Poisonwell (Whispers from Mirrowen Book 3)

by Jeff Wheeler

  - Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos

  XI

  Phae watched the firelight glint off Shion’s dark hair. He stared down at the ground, his face inscrutable. She wished she knew what he was thinking, that there was some way she could pry into his mind and reveal the hidden secrets there. Part of her wanted to smooth the quill-tipped points of hair away from his brow. His gaze turned up to her at that moment, and she found herself blushing.

  “When you stole Virk’s memories,” he said in a low voice, keeping their conversation intimate, “you . . . suffered. There was a look on your face as if you were in pain.”

  Phae recalled the sickening feeling in her stomach all too well. She nodded mutely.

  “Describe it.”

  She looked around the chamber, trying to put in words a sensation that was beyond description. “I’m not sure that I can.”

  “Try, Phae.”

  She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and then scratched her cheek. “It felt somewhat like the pain . . . the one that women have each cycle . . . except it was deeper. In my bones . . . inside my very being. I have never felt it before when using my magic.”

  “You did not feel it with Trasen.”

  “No. Not with him. I’m not sure if it was because Virk was mad . . . but why would that hinder it? I don’t know.” She stared down at her hands and wondered if some sickness was starting inside her.

  He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It may be that you are drawing near the time you need to claim your birthright. As a Dryad-born, you need to bond with a tree. If that does not happen, you will lose your gift.”

  “You think it’s a warning, then?” she asked. “That if I do not do so soon, I won’t be able to?”

  He nodded. “Are you ready for it?”

  His words caused an avalanche of dreary emotions inside of her. The pinching feeling in her stomach was nothing compared to the roiling inside her heart. She missed Stonehollow, and the thought of never seeing the Winemillers again was tortuous. What about wee Brielle, who never spoke? Would Phae never hear that little girl’s voice? What about Tate and Devin? What about Rachael? She missed them all, and the spasm of loss crushed her heart. Without wanting them, she felt tears prick her eyes.

  “There is much I’ll be giving up,” she confessed, her voice so thick it came out as a whisper. “But each of us is making a sacrifice. This is my part.”

  He reached out and took her hand, startling her. Glancing up, she saw him looking deeply into her soul. “I will not force you to do this, Phae. You have a choice . . . even still.”

  She stared down at the rugged hand enfolding hers and felt another strange sensation competing with the rest. His touch was like the fireblood and made her warm inside. “How can I walk away now?” she asked. “We’re in the middle of Boeotia.”

  “I’m not suggesting that you do. I’m telling you that you have a choice. You always have a choice.” His expression darkened and he released her hand. “I choose to have my memories restored. I want to know them and face them. I want to remember, no matter how painful they are. I must know the truth about myself.” His voice trailed off, his expression suddenly leagues away.

  She waited in the silence, knowing instinctively that he wasn’t finished yet. Both of their voices would not reach beyond them. She felt dirty and unkempt, wishing there was a place to bathe and get clean again. Not that it would matter. The land of the Boeotians was thick with dust.

  “How does it work?” Shion finally asked.

  “What?”

  “How does a Dryad restore someone’s memories? I know you take them with your eyes. Is it the same restoring them?”

  An uncomfortable flush started up Phae’s neck.

  His look became perplexed. “I see by your face it troubles you. Will it hurt you?”

  Phae bit her lip to stifle a laugh. She felt very warm at that moment, wondering how she could reveal the information without embarrassing them both. Uncertain still, she shook her head no.

  “Tell me.”

  “Well, I could explain it this way. A Dryad steals memories with her eyes. They are restored . . . through our lips. It’s called a Dryad’s kiss. That is how it is done.” She was surprised she got the words out without stammering.

  It was Shion’s turn to look uneasy. He stared at her, eyebrows raised with curiosity at her candor. He said nothing for a while, and she saw his jaw muscles clench.

  “It only works after I’ve fully become . . . who I am,” she said. “Then all of your memories will be restored to you. We . . . from the way I understand it . . . share them in a way. That is how it was with Annon and with my father. They could remember everything, even being an infant.”

  His look transformed from alarm to horror.

  “I do not want you to share my memories,” he said darkly. “You least of all. You are young . . . an innocent. I’ve done unspeakable things.”

  “You are not who you were, Shion,” she said, reaching out and taking his hand. “People can change. You are helping defeat our enemy now instead of helping him.”

  “Nothing that I do can fix what I’ve already done. I accept that. But to burden you with those memories . . .” He shook his head with determination.

  She knew it would not be wise to push him. “Well . . . we will travel that road when we need to. We are already bound together, you and I. Strange . . . I feel like it has been months since I’ve known you.” She waited a moment, letting him brood in silence. “There is something I wanted to ask you.” She nudged herself even closer to him. “The Empress told us that the Arch-Rike—that Shirikant—is immortal. That he went to Mirrowen and has blocked the portal. He cannot be killed. It made me wonder if you have been to Mirrowen also. In the past. How else to explain your invulnerability?”

  “You think so?” he asked, staring down at her hand overlapping his. He looked confused.

  “It makes sense to me. When the Empress mentioned this, I thought of you. You are not Shirikant. But it makes sense to me that you are one of his tools. Perhaps he has found a way to channel the magic and immortality into you that protects him as well. I don’t know.”

  “I have no memories of my past, as I told you,” Shion said. “I do not know what the truth is, but I wish to know it. We will learn that in time. But Phae, if my memories are as awful as I fear, I don’t want to burden you with them. That is unfair to you.”

  She patted his hand. “It’ll be all right.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “What matters more is not what you did in the past. It matters what you do moving forward. I wish I could return to Stonehollow. I would love to explain to them what happened to me. But I see now that I cannot. My future is different from my past. So it is with you. It is time that you put away the Kishion.” She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “It is not who you really are.”

  “And who am I?” he whispered, staring off into the cavern. It wasn’t a question seeking a reply.

  She clutched his hand. Phae did not know how to answer that question for herself. She was Tyrus’s daughter. She was the daughter of a Dryad too. She had the fireblood and all that it represented. But despite this history, she was a person—with feelings and ambitions. She had wanted to build a homestead with Trasen. Now her homeland would be a twisted thicket of disease-filled trees. She would never be the same again after this experience. There was truly no going back.

  Still clinging to his hand, she thought about the Seneschal of Mirrowen, the being who would take her oaths and bind her to the tree with a Voided Key. She wondered if she would ever understand the mysteries shrouding the secrets.

  “Thank you for being my protector,” she said after the intense silence. “Whatever comes, I feel my courage grow stronger because you are with me. If my fear starts to outweigh my desires, please remind me of this. I don’t want t
o quail when that moment comes.”

  His other hand cupped hers and he offered a warm smile, nodding. Then something caught his gaze and he let her hand go, nodding for her to look as well.

  The voices were just starting to rise to the point where others could hear. As Phae turned her head to look, she saw Kiranrao speaking vehemently to her father. Both were standing apart from the others, deep in conversation. It was Kiranrao’s voice that was rising.

  “I will return immediately,” the Romani said sternly. “You cannot deny me this request, Tyrus. My people are being butchered and I’ve learned something tonight that can help them. It’ll take days before the Boeotians can attack Kenatos. I can have Romani there before tomorrow evening.”

  “I have no doubt that you can,” Tyrus said, his brows knitting in anger. “But you can just as easily not return with it at all, and I cannot take the risk. It is vital to my plans for conquering the Scourgelands. I gave you the chance to leave earlier, Kiranrao, and you chose to stay. Have you changed your mind?”

  “No!”

  “Then why do you persist in arguing about this? I will not give you the Tay al-Ard.”

  “I can take it from you,” Kiranrao said in a warning voice.

  A surge of panic thrust inside Phae like a knife. Shion rose immediately and walked toward the two men. Prince Aran approached as well.

  “I do not underestimate your abilities nor the powers of that blade,” Tyrus said, seething. “I have a keen respect for both, or you would not even be here. If you attack Kenatos now, you may slow Havenrook’s defeat, but it was ordained to be defeated when the Arch-Rike decided to alter the shipping charters. We seek to banish the Plagues. That will do the Arch-Rike more harm than anything else you try.”

  “Give it to me.”

  Tyrus shook his head. “Think, Kiranrao! You are seeing threats in shadows because your people are being hunted and persecuted. Erasmus once told me that when a man risks losing his fortune, or his health, or some other thing he feels entitled to, he will begin to think irrationally to forestall the event.”

  Kiranrao’s face went black with rage. Phae stood shakily, worried for her father’s safety. Shion closed the gap, approaching from behind the mercurial Romani.

  “You’re saying I’m a fool?”

  “Of course not! You are the shrewdest man in Havenrook. Everyone knows it. But you are also the Arch-Rike’s enemy and you know how implacable he is. He has been plotting your overthrow for several years. As I have been plotting his. We are allies, Kiranrao. This quest cannot succeed without you.”

  “Then give me the device,” Kiranrao snapped. “I will give you the blade in exchange so that you know I will return as promised. You say you have faith in me, but your actions do not match.” He turned suddenly on Shion, his face livid. “You may not be harmed by other men, Kishion dog, but believe me . . . this blade will kill even you.”

  Shion was unmoved by the speech. He stared at Kiranrao with cool disregard.

  “I’m warning you—”

  Tyrus interrupted. “Kiranrao, you must accept my leadership in this quest, or we cannot go on with you.” He stepped even closer to the Romani, his voice pitching lower. “Don’t be offended that I didn’t send you against Tasvir Virk. You could have slaughtered the man in an instant. But that blade draws in the strengths of those it kills. Would you want your mind tainted by his madness? Think! You are the crucial part of this. There are dangers in the Scourgelands that only you will be fierce enough to confront. I count on that. Don’t be petty. You are worth your price . . . worth the reward you will gain. You will redeem your people if you stay true to me. Believe in that.”

  Kiranrao’s face was mottled with fury, but Tyrus’s words were starting to assuage him. The look of murder in his eyes had softened. Phae believed that Tyrus was manipulating his emotions, trying to play the right chords to calm him.

  Snorting with disgust, the Romani whirled and stalked away, his face twisted with displeasure. Phae approached Tyrus and only then saw his fist unclench. His hand trembled with emotions. She had never seen her father betray any sign like that before.

  “Father?” she asked, drawing nearer to him. She sidled up next to him, grateful that he was still alive and worried that the Romani’s wrath would snap like a taut bowstring.

  “Thank you, Shion,” Tyrus said in a low voice.

  He was answered with a brief nod. Prince Aran’s expression was black with distrust.

  Paedrin approached them as well, his expression firm and mixed with anger. “Why do you suffer that man to be with us?” he whispered to Tyrus, his voice thick with rage. “He almost killed you, Tyrus. I swear he almost did.”

  Tyrus shook his head. “You exaggerate, Paedrin.”

  “You know that I do not. He is not as he was in Havenrook. His grip on sanity is precarious. Tyrus, this is not wise.”

  “We need him, Paedrin,” Tyrus said with finality. “You will understand when we reach the Scourgelands. When we face the dangers there, it will become very clear to you.”

  “Will he even last that long?” Paedrin said with a puffed breath. “My instincts warn me that he cannot be trusted. He will betray us, Tyrus. He will bide his time—”

  “Hush,” Tyrus interrupted. His eyes were dark and stormy. “We play an elegant dance, he and I. Do not interfere with the timing.”

  Paedrin looked at Phae and then at Shion. “This is a mistake, Tyrus. It would be better if we left him behind.”

  Tyrus’s expression began to smolder with anger. “Trust me, Bhikhu. It is likely that many of us will be left behind as corpses as we go on from here. Friendship is a driving emotion and is a powerful one. But against the threats that we face, it is not enough—as you have seen with my friend Mathon. It was not enough then and it is not enough now. Duty drives me, not friendship. This may be the last chance we have to stop the next Plague. Our way forward is dangerous beyond your imagination. You will see the wisdom of choosing Kiranrao later.”

  Paedrin’s scowl was deep and distrustful. “You misjudge your allies as well as your enemies, Tyrus. I would not be doing my part if I did not warn you.”

  “I understand, Paedrin. Master Shivu was preparing you to join me on this quest. It was a tacit understanding, never spoken out loud. He never told you this. There is much you still do not know about the ways of men and ambition. This is the Uddhava. I learned it from the Arch-Rike. It is only a matter of deduction where he learned it from.” Tyrus squeezed Phae’s shoulder. “Get some sleep. We go in the morning.”

  “It was said long ago that the desire to be observed, considered, esteemed, praised, beloved, and admired is one of the earliest as well as the keenest dispositions discovered in the heart of man. All the great ones have ambition and all desire recognition for their efforts. More than most people, I knew Tyrus Paracelsus of Kenatos to be a man of deep ambition, which he cloaked with worthy goals. It has been said he’s turned traitor and will unleash the barbarian hordes of Boeotia against us. I am saddened but not surprised. How are the mighty fallen.”

  - Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos

  XII

  The group had assembled on the ridge top above the canyon. Annon had never met the king of his own land. Observing how Tyrus and the Empress of Boeotia conversed, he wished he had taken the time to do so. It fascinated him how leaders sized each other up, how they probed each other for weakness and strength in the comments they used and the short little phrases that tested one another. He had witnessed the Thirteen of Canton Vaud, the wisest of the Druidecht order, debate with Tyrus and seek to sway him away from his quest. He had observed the cruel machinations of the Arch-Rike attempt to do the same thing. The Empress was completely different. In every way, she sought to aid them—offering camels, supplies, sturdy men who could be trusted, and advice on how to maintain composure during conflict and to trust the inner voice
that had guided him over the years.

  Larei of Boeotia, Empress and servant to the lowest dregs of human life, amazed Annon, and he found himself overwhelmed by her wisdom and forethought. He was grateful to Tyrus that he was allowed into their private conversation. He knew it would mark him for the rest of his life.

  A sudden gust of wind blew dust into his eyes and the camels snorted and spat, loaded down with casks and rugged sacks and bladders full of wine and oil. Tyrus stroked his own beast’s neck, trying to soothe it as they spoke. Annon listened in eagerly.

  “We will strike Kenatos from the docks,” the Empress said, her voice low enough not to carry far. “Make them think that we are seeking to steal vessels to ferry our way across the waters. I will send Mathon and a chosen few to cross into the city from the bridge in the shallows. We will steal disguises and learn what we can from the inner defenses.”

  Tyrus nodded and gestured to Mathon. “Go to the Preachán quarter—it’s on the western part of the city. Seek the aid of Bartimeus of the Cypher Inn. He will shelter you and aid you. He has no love of the Arch-Rike and I think he’ll be loyal to me. You will not stay hidden long, for the Arch-Rike has his spies throughout the city. They watch the docks vigilantly. Coming in from another way will aid in the deception.”

  The Empress smiled with pure brilliance. “You have given us a spark of hope, Tyrus. If we can do nothing but interrupt Shirikant’s plans, it may aid you while you penetrate the Scourgelands. I do not think it will be difficult to topple the city from inside her defenses. She was designed to withstand an interminable siege, not a coup. But I assure you . . .” she added, reaching and grasping his forearm to emphasize her sincerity. Annon noticed how she communicated with all parts of her body—voice, eyes, and touch—aligning all three to help deliver her messages. “I assure you that we seek the Arch-Rike’s fall and will not harm the citizens of Kenatos if we can help it. We come as their liberators, though they will not see us in that light. Their minds have been poisoned against us. I have no desire to burn the Archives or purge knowledge from the city. Much of it is good and useful. As I told you before, his goal is to purge knowledge of himself from the land. If we are successful, I will add my records to the Archives personally.”