Souls of Aredyrah 3 - The Taking of the Dawn

by Tracy A. Akers

  The young man barked for the guards to stop their approach and urged his black stallion to the front of the line. “Well, we meet again,” the young King said as he looked Torin up and down. “Torin, isn’t it?”

  Torin stared at him in silence.

  “I believe the last time we met you were at my table, signing a…what did we call it…peace treaty?” Whyn laughed.

  “Why are you doing this?” Torin asked angrily. “The Jecta have done nothing to you.”

  Whyn’s pale eyes flashed crimson. In that moment Torin realized he was not looking at the same young King he’d met at the negotiating table. That king had been beaten and vulnerable. This one was fiendish and cruel, armed with sword and bow, yet strangely feminine in his persona.

  Whyn tossed his blond head. The gold painted around his eyes and upon his lips glinted in the fiery darkness. “Ah, Torin…of course they have done something. They have brought impurities to our door, and now they must be purged.”

  “What do you mean, purged?”

  Whyn nudged his horse closer. He glared down at Torin. “You know of what I speak. It is impurity that has brought sickness to our land. It must be stopped before it reaches those not deserving of it.”

  “So you would kill innocents for the sake of your own?” Torin exclaimed.

  “Of course. The gods demand it.”

  “Whose gods?”

  “My gods! The only gods!” Whyn snapped. Then he smiled and glanced around. “Is my brother with you?”

  “No,” Torin replied. He stepped back, his weapon still raised.

  Whyn looked toward the tent at Torin’s back. He motioned to a guard. “Let us see what the Shell Seeker is trying so hard to defend.”

  A guard swept a blade to Torin’s throat before he could react. Torin lowered his weapon slowly as his eyes darted amongst the guards. One snatched the short sword from his hand and tossed it aside. Another threw back the flap to the tent and thrust his torch-bearing hand inside.

  In the flickering light, Nannaven stood with her arms around Nely and Gem. Mya lay in the shadows, embracing Farris’s body, her eyes white with fear.

  “There is no one here of concern to you,” Torin said.

  “Is that so?” Whyn threw an order to the guard who was holding the torch. “Bring the old woman out…and the girls.”

  The guard did as instructed, dragging out Nannaven and the little girls who were still clinging to her skirts.

  Gem pushed away from the Spirit Keeper, clenching her fist at Whyn. “You leave us alone!” she cried.

  Nannaven pulled Gem back. “Hush, child,” she commanded. “You hush now.”

  Whyn eyed Gem up and down. “Is this your woman, Torin? Or is it the old crone?” He laughed. “My, but your taste does run in opposite directions.”

  Torin took a threatening step toward Whyn, but a guard stopped him short. He glanced into the tent.

  Whyn followed Torin’s gaze. “Ah, my mistake,” he said. “Clearly that is where your affections lie. Was the boy yours?” He shook his head. “Pity.”

  “What do you want?” Torin demanded.

  “What do you think? I want Tearia brought back to her grandeur and the impure ones wiped out once and for all.”

  “You’re insane,” Torin said.

  “Perhaps, but that is not relevant. I have the Lion on my side and you have, well, nothing.”

  “We have the Unnamed One, and the Transcendor!” Torin said, though he knew the Unnamed One had returned to Kirador and would not likely be back.

  “Do not bore me with your myths.” Whyn turned his attention to Nannaven. “Guard, bring the old woman closer.”

  Nely and Gem were yanked from her grasp, and Nannaven was shoved before Whyn.

  “You are a Memory Keeper,” Whyn said.

  Nannaven did not respond.

  “Your silence does not hide the truth. I met another of your kind not so long ago. Tenzy I believe her name was.”

  Nannaven stiffened.

  “You knew her then,” Whyn said.

  “She was my sister,” Nannaven said. “She defeated your Priestess, I believe.”

  Whyn’s face seemed to morph momentarily into that of a woman, beautiful, yet sinister. “The Priestess cannot be defeated,” he said. “She is eternal.”

  “Where is she then?” Nannaven asked.

  “She is here, in me.”

  Nannaven scoffed. “I see no Priestess here. Only a boy who has confused his identity with that of a woman. If the Priestess has a future, then I fear that you, Whyn, do not.”

  “You are in no position to speak of futures, old woman.” Whyn whipped his sword from its sheath so quickly that Nannaven had no time to flinch. He plunged the blade into her belly as she gasped in disbelief.

  Nannaven ran her eyes over the golden lion at the sword’s hilt, then over the blade as it was pulled slowly from her gut. She lifted her fading gaze to Whyn’s face. Blood dribbled from her mouth as she spoke. “You may have taken my life,” she said, “but there will be another to take my place.” She fell to the ground, dead, but her words lingered in the air.

  “Nannaven!” Torin screamed. He reeled toward her, but soldiers grabbed his arms and dragged him back.

  Whyn flicked his hand toward a guard. “It is time for this place to be purified,” he said. The guard stepped forward and handed Whyn a torch.

  “No!” Torin cried.

  Whyn eyed him, then glanced from the girls to the tent. “Very well. I will give you a choice.” He pointed the sword toward Nely and Gem with one hand, the torch toward Mya and Farris with the other. “What will it be, Shell Seeker? The living? Or the dead?”

  Torin’s heart pounded. “Wh—what?”

  “You heard me. Choose.”

  “You are letting us go?”

  “Only you, and the two you feel worth saving. Who will it be, I wonder? The girls…or the corpses?”

  Torin looked to the tent, then back at Whyn. “But Mya is not dead,” he said.

  “She will be. Now make your choice. My patience wears thin.”

  Torin glanced between the two small girls cowering in the grasp of the guards, then at the forms of Mya and Farris in the far reaches of the tent. His mind raced. “I can’t—I—”

  “Choose!” Whyn shouted.

  Torin thought the contents of his stomach would spill into the dirt. He stepped slowly toward the girls.

  The guards let go their hold, and Nely and Gem ran to him. Torin gathered them up into his arms, but his limbs were so weak he did not know how he could hold them, much less carry them to safety. Tears filled his eyes and shame filled his heart. But the sorrow of what he was doing to Mya and Farris filled him even more.

  Whyn smirked. “Now, Shell Seeker, you may cart your rubbish back to Meirla. When you get there, give my brother a message. Tell Reiv I expect him to leave Tearia once and for all.”

  “Leave? But where would he go?”

  “I do not care, but he has three days time in which to do it.”

  “But if I return to Meirla, I risk spreading the fever.”

  “It is too late for that,” Whyn said. He waved his hand toward the south. “You see? The rabble is running in that direction as we speak. They will likely reach Meirla before you do. How unfortunate. Regardless, if you wish to see the sea again, or anything else for that matter, I suggest you run.”

  A chill raced down Torin’s spine, telling him to flee, but strangely his feet refused to obey.

  Whyn narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps some incentive then.” He tossed the torch into the tent. More guards surrounded it, their flames pressed to the canvas.

  “No!” Torin screamed. He made a move toward the tent, but a line of guards blocked his path.

  Whyn removed his bow from his shoulder, then slid a gold-tipped arrow from the quiver hanging at his back. He notched the arrow and pulled it back slowly, aiming it at Torin. “I suggest you run, shell-rabbit,” he said with a grin.

  Torin s
pun before he could think what he was doing. With a girl in each arm, he dug his toes into the dirt and pushed his legs forward. Nely and Gem pressed their knees into his sides and clung to his neck, screaming in high-pitched terror. But before he had gone any distance at all, a pain as hot as fire tore through his back. He staggered, and looked down to see the tip of an arrow protruding from his shoulder. Blood spilled down his chest, smearing the legs of the girls still pinned to him.

  “I suggest you run faster,” Whyn’s voice shouted after him.

  Then Torin heard the clank of the black stallion’s harness, and the pounding of its hooves as Whyn commanded it forward. Gem began to struggle, sending a burst of pain radiating down Torin’s arm. “He’s coming!” she shrieked.

  Torin grimaced, but dared not look back. He tightened his hold on the wriggling girl and ran as best he could, but his speed was nowhere fast enough. For a moment he thought to give up. He could not hope to outpace Whyn who was now on the hunt. Would it not be better to stand and fight, regardless of the outcome? The loves of his life were gone and his pride all but demolished. What did he have to live for?

  But then he realized he still had Nely and Gem, and he couldn’t let them down, not like he had Farris and Mya. If he saved the girls, then Mya could live on—in them—with him. He summoned every ounce of strength he could muster and pushed on harder. But as fast as he was running, he could not shake the stallion at his back, nor the taunting words of its rider: “Run, rabbit. Run.”

  Gem continued to struggle, and Torin felt certain he would lose his grip on her. He barely had the strength to hold the girls, much less run with them. Why was Gem fighting him so? She cried out, and Torin felt the hot breath of the horse at his back. He changed direction and dodged between two tents, barely navigating a heap of flaming debris.

  He stumbled into the main corridor of the encampment and slid to a halt. People were running all around him, shouting and shoving and blocking his path. Which way? Which way? Dozens of eyes darted in his direction, then turned as one to stare beyond where he stood. People screamed as the crowd scattered in various directions, leaving Torin standing in the emptiness of their wake. The clank of a horse’s bridle sounded at his back. He slowly turned his head. The sky exploded like a thousand drums. But it was the sight of Whyn that sent a start to Torin’s heart.

  “Ah, there you are,” Whyn said with amusement. “I thought you would be better sport.”

  Torin turned and ran. One by one bodies dropped around him. One by one tents burst into flames. Guards approached from every direction, some on foot, others on horseback. Torin managed to outmaneuver them, but he could not evade Whyn who was not far behind. He veered into a passageway too narrow for any horse to navigate. When he reached the end of it, he deviated in yet another direction. His eyes darted back and forth, expecting to see Whyn around every corner.

  Torin wasn’t sure where he was or which way to turn; he only knew that he had to escape the encampment. A flash of lightening illuminated the landscape, just long enough for him to gain his bearings. Then his hopes lifted. The last row of tents was just ahead. If he could make it to the foothills beyond, perhaps he could hide the girls and find refuge from Whyn.

  Torin sprinted past the perimeter and up the hillside, struggling to keep his footing on an increasingly slick terrain. The landscape had become a blur of rain, and the steep incline of the hill felt treacherous beneath his feet. As Torin plunged deeper into its shadows, he risked a glance back. The orange glows within the camp were turning to steamy hues of gray. Even the screams of the people were growing more and more distant.

  Torin clambered up the slope, his lungs laboring so hard he felt certain they would burst. His arm and shoulder screamed with pain, and his legs were all but numb. He honestly did not know how he was moving them; they no longer seemed under his control.

  The girls were quiet and still in his arms; even Gem no longer struggled. He glanced down to see their faces buried in his neck. “Almost there,” he said. “Almost—” But before he could say another word, something thunked into his back, throwing him forward. The girls tumbled from his arms, and Torin plummeted to the ground.

  Torin lay there, sprawled in the mud, unable to move, unable to think. All he was aware of was the air dragging in and out of his chest and the sound of the rain pelting the ground around him.

  His pulse began to beat a rhythm in his ears, playing in unison with the wheezing of his lungs. Their tempos raced then gradually slowed, until at last they seemed to stop altogether.

  Torin was not sure which sound gave out first, the beating of his heart or the rasping of his lungs, but he no longer cared. All went quiet as the world plunged into darkness, and Torin gladly followed it there.

  Back to ToC

  Chapter 12: Concerns of the World

  Reiv bolted upright, his heart hammering in his throat. He scanned the room, seeking any sign of an intruder. But the only movement he saw was the moonlight flickering through the drape. He turned his gaze to Kerrik sleeping nearby. Perhaps the boy had been talking in his sleep; Kerrik’s nighttime ramblings did frequently wake the household. But no, Kerrik was quiet and his breathing steady and slow. Reiv relaxed, deciding whatever had startled him from his pillow must have been a dream. But he rose from his bedding nonetheless.

  He tiptoed past Kerrik, then toward Brina and Jensa. A cool breeze tinkled through the drape in the doorway, sending a melody of cockles and the scent of rain into the room. Reiv turned his attention to the shells. Perhaps that was it, the drape. But then a horrible vision stole into his consciousness, and he knew it had been neither dream nor drape.

  He moved to Jensa’s bedside and shook her shoulder. “Jensa…wake up,” he whispered.

  “What?” she mumbled. She swept a mass of curls from her forehead and squinted up at him.

  “I think Torin is in trouble.”

  Jensa threw her legs over the edge of the bed and rose. “What are you talking about?”

  “Something has happened,” Reiv said. He turned and reached for his tunic and pulled it over his head.

  Brina, now awake, sprang to her feet. “What is it?”

  “I am leaving to find Torin,” Reiv replied.

  “What? Why?”

  “He may be injured.”

  “Injured?”

  Jensa clutched Reiv’s arm. “How can you know this?”

  Reiv eased his arm from her grasp and secured his belt around his waist. He turned his attention back to Brina. “Fetch Gitta for me, will you?”

  Raindrops began to pelt the hut. Brina grabbed her shawl and pulled it over her head, then raced out the door.

  “I’m going with you,” Kerrik declared.

  Reiv turned to face him. He hadn’t realized the boy was awake, and cursed himself for not having handled the situation more covertly.

  “Back to bed, sprite,” Reiv said. “I will be back soon.”

  “No,” Kerrik said, and threw off the covers. He scrambled up. “I have a right; he’s my brother.”

  “You’re not going, Kerrik,” Jensa said firmly. “Reiv can handle this on his own.”

  “Jensa is right,” Reiv said. “Gitta will get there more swiftly with only one rider.”

  Kerrik stomped his foot. “I’m tired of being treated like a baby.”

  “You’re not being treated like a baby,” Jensa said. “Brina and I aren’t going either, now are we?” She handed Reiv a pouch of water, then another containing herbs and assorted medicinals.

  Reiv rushed outside to find Brina waiting with the horse. There was no saddle on its back, but Reiv rarely felt the need for one. He leapt onto its back and grabbed hold of its mane. “Jensa, call the clan together—tonight,” he said. “Something is afoot.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked anxiously.

  “I saw things,” Reiv said, “during my Transcension, things I never wished to see, things I have tried to deny. This is one of them.” He nudged the horse and turned it tow
ard the road. The rain began to come down harder. “The perimeters must be watched,” he said over his shoulder. “No one can be allowed in. And the healers must be prepared.”

  “I will notify them,” Brina said.

  Reiv looked down at Kerrik, now standing beside the horse. “No worries, sprite,” he said. “Torin will be fine.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” Kerrik said. And Reiv knew he meant it.

  Reiv set his jaw, then kicked in his heels and sped off into the night.

  Back to ToC

  Chapter 13: Muddy Waters

  Reiv reared his horse to a halt and studied the thick bank of fog creeping up the hillside below. The rain had stopped, but the downward slope of the road was steep and slippery with mud. The horse snorted and shook her head, flinging a spray of wet mane. “Whoa there, girl,” Reiv said. “I’m soaked through as it is.” He leaned down and patted her neck, then took stock of the descent. One misstep and the horse could be lamed and Reiv tossed into the mud.

  He urged the horse down cautiously, guiding her as best he could, halting when her pace became too confident. At last she reached the base of the hill, but a dark shadow shifted in the fog, diverting Reiv’s attention.

  “Who is there?” Reiv called, but he was met by only silence. He prodded the horse onward a few more steps. The fog shifted again as the shadow crept closer.

  “Halt,” Reiv said. “State your name.”

  “State your own name first,” a man’s voice replied.

  Reiv resented the stranger’s tone, but there was no time to challenge it. “I am Reiv, come from Meirla, seeking a friend. He was headed to New Pobu earlier this evening.”

  An old man, soaked though and muddied with soot, emerged from the shadows. A woman cowered at his back. “If your friend made it there,” the man said, “you’ll be lucky to see ‘em again.”

  “What do you mean? What has happened?”

  “The King’s what happened. Burned down the encampment and killed just about everyone in it. Some of us made it. Some of us didn’t.” He nodded his head toward the woman. “We were lucky I reckon.”