Son of Truth (Follower of the Word)

by Morgan L. Busse

  Caleb darted across the street and stayed close to the buildings, avoiding the lamps lit on the corners and the pools of light along the street. The city hummed with life even at night. Music drifted through the alleys. Conversations rose and fell inside windows. The desert air had finally cooled, causing bumps to rise across her arms and a shiver to run down her back. Nierne rubbed her arms and stayed close to Caleb.

  After crossing a couple of streets, dashing through alleys as narrow as two people, and turning numerous corners, Nierne gave up trying to keep track of where she was.

  Caleb turned a corner and suddenly stopped. Nierne sidestepped to keep from crashing into him. A long booth covered with a striped canvas roof spread out in front of a two-story building. One window on the second story was lit. Otherwise, the street was completely dark. Caleb approached the booth and ducked inside.

  Puzzled, Nierne followed.

  She could barely see inside the booth. Caleb’s silhouette was only a shade darker than the shadows inside. The air was warm and sweet, with a hint of something spicy.

  “We’ll stop here for now.” He turned and pointed at the side wall of the booth. “Sit down. I’ll sit over here and watch the street.” He slid down the wall where the booth connected with the building. Nierne sat down as well. Canvas curtains hung along the counter above, leaving the booth completely hidden from the street, save for the small space to her right, where they had first entered.

  They both breathed, her breaths louder than his. Soon he was silent. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she found Caleb staring at her, the tiny bit of light from outside outlining his face. Dark splotches covered the lower part of his nose and chin.

  “Here,” Nierne said quietly, and reached for the rag tucked inside her sash. It was hardly wet now, but it was still damp enough to wipe the blood from his face.

  “What’s that for?” he whispered back.

  “The blood on your face. I don’t think you want to walk around covered in blood. It might raise questions.”

  He took the rag and began to wipe his face. “Thanks,” he said after a moment. “I had forgotten about that.”

  Nierne watched him. Had Caleb been really telling her the truth? That he had not murdered someone? But then why was he being chased? What reason, other than committing the most heinous crime she could think of would give him a death sentence?

  One way to find out.

  Nierne cleared her throat, causing Caleb to look up. “So,” she said, turning her gaze down toward her lap and twisting the fabric of the cloak between her fingers. “Why are they after you?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him wipe his face one more time then place the rag down on the ground. He let out a long breath. “Corin wants me dead.”

  Nierne looked up sharply. “The ruler of the Temanin Empire wants you dead?”

  “Yes.”

  She held the fabric still. “Why?”

  “I—I did something to Velyni, his consort.”

  Images rushed through her mind, from a bloody dagger, to a body on the floor, to a bed covered in gauze. She began to work the fabric roughly between her fingers again. So that’s where he’d been tonight…

  “But it’s not what you’re thinking.”

  Nierne stopped and stared at him.

  “Velyni, she, well…” Caleb shrugged and looked away. “She wasn’t human.”

  “What?” The word escaped before she could stop it.

  Caleb glanced back. “Velyni, my cousin’s consort, she was some kind of…being. At first she looked like a woman. But then she changed.” Caleb shuddered and looked down at his hands. “It was like her skin was just a cover. She spun, and her skin…” he grimaced. “It fell off her. And this…this monster appeared in her place. Like moving smoke with red eyes.”

  It took a moment for his words to sink in. Living smoke…red eyes. The cloak slipped from her fingers. It can’t be.

  Caleb looked at her and gave her a wry smile. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  “I-I…”

  “It’s all right.” He looked back at the opening. “I’m not sure I believe it myself right now. So much has happened…”

  Nierne finally found her voice. “You mean she was a shadow?”

  Caleb turned back. “A shadow?”

  “The woman—was she a shadow?”

  “I don’t know.” Caleb gave her a strange look. “What is a shadow?”

  “In the old tongue, they are called the Mordra, the biting ones. But most people call them shadows, since that is what they look like: shadows with red eyes.”

  He stared at her, studying her. “Have you seen one before?”

  Nierne looked away. She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. Even with the cloak on, the air now felt extremely cold. “Yes,” she said finally. “I have. Because they have taken over Thyra.”

  She saw him start. “Wait. There are more of these monsters? And they are in Thyra? But why didn’t you say something?”

  “Would you have believed me?” Nierne shot back.

  Caleb let out his breath. “No,” he conceded. “Not until now. It makes sense now, why you don’t seem to want to go back. Is that why you left Thyra?”

  “Partially.” Nierne didn’t really feel like telling him about her failed attempts to find an Eldaran and bring her back. And that there was no use going back to Thyra without that Eldaran. “So how did you—” she made a face— “kill Velyni?”

  “I didn’t say I killed her.” Caleb rubbed his right hand. “I sent her somewhere.”

  “Sent her somewhere? Where? And how?”

  He took a deep breath and stared down at his lap as if debating something. Then slowly he lifted his right hand. Nierne frowned. She could see nothing.

  Wait. A faint light appeared on his palm. So faint at first that she thought it was from a light outside. She craned her neck and looked closer. No, it couldn’t be…

  The light on his palm grew.

  Nierne gasped and jumped back, her back hitting the wall behind her. “It-it can’t be.” Her gaze darted from his hand, to his face, then back to his palm. “Your hand. But you—” She shook her head. “You can’t possibly be…an Eldaran.”

  Caleb clenched his hand and drew it back to his body. “Why not?”

  “You are…” She waved her hand in Caleb’s direction.

  “I am what?” Caleb folded his arms. “I am what, Nierne? A killer? A murderer? A really bad man?”

  Nierne paused, then nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. She felt stricken by her own prejudices. The Word could use anyone, right? But never in a million years would she have guessed the Word would use someone like Caleb Tala.

  “But I am an Eldaran. My mother was one, before she turned away.” His shoulders sagged. “And I also was once an assassin. I cannot erase my past. So you are right. I am a killer and a murderer and the rest. ” He laughed bitterly. “A bad man.”

  “Caleb, I’m so…so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “Yes, you did. But I understand. What I don’t understand is what I am now. The Word said I am a Guardian.” He pulled his hand back out and opened his fingers. Her gaze went right to his palm. “I am a Son of Truth.” He gave a small laugh. “But I have no idea what that means.”

  Nierne stared at his palm. Caleb Tala, assassin and prince of Temanin—an Eldaran? She wouldn’t believe it had she not seen the mark on his hand.

  “Nierne, are you all right?” He touched her knee with his left hand.

  She shook her head. “No. I mean, yes. I mean—”

  Caleb suddenly leaned over her and clamped a hand across her mouth. Nierne gasped. “Shhh!” he whispered, his gaze toward the opening to the booth.

  Nierne listened. Muffled boots sounded nearby. She held her breath and watched. Two men ran by. They waited, Caleb’s hand still across her mouth. The sound faded.

  He waited a second longer, then dropped his hand. “We cannot stay in one spot too long.” H
e backed away but stayed in a crouched position. “I need to get out of Azar before the Keepers find me.” He looked at her then, his face serious. “Will you come with me?”

  Her mind was still spinning from his revelation. Now Caleb was asking her to flee with him? Nierne opened her mouth, then paused. She looked harder at Caleb. He was an Eldaran. Her eyes slowly widened. Was it possible that he could save the Thyrian people? The whole thought was ludicrous, and yet here he was, with the mark of the Word. And he had fought a shadow too—and won. Had the Word brought all this about to cause her to find the correct Eldaran for the task?

  Nierne nodded, feeling slightly dazed by it all. “Yes, I’ll come with you.”

  “Great.” Caleb grabbed her hand. “Then let’s go.”

  32

  Lore stared at the steaming black liquid inside the tiny ceramic mug he held between his fingers. A piece of parchment lay beside him on the rough wooden table.

  The tavern Farien had brought him to was a strange mix of dark woods and smoke, old tapestries hung along the rafters with a veneer of grease and dust, rugs with geometric designs on the stone floor between the tables and benches, and incense burning in the corners. There was no fireplace, like he would have found in a tavern up north. And no ale either. Wine was the preferred drink here, but having no desire for the deep red liquid, Lore had chosen the hot black drink that was a local favorite instead. It tasted like dirt, but it gave him something to do.

  A half dozen people occupied the other small, round tables set up in the main room, most of them men. There was no counter, just a door with rows of colorful wooden beads hung across it. They clattered as a woman dressed in a deep purple silk tunic and dark skirt walked out carrying a platter with more tiny ceramic cups, wisps of steam emitting over their rims. Her face was painted, exaggerating her eyes, and the red around her lips made her look more like a doll. Her hair was a deep black and piled on top of her head. Silver hoops hung from her ears. Farien had introduced him to her when they had first arrived at this dilapidated tavern in the heart of Azar: Dena, owner of the tavern. Dena passed the cups out to the table full of Temanin men in the far corner.

  Lore raised his own cup, blew on the steam, and took a careful sip, grimacing at the taste. The wine had been tempting, something to drown out the questions racing through his mind. But he never drank to escape the things in life, and he wasn’t about to start now. He had seen too many guards succumb to that. It never ended well.

  He lowered the cup to the table and checked his arm. The cut was now wrapped in clean linen, but it still smarted to the touch. No real damage done, his arm would heal in time. Same with the back of his head. But the fact that he had failed to rescue Rowen…

  The fight replayed in his mind. Every time it did, he searched for anything he had missed, anything he could have done to save her. And each time the answer came back: no. He’d fought the best he could. Perhaps he could have driven them all off…

  Lore shook his head. It was no use going there. He could dream about every what-if, but it would not change reality. Rowen was gone.

  He stared ahead and ran a hand across his face. He felt the scruff of a new beard coming in. His hair hung across his eyes, unkempt and dirty. He picked up the cup and squeezed.

  Why had this happened?

  His gut clenched, and his chest grew tight. His lip trembled slightly. He quickly raised the cup and took another sip of the black liquid. The bitter dirt taste washed over his tongue. He almost spat it out, but he forced it down his throat instead. He focused on the taste, forcing his thoughts away.

  Lore glanced down at the parchment beside him. He knew what it said, had memorized the words. But he read it again, as if searching for hope amongst the words.

  Captain Lore,

  I have spoken with every contact I have in the Tala Palace. No one has seen or heard of your guard Rowen. I will continue to search for information, but you must face the possibility that she is now out of our reach. If you would like, I can arrange quiet transportation for you back north. Please leave your answer with Dena by tomorrow.

  Farien Selk

  Lore closed his eyes. He leaned forward and laid his face in his hands. He rubbed his temples with his fingertips. You must face the possibility…

  No!

  He slammed his fist on the table. The paper flew into the air, and the contents of his cup spilled, leaving a wet stain on the table. One of the serving women turned and glared at him. Others glanced his direction. Lore chided himself for letting his emotions get the better of him. He picked up his cup and gulped down the last of the black liquid.

  After a moment, the soft hum of conversation filled the air again. One of the Temanins at a nearby table belched and the rest broke out in raucous laughter. A couple of tables over, another group talked loudly.

  “You want some wine now?”

  It took Lore a moment to realize that someone was addressing him. He looked up and found Dena looking back. She held a tray on one hip and gestured toward his cup. “You want that filled with something more?”

  Lore looked down at his cup. He sighed. “No.”

  “Let me know if you change your mind. Your room is ready. Upstairs, second door to the right.”

  He nodded. “Thank you.”

  Dena stared at him a bit longer. Lore knew she was looking at his sea eyes. For one moment he wondered if she would say something. Farien had assured him no one would care in this establishment, especially not Dena. She was used to customers who wanted to keep a low profile. But one never knew.

  Dena turned and walked away. Lore let out his breath. He grabbed the piece of paper and crumpled it up in his hand. Farien’s offer to arrange passage back north was generous, but he couldn’t go back to the White City. There was nothing to go back to. He had given up everything to find Rowen. He would search every corner of the Lands for her until he found her, no matter how long it took.

  Lore turned back to his cup, now empty. He closed his eyes and lowered his head. Word, please, please help me. I have no idea what to do now or where to go. He kept his eyes closed. He waited for an answer. Please.

  Nothing.

  He sighed. He’d rest tonight and figure it out in the morning.

  The door opened at the far end of the tavern. Lore looked up. Two figures entered: a Temanin man dressed in black and a woman with—

  His jaw dropped. It couldn’t be.

  The woman had brilliant red curly hair, falling just below her shoulders. She wore a long black cloak that almost reached the floor. She followed the man toward the door that led to the back rooms. He turned and spoke to her for a moment, then he disappeared through the beads. The woman waited by the doorway, glancing around furtively.

  Was it possible that another woman in Temanin would have hair of that color? Lore didn’t think so. Though he had met Nierne back in the White City only briefly, he would never forget her hair: the shade of a red rose.

  But how could she be here, of all places? Aren had said she had been sold as a slave. Perhaps Aren had been wrong? Or maybe the man in black was her master.

  Lore scowled at the thought and watched her gaze around the room. Her eyes traveled across Lore, moving on toward the table next to him. Suddenly her eyes came back to his. They widened in surprise. She recognized him.

  Lore stood. Yes, it was Nierne, all right. And if she really was a slave, then perhaps he could find some way to help her.

  He made his way across the room, bypassing the table of Temanin men who were gawking at her. Nierne continued to stare at him.

  “Nierne?” he said quietly once he reached her.

  She hesitated. “Yes. But who are you? I recognize you, I think.”

  Lore glanced around and took a step closer. “I am Captain Lore Palancar, from the White City.”

  Her eyes widened more. “Captain Lore? What are you doing here in Temanin?”

  “I came to Azar looking for Rowen.”

  “Rowen? She’s here? Did
you find her?” Hope laced her voice.

  Lore looked away, a sharp jolt piercing his insides. “No. I mean, I did, but then I lost her again.”

  “Oh.” Lore glanced back. “I haven’t seen Rowen since the day we were taken from Captain Drake’s ship. Did you find Drake?”

  “Yes.” The word came out like a growl. “And she is no longer with him. I was hoping you might know something more.”

  Her face fell. “I’m afraid not. I have been…elsewhere…the last few weeks.”

  “I know. Aren told me.”

  Nierne looked up. “Aren? He made it back? And the others?”

  “Yes. He told me what happened to you.”

  A mixture of emotions passed over her face.

  Compassion flooded his soul. He couldn’t leave Nierne here, alone. “You don’t need to say anything. I’m sure it has been a difficult time for you. Perhaps—” He glanced at the doorway where the man in black had disappeared. “Perhaps there is something I can do. Is that man you came in with your master?”

  Her head shot up. “No. I mean, yes. I mean—” Nierne let her breath out slowly. “It is a long story. Drake sold me and—”

  The wooden beads rattled, and the man in black walked through. “Nierne, who are you talking to?” There was a protective edge to his voice.

  Lore turned—

  His whole body went rigid, and his hand went to the sword at his side. That face. He would never forget that face. It haunted his thoughts every time he remembered Lord Gaynor and that night in Avonai.

  “You!” Lore said through clenched teeth.

  The man went as still as stone.

  “You murderer!”

  Nierne looked back and forth between the men, knowledge dawning across her face.

  Lore pulled his sword out. He didn’t care if the entire tavern saw. All he could see were Lord Gaynor’s and Justus’ dead bodies on the floor. “You killed two good men.” Fury flowed through his body. He gripped his sword. “And you tried to kill me—”

  Nierne stepped forward and placed herself between them. “Wait, Captain Lore. You don’t understand—”