Daughter of Light (Follower of the Word Book 1)

by Morgan L. Busse

  “Wait here.” Traver carefully made his way through the bodies to the other side.

  Rowen moved to place herself in front of Lady Astrea, her hand ready with her sword.

  Traver disappeared around the corner. They waited. Moments later, he reappeared. “The rest of the way is clear,” he said.

  Rowen led Lady Astrea around the bodies, careful to keep her head high and gaze away from their lifeless eyes. Once they reached Traver, they hurried on.

  At the bottom of a second set of stairs, Traver stopped and pulled out a set of keys. He chose one and placed it in the keyhole in the door to their right. The door unlocked with a soft click.

  “Quick, this way.” Traver held the door open. Rowen followed Lady Astrea into what looked like a storage room filled with barrels and crates. Traver grabbed one of the torches that hung in the hallway and handed it to Rowen. The door shut behind them with a muffled thud. In the dim light, Traver began to move the stack of crates nearby.

  Lady Astrea stood in the middle of the room, her arms wrapped around her midsection. Rowen stood next to the door.

  “There,” Traver said. He picked up the last crate. Rowen could now see a dark gap in the wall where the crates had stood moments before. “This tunnel will lead us out near the sea’s edge. From there, we will head toward Fiske, a small village north of here and find horses.”

  Traver took the torch from Rowen and headed in, followed by Lady Astrea and Rowen. They hurried along the dark passage. The earthy smell of dirt filled her nostrils, and her feet sunk slightly in the moist soil. Roots stuck out from the dirt wall. She could hear the dull roar of the sea ahead of her. After following the damp passage for over a minute, Traver stopped.

  He opened a large wooden door. An earsplitting creak filled the tight space. Rowen winced at the sound, sure that everyone in Avonai could hear it. Traver stepped outside and held up long strands of dune grass growing overhead. Lady Astrea ducked beneath the grass. Rowen followed.

  Outside, a blast of cold, salty air hit them. Rowen pulled her cloak tightly around her and moved to Lady Astrea’s side. Traver put out the torch and rearranged the dune grass to once again conceal the door.

  A full moon rose swiftly over the sea, lighting up the beach with pale light. Large black boulders the size of two-story houses stood along the shoreline and out in the sea. Tidal pools and dark clumps of sea vegetation lay scattered across the white sand. Behind them, Rowen could see the walls of Avonai and the castle perched on a high cliff.

  “We’ll wait for Aren and Lord Gaynor over there.” Traver pointed toward an outcropping of rocks as tall as the city’s walls. “The rocks will keep us out of view should anyone be keeping watch from the balconies above.”

  Lady Astrea nodded and clutched her cloak tightly to her body. The three of them hurried toward the rocks. Once there, Traver immediately took up a position where he could see the door. Lady Astrea moved farther in toward the back of the rock enclosure. Rowen followed.

  They stood there shivering in the wet night air. Rowen closed her eyes. And, for the first time in her life, prayed.

  • • •

  “Here comes someone,” Traver said quietly.

  Lady Astrea leaned forward, eagerly looking toward the opening between the rocks. Rowen remained where she was, her sword ready if she should need it.

  “It looks like…Aren,” Traver said a moment later. “And he’s helping someone.” Traver stepped out from behind the rocks.

  Rowen stepped toward the opening and looked out. It took only one glance to realize something was wrong. There should be four people: Lord Gaynor and his three varors. Where were the other two?

  “Where’s my father?” Lady Astrea whispered.

  Suddenly Rowen realized she was right: It was not Lord Gaynor whom Aren was assisting—it was Lore.

  Fear punched her in the stomach. Rowen stumbled away from the rocks and followed Lady Astrea across the beach. What had happened? Had the assassins— No! Rowen shook her head in an effort to clear away the shock. She needed to be focused. Here. Now.

  Lady Astrea staggered toward the men, her voice beginning to rise. “Where’s my father?”

  Aren collapsed nearby, letting Lore’s body fall across the sand.

  “Lady Astrea!” Traver glanced back. “You need to calm down—”

  “Where is he, Aren? Where is my father?”

  Aren looked up at Lady Astrea. Rowen came to stand beside her. The usual twinkle in his eyes was gone. Instead dull eyes stared back. “He is dead, milady.”

  “No, No!” Lady Astrea screamed, staggering toward the concealed door beneath the dune grass. Traver grabbed a hold of her and held her. “We need to go back and get him!” she cried, fighting Traver’s hold.

  Lore moaned and began to thrash across the sand. Aren pinned him down and tried to calm him.

  Lady Astrea’s cry cut short. She turned back and stared down at Lore.

  Rowen just stood there, frozen. Everything inside her had stopped—her breath, her mind, her heart. In the moonlight she could see a dark stain spreading rapidly beneath Lore and soaking into the sand. His leather jerkin lifted. Blood was smeared across his entire midsection.

  Aren swore. He ripped off a long length of cloth from his shirt and immediately applied it to Lore’s side. “You can’t die on me, Captain,” she heard him say through clenched teeth. “You can’t die!”

  Lore groaned, his head moving back and forth, eyes fluttering beneath their lids. Then he began to thrash again.

  Rowen tried to move to help, but her body would not listen.

  Traver let go of Lady Astrea and fell to his knees on the other side of Aren, pinning Lore down so Aren could wrap Lore’s wound.

  “We’re losing him,” Aren cried. He turned the bloody wad over and reapplied it. “He’s losing too much blood!”

  “No,” Lady Astrea whispered, staring at Lore in shock.

  Traver sighed. “There’s nothing we can do for him.” He looked up at Aren. “We need to let him go and get Lady Astrea away from here.”

  Aren’s face twisted with fear and sorrow. “I won’t leave him here to die.”

  Rowen watched the scene, paralyzed.

  Balint’s words drifted up from the back of her mind. You can heal another.

  Lore stopped thrashing, his head slumping to the side. Aren swore and tore more of his shirt. Lady Astrea cried softly nearby.

  You can heal him.

  Rowen felt the warmth begin to fill her chest, swirling inside of her. Time slowed. With her eyes on Lore, she reached for her glove. Her hand trembled as it touched the leather fringe. Then she stopped.

  It will cost you.

  A stab of fear tore through the warmth. It would hurt—hurt unlike anything she had ever felt before. And if she did this, her secret would be out. There would be no going back. Everything she had done to keep her mark hidden will have been for nothing. And those around her might turn on her, like her village had. But if she didn’t…

  Rowen vacillated for one heartbeat, her body motionless as her mind worked feverishly. Lore groaned, his face unusually pale in the moonlight.

  Suddenly she knew her answer.

  The worn leather glove fell onto the white sand below.

  Immediately the world came roaring back. Rowen fell to her knees beside Aren. The warmth inside her had already moved to her hand where it waited, the energy tingling within her palm.

  Rowen reached across Lore’s body and pulled Aren’s hand away along with the bloody rag he had been holding down. He fought her, but her strength was too great.

  “What are you doing, Rowen?” she heard Aren shout, but it was as if hearing through water. All her senses were centered on her palm.

  Rowen held Aren back with her left hand and reached over with her right, her palm now pulsing with warm power. She heard a couple of gasps and knew they could see her palm glowing in the darkness. No time to think about that now.

  She searched for the t
ear in Lore’s shirt, then finding it, placed her hand inside where she could touch his skin. She felt the warm, slick feel of his blood. She searched further with her fingers until she found the gash in his side. It was so deep that Rowen almost retched.

  She took a deep breath to clear the nausea. Word, be with me. With that, she pressed her palm on the wound.

  The warmth flowed from her palm like a dam let loose. It surged down her arm and through her palm, eagerly entering Lore. She could almost feel the tendrils of warmth search his body, finding the place of pain. Then the energy slackened. The last of the warmth left her palm.

  One heartbeat later, she felt a burning coldness enter her hand.

  Rowen breathed harder. It was coming. The coldness rose steadily up her arm and down her side. She braced herself. But no amount of anticipation prepared her for the real thing.

  Wave after wave of agony rushed over her body. Lore’s wound was deep, and she could feel it penetrate her side, tearing muscle and rupturing organs. She tried to bite down a scream, but it escaped her lips.

  “Oh, Word, help me—” Rowen wanted to let go, would do anything to let go. She panted, then tensed as another cold wave moved up her arm. “Can’t give up, can’t give up,” she whispered, shutting her eyes. She pressed her hand firmly against Lore’s side and braced for the next wave.

  It slammed into her, knocking her breath right out of her chest. Rowen could hear shouting above her, but her senses were now dim under the constant barrage of pain. Darkness stretched across her eyes. She could not hold on much longer.

  Please, Word, she prayed weakly, let me finish.

  A feeling of peace rushed over her. She doubled over with pain again. Her hand slipped away from Lore’s side. But somewhere inside she knew she had done enough. He would live.

  Rowen collapsed across his body, unable to hold the darkness back any longer.

  • • •

  Lore felt warmth enter his body, filling him, chasing away the cold and darkness he had clung to moments before. And the light… It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He wanted to reach out and touch it but found he could not lift his hand.

  The light began to fade away.

  No, Lore cried, trying to grasp it, to keep it inside of him. But like the waves of the sea, the warmth and light receded from his body, leaving him suddenly bare. Lore tried to take a breath, but there was something heavy across his chest. Voices were arguing above him. He cracked open his eyes—

  And found a body lying across his chest.

  “Ugh.” He tried to move. The body above him shifted slightly. That hair, it looked so familiar—

  Someone lifted the body off of him. Coughing again, Lore sat up, rubbing his chest. Then he tensed. His hand stole toward his right side, fingers feeling for where the assassin had buried his blade. There was still blood, but no pain. And underneath…smooth skin.

  “Captain Lore, are you all right?” Lore turned and found a strange man looking at him. Wait… he recognized him—

  “Traver,” the man said, “my name is Traver, Prince Evander’s varor.”

  “What h-happened?”

  “She’s bleeding heavily,” Aren shouted nearby. “I can’t stop it! I don’t understand. She wasn’t injured at all. Or did we not see it?”

  Lore felt like his world was spinning. Traver hurdled past him. Lore gripped his head and shook it. What in all the Lands was going on?

  Aren swore. “Not her. Please, not Rowen…”

  Lore’s head jerked up. Rowen? He twisted around. Traver and Aren crouched around a body. Rowen. Lying on the sand.

  What in all the Lands? Lore turned and scrambled toward her body. “What happened?” he cried. “Why is she like this? Wha—”

  “She healed you.”

  “What?” Lore found Lady Astrea kneeling next to him.

  Her eyes were swollen with tears still seeping from the corners.

  “How— Never mind.” There was no time for questions. Lore ripped off his leather jerkin and threw it to the side. He looked down and found half of his shirt stained with blood. He grabbed hold of the left side and tore a long strip off. “Hold that rag in place,” he told Aren.

  Lore began to wrap the long piece of cloth around Rowen’s middle. Oh, Word, I can’t do this, he panted. He tied off the end of the cloth, hoping it would staunch the wound until he could get her to a healer. Not after Lord Gaynor. I can’t handle another death.

  “Captain, wait,” Aren said. “You’re in no shape to—”

  But Lore was already gathering Rowen into his arms. He needed to get her to a healer, now! He stood, clutching Rowen close to his body. He turned and looked around. Boulders, sea, sand. Where was he? He looked behind and saw the high walls and castle of Avonai. There. He started across the beach.

  A hand grabbed his arm. “Captain,” Aren said, “we can’t take her back to Avonai.”

  “Why not?” Time was running out, he had to do something.

  “There are assassins all over the palace. And we have no idea if there are more throughout the city.”

  There was more than one assassin? Lore stopped, his mind churning.

  “We need to go north,” Traver said. “There is a healer—”

  “Fiske is too far away,” Lore said, his mind now taking charge over his emotions. “How did this happen? How did Rowen get hurt?” He needed to know how bad the situation was.

  “She healed you,” Lady Astrea said again.

  “How? No one can…” Wait. A chill ran down his spine. She couldn’t be—

  “She’s an Eldaran,” Aren answered. “It’s the only explanation.”

  “But that’s impossible,” Lore said with a shake his head. “They don’t exist anymore. Perhaps you did not see her injured—”

  “We watched her heal you. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself. Her hand glowed.”

  Lore stood there, holding the one woman he loved in the world, and watching her slowly die in his arms. To find out she had sacrificed herself for him…that she was an Eldaran. A Daughter of Light.

  If that were true…then Rowen had a chance to live. If she were truly an Eldaran, she could heal herself. Suddenly Balint’s words after the wolf attack came back. The Word healed her, Balint had said. The old healer was right. The gift of healing the Word had given to every Eldaran had healed her. So in a sense, the Word had healed her.

  And now she could heal herself again. All she needed was time. If he could just find a place for her to rest.

  Voices echoed across the beach.

  Traver looked across the sand. “We have to go now.”

  “But what about Rowen?” Lady Astrea asked.

  “We need to get you safely back to the White City, milady, now that… I mean, we can’t—”

  “I’ll take her.” Everyone turned to look at Lore. “If we drag Rowen to Fiske or the White City, she will bleed out. But if we let her rest, she might be able to heal herself.” Lore swallowed. He knew exactly how close she was to death at the moment. “So I will take Rowen to a safe place. That is, if you will allow me temporary leave, Lady Astrea. You are, after all, now the ruler of the Ryland Plains.”

  Lady Astrea looked puzzled for a moment. Then her face fell. Lore knew she now understood that she was in charge.

  Lady Astrea straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin just slightly. “Permission granted, Captain Lore.”

  So like her father, Lore suddenly realized. And the gut-wrenching sense of guilt ripped through him again. Lore swallowed and turned to Aren. “You are Lady Astrea’s varor now. Guard her with your life.”

  “You know I will, Captain.” Aren held out a pack. “This is Rowen’s.”

  Lore took the pack.

  “Good luck. And…” Aren hesitated. “And return Rowen to us. Yourself too.” Aren glanced once more at Rowen, then moved to where Traver and Lady Astrea were waiting.

  The three of them turned and moved toward a narrow gap betwee
n two large rocks. Moments later, they were gone.

  Lore knew where they were heading. There was a small trail nearby that led up to the trees that grew along the edge of the coast. A few miles north, and they would arrive in Fiske. But that was not where he was going.

  Lore readjusted his grip on Rowen and moved in the opposite direction. There was a cave near here, an old childhood haunt that he had played in summers ago when his mother would bring him here to the coast to visit her people.

  Now perhaps it would keep them safe, at least until Rowen healed.

  20

  Lore made his way across the sand, then cut across to where the dune grass grew thicker. He could feel the storm moving in, the sea’s tumultuous waves tugging at his emotions. He was in for a rough night.

  Rowen moaned once in his arms, shaking her head. Then her head fell back against his chest. Lore gripped her tighter, pushing his legs to move faster.

  The farther he went, the heavier she became, along with the added weight of her pack on his back. At least this time, he wasn’t having to run while carrying her. And the physical labor kept his mind from revisiting the events of earlier that evening.

  Lore trudged on ahead until the dune grass gave way to a large rocky hill beyond. Bushes and moss were scattered across the mound with a single gnarled tree at the top. Lore moved toward two overgrown bushes he recognized. He held Rowen tightly to his body and swept back the branches to reveal a small dark entrance. He let out a sigh of relief. There had been no collapse, and he had correctly remembered the location. The cave was still there.

  He carefully placed Rowen down outside the cave entrance and began to rummage through her pack for a flint stone to light a torch. He found the small stone and searched for a long piece of driftwood. He spotted one nearby and, after tearing more of his shirt away to wrap around its end, he lit the torch.