them a wonderful light source for tunnels. The Nordics use them all the time in their deep mining. Are you coming?” he asked, glancing back.

  “I did not realize we would be going farther.”

  “It’s important to check your escape routes once in a while.” Lore took another step inside. “You do not want to be leading Lady Astrea down here only to find the path blocked by a large boulder. And since it’s been a while since I was last here, I thought we would go together.” Lore turned and started down the tunnel.

  Rowen followed. Stale air filled her nostrils. The light from the torch bounced across the walls. Their footsteps echoed along the tunnel.

  As they walked, her thoughts went back again to her initiation, to the end, when the feeling of wind had passed through her. Had it been only her imagination? And just what is an Oathmaker? she wondered, remembering the title Balint Kedem bore. “Captain,” Rowen said, “what happened at the end of my oath?” Her voice reverberated against the walls.

  Lore stopped and turned. “You mean the binding?”

  “Binding?” Rowen stopped as well.

  “If you mean the rush you felt, it was Balint binding you to your words. He is an Oathmaker. His ability is a gift from the old world.”

  “Gift?”

  “Yes,” Lore said. “One of Balint’s ancestors was an Eldaran—an Oathmaker, to be specific. Balint possesses the gift of binding, but it’s not very strong.” Lore turned to go.

  But Rowen was not done yet. “What is an Eldaran?”

  This time Lore turned more quickly, his face furrowed in a frown. “You have never heard of the Eldarans?”

  “No,” Rowen said hesitantly.

  “Have you ever heard of the Word?”

  Her thoughts jumped back to cold evenings when storytellers would visit Cinad. She recalled stories involving some powerful Being called the Word. “Only a little,” she said. “Something about Him speaking the Lands into existence and dying a long time ago. Honestly, I heard the stories when I was a child, and they didn’t make much sense to me.”