Son of Truth (Follower of the Word)

by Morgan L. Busse

  Why now? What had triggered it? Rowen looked at Drake. But the blaze dimmed when he looked back. She turned toward the lady. The lady was still speaking, but Rowen could barely hear her over the blaze rushing through her ears.

  Her truthsaying power had not come since the night she had touched the dark-eyed man outside the White City. And it had changed that night, as well. Since then, she could feel the ebb and flow of emotions around her: She had felt Lore’s love and Drake’s treachery on the ship. But nothing like this. This fire inside her felt like the first time she had touched Cleon: powerful and overwhelming.

  Lady Anya sat down in the empty chair on the other side of the table. “Well?” She looked at Rowen. “Are we going to do this or not?”

  Rowen opened her mouth, then closed it. She glanced at Drake, who stood a couple of feet away, his arms folded. She couldn’t do it. The woman had no idea what she was asking. If she touched this woman, she wouldn’t receive a healing at all.

  A low rumble came from Drake, and his face tightened. Rowen turned back to Lady Anya and slowly placed her hand on the table.

  Lady Anya looked down and gasped. “Your hand! It-it’s glowing.”

  Rowen gave the woman a quick nod. Her mouth was too dry to say a word. Any moment she was going to touch this woman and see everything. Adrenaline raced through her body, leaving her feeling lightheaded.

  Mesmerized, Lady Anya reached out her hand, her bracelets clinking softly as they moved down her arm.

  Word, help me.

  Their hands met.

  The fire inside Rowen burned. It flew to her right and down her arm. The heat left her palm.

  Lady Anya’s eyes widened. She spoke, but Rowen could not hear her over the rush. A piercing scream filled the room. Had she screamed? Or had Lady Anya? Before Rowen could figure it out, the room disappeared.

  She was falling through a dark tunnel. Warm air pressed against her face. She could hear voices speaking. A light appeared, expanding until Rowen saw that she stood in a room. Lady Anya was in the middle, her finger pointing at a young man with dark hair and eyes. His face was stricken, hers livid. Each word she said shredded the young man, leaving behind a bloody, beaten mess. Rowen blinked… The young man looked whole again. But Rowen knew the wounds were there, beneath his skin.

  The room changed. She was outside now, beneath a bright blue sky, in a garden filled with leafy green plants and pebble paths crisscrossing through lush grass. A couple of feet away were half a dozen women, all dressed in fine, sheer silk, with pearls and colorful ribbons woven in their hair. They wore gold and silver bracelets on their arms. Lady Anya stood in the middle, laughing. One by one, she spoke of people she knew, tearing each person down with her words, exalting in the feeling of superiority. Rowen felt sick.

  Over and over Rowen relived every conversation Lady Anya had ever uttered. Her tongue was like a broadsword, slashing and cutting everyone around her. A dark sludge oozed from her lips, spreading across each person she met.

  Rowen couldn’t breathe. She grabbed her throat and struggled for air. The images continued, words burning across her mind. She was going to faint…

  The room with Drake and Lady Anya came tumbling back. Rowen fell from the chair onto her knees. She gulped in air like a parched man.

  There was a scream. Rowen looked up.

  “Get away from me. Get away from me!” Lady Anya stood and stumbled backward. Her chair hit the ground with a crash. She stared at Rowen, the whites visible around her eyes. She opened her mouth and screamed again.

  Drake rushed toward the woman and placed a hand on her arm. “What in all the Lands did you do to her?”

  The lady stared at Rowen and pointed a finger at her. “That…that is no woman! She’s a witch!”

  Drake looked at Rowen and helped Lady Anya to her feet. “Talk! Now!”

  Rowen caught her breath. “I…I showed her…the darkness…inside.”

  Drake paused. “You did what?” Lady Anya shuddered. “You were supposed to heal her! Why didn’t you heal her?”

  “I had no choice!” Rowen came to her feet. She had a hard time conjuring sympathy for the lady across from her after what she had seen Lady Anya do and say. “That is what my power chose to do. I don’t control it.”

  Lady Anya turned away and took a shaky step toward the door. “Get me away from her!”

  Drake turned away from Rowen. “Yes, milady.” He led her toward the door.

  “I never want to be near her again! She’s not a healer, she’s a witch, and she ought to be—”

  The door slammed shut.

  Rowen could still hear the lady shouting, but the wood muffled her words. She sank back into her chair. Why? Why had she not healed Lady Anya? Not that she’d wanted to. She didn’t want to think about what disease Lady Anya was hiding. But why had her truthsaying power come to life?

  Over and over, Lady Anya’s words continued to echo inside her mind. Rowen grabbed her head with both hands and shook. But the words would not leave. She had watched the damage this woman had done, and she’d seen the people left broken after the words had been uttered. And the Lady Anya had no idea…until now.

  Rowen rubbed her face. The words finally faded. Silence filled the room. She let out her breath.

  The door opened with a soft creak.

  Rowen looked up. Drake walked in, his eyes pinned to her face. He shut the door behind him, never looking away. He walked across the room. Suddenly the silence felt like it would explode. Drake just continued to look at her.

  “What the—” his next two words made Rowen blush— “was that? Lady Anya came here expecting to be healed, like all the others, and instead you pull some dark magic on her?”

  “Its not dark magic,” Rowen said, angry now. “It’s the truth.”

  “You scared the sands out of her. That sounds more like dark magic to me. What happened to the healing?”

  “I’m not a healer.” Rowen folded her arms, following Drake with her gaze. “I am a Truthsayer, a Truth Sayer,” she said, enunciating each word. “It means that I show people what they are on the inside. That is what my power did today.”

  Drake narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean you’re not a healer? You’ve healed dozens of people.”

  “Healing is a natural ability all Eldarans have.” Rowen shook her head. “Or at least all full-blooded Eldarans, which I am. But my special power is to show people who they really are inside.”

  “But this, this truth-saying…you’ve never done that before. Why now?”

  Rowen looked down. “I don’t know. There is still a lot about these…powers…that I don’t understand.”

  “So you can’t control this power?”

  Rowen stared at the ground. “No,” she finally said. “I can’t. At least, not that I know of.”

  Drake threw his hands up into the air. “Just great! Now what am I supposed to do? I can’t have you scaring off everyone who comes to be healed. I could’ve really used Lady Anya’s payment. She demanded I give her all the gold back.” He gave Rowen a dirty look. “You’ve never thought about touching me with that power, have you?”

  Rowen looked at him. She could not deny the fact that she had.

  Drake apparently read it on her face. His jaw tightened, and he took a step back. “Then perhaps your usefulness has come to an end.”

  21

  Caleb woke with a groan. His back and left arm ached. Sleeping on a stone balcony was not something he wanted to repeat. He glanced through the gauze curtains toward the bed inside and sighed. Love gives, despite the cost. And he was feeling the cost now.

  His body protested as he moved to stand. He would need to ask a servant for cushions and more blankets if he wished to avoid these aches and pains tomorrow. He stretched his muscles and looked over the balcony. The sun was just coming up, flooding the desert in red and orange tinges. The vineyard below looked darker in the morning light. A cool breeze swept up and moved across his body, sending a shiver down his
back.

  He went to leave but then remembered something. Caleb lifted his right hand. That same discoloration was still there on his palm, like a faded snowflake. He thought by now it would have faded, but it was still there, and had been ever since he’d awakened in his family’s home. And then last night, his chest and palm had burned. Not like touching a fire, but more like he’d been holding a warm brick in his hand. It had happened when he had bandaged Nierne’s foot.

  He fingered the mark, but nothing happened. He closed his eyes and concentrated both on the place he had first felt the heat in his chest, then on his palm. Still nothing. Caleb let out his breath. Maybe he had imagined it?

  Caleb turned and headed inside the room. A small lump lay in the middle of the large bed, the hanging gauze obscuring her body. He moved closer, his feet silent as he crossed the stone floor. He pushed the gauze to the side. The young woman was still sleeping.

  Nierne, he reminded himself. Her name is Nierne. Saying the word again in his mind, he found it fit her: unusual and foreign.

  He studied her for a moment, marveling at the red curls around her face. Her nose was turned slightly upward, her hands curled just below her chin, clutching the silken cover across her body. He was drawn again to her unique physique, much like he had been back in the Temanin camp: her small, curved body, so unlike the tall, lean women of Temanin, and her skin, which was shades lighter than his own. And her hair…lush, red hair, the color of pomegranates, with those silky curls.

  His hand was already halfway inside the gauze before he realized what he was doing.

  Sands! Caleb dropped the gauze and backed away. He gave his head a quick shake. He’d never had a problem looking at a woman before. In fact, he usually quite enjoyed it. But for some reason, it did not feel right to look at Nierne that way. It made him feel almost…dirty.

  He moved toward the wooden chest and drew out a light tunic and dark pants. He changed behind the screen. He dumped yesterday’s clothes by his pack and checked on Nierne one more time. She was out cold.

  Not surprising, he thought, moving toward the door. After all she had been through, she was probably exhausted.

  Caleb closed the door softly behind him. “You,” he called out to a passing servant.

  The servant turned, then bowed. “Lord Tala, what may I do for you?”

  “I would like Nierne’s belongings brought to my room.”

  “Yes, sir.” The servant bowed and hurried away.

  Caleb headed downstairs toward the library. Finally, he would get the answers he’d come here to get, answers about who he was and who the Word was. Caleb opened the door. Sunlight poured through the window at the end of the room. Rows and rows of shelves lined either side. The room widened after a couple of feet, showcasing even more shelves, these with scrolls, vases, and stone tablets.

  Caleb stopped and stared. Where did he begin? He walked toward the long table set in the middle of the room. He tried to remember what book he had looked at years ago in which he’d seen the symbol that was on the pendant Nierne wore. After a moment, he shook his head. He could not remember.

  So he walked toward one of the shelves and began to read the spines. No. No. No, Caleb thought as his gaze passed over each title. He finished a row and moved onto the next. No. No.

  A minute passed. Then another. Then…Caleb pulled a book out. Across the front, embossed in silver and dark leather, was the symbol of the Word.

  Caleb carried the book across the room and sat down, never taking his eyes off that symbol. He placed the heavy tome on the table and flipped open the cover. Beautiful calligraphy greeted his eyes. Each letter and row of words had been carefully placed on the parchment, with not an ink smudge in sight. He glanced up at the first sentence.

  In the Beginning was the Word…

  Caleb let out his breath. He’d found it.

  • • •

  The door opened with a low groan. Caleb glanced up. A young man walked into the library. The servant saw him and bowed. “Lord Tala, Lady Meira requests that you break fast with her.”

  Surprised, Caleb looked out the window. The sun had already spread its rays across the desert. He had been reading for over an hour and had never realized the passage of time.

  “Milord?”

  Caleb turned back toward the servant. What he really wanted to do was stay in the library. He had barely begun reading the thick tome. But he could not deny Lady Meira’s wishes without insulting her. Caleb closed the book and sighed. “Tell Lady Meira I will join her shortly.”

  “Yes, milord.” The servant bowed again and left.

  Caleb stood, feeling his joints pop and crack after sitting for so long. He gave his muscles a quick stretch, then followed the young man out.

  A warm breeze flowed through the open windows that lined the left wall. The servant continued down the corridor. Caleb turned the other way and headed toward the stairs. He wanted to check on Nierne first. His boots slapped the marble as he hurried up the stairs. At the top, he turned left and followed the hall to his room at the far end.

  Caleb paused at the door and leaned toward its wooden surface, listening. He could hear nothing on the other side.

  The door opened with a soft creak. Caleb quietly let himself in and shut the door behind him. He glanced toward the bed. The lump was gone. He moved through the room and looked around. No one was behind the screen. He walked toward the balcony.

  Nierne stood outside, her hands flat against the stone railing. She had changed out of the blue silk outfit from last night and now wore the simple white tunic worn by the other servants of the household. A light blue sash was wrapped around her waist, accentuating her curves. Her hair waved in the desert breeze.

  Caleb moved up behind her. “Not thinking about running away again, are you?”

  Nierne jumped and turned. “What are you doing here?” she said, gripping the front of her tunic.

  Caleb raised an eyebrow. A teasing spirit settled across his chest. “Last time I checked, it was my room.”

  “I—” Nierne floundered, then, “Yes.”

  “Yes, you were thinking about running away, or Yes, this is my room?” His lips curled into a grin.

  Her cheeks flushed. “No.” Nierne straightened to her full height. Which wasn’t much, Caleb thought. She barely reached past his chin. “I was not thinking about running away.”

  “Then what were you thinking about?” Caleb asked in a more serious tone.

  Nierne looked at him but didn’t answer. Caleb watched her eyes move back and forth, taking in every part of him. He wondered what she saw when she looked at him. Then again, maybe he didn’t want to know.

  “I was thinking about home,” she finally answered.

  “Thyra?”

  “Yes.”

  Caleb relaxed. “Don’t worry: I’ll find a way to get you home.” A shadow passed over her face. He frowned. “You want to go home, do you not?”

  “Yes,” she said guardedly. But her eyes flickered, and she looked away.

  He narrowed his gaze. Nierne was hiding something. Which raised the question: What had a Thyrian scribe been doing traveling the Lands? Research, perhaps? Maybe she would enjoy Lady Meira’s library. He doubted that, as a servant, she had been given the opportunity to search it. And he still hoped she would help him. But breakfast first.

  “I came up here to check on you,” Caleb said.

  Nierne glanced at him, puzzled.

  “Would you like to break your fast?”

  As if in answer, her stomach rumbled. Nierne covered her middle with her hand, her cheeks flushing again.

  Caleb found he liked it when she blushed. It reminded him of an innocence long forgotten. “Come,” he said. “I’ll escort you down to the kitchens.”

  Nierne paused then stepped toward him. She limped slightly with her right foot.

  Caleb watched her. Perhaps he should offer to help her. That would be a nice thing to do, right? As she passed him, Caleb asked, “Do you want
some help?”

  Nierne turned and looked at him, a frown on her face. “What?”

  “Do you want some help walking?”

  She raised her chin. “No. I’m fine.” She walked into the room.

  Caleb watched her limp toward the door and sighed. He hurried toward her and caught her arm.

  Nierne shot him a look. “What are you doin—”

  “Helping you.”

  “I said I don’t need your help.”

  A growl formed at the base of his throat. Why wouldn’t she let him help her? Caleb reached for the door. “I promise I don’t bite.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “I don’t bite,” he repeated.

  Nierne stared a bit longer. “Fine.” Caleb got the distinct impression she thought otherwise. Made sense. He had not been the nicest man when they’d met weeks ago.

  He helped her down the stairs then toward the kitchen where the servants ate. Although he did not consider Nierne a servant, she was not of the same station as he and Lady Meira. And surprisingly, he didn’t care. But his cousin Meira would. So Nierne would have to eat in the kitchen.

  They passed a couple of servant girls. Caleb felt their eyes follow him and heard their whispers. He was used to it and barely paid attention, until he felt Nierne stiffen beside him. He glanced at Nierne from the corner of his eye. Her face matched her hair.

  “Just ignore them.”

  She stared straight ahead, the red from her cheeks creeping down her throat. She gave him a small nod.

  Caleb stopped before the door to the kitchen. He turned. “Nierne.”

  She glanced up at him with a guarded look.

  “Do you— Do still mind helping me in the library later this morning?”

  The guarded look vanished. “The library?” she said, her eyes wide.

  “Yes, after breakfast.”

  Nierne blinked as if trying to clear her mind. “You’re ordering me?”

  Caleb shook his head. “No. I am merely asking.”