Tainted (Lisen of Solsta Book 2)

by D. Hart St. Martin

  The old wooden door opened, and his watcher peeked out. “Are we alone?” she whispered.

  “Of course, we are,” Ariel replied, thinking the woman a fool for even suggesting he’d take the risk of entertaining visitors when he knew she’d show up eventually. “Get in here.”

  Opseth nodded and stepped fully into the room, closing the closet door behind her. “My Liege,” she said as she approached the first chair in front of his desk.

  “So?”

  She didn’t sit, for she had not been asked to do so. “I’m afraid you’ve hobbled me, my Liege. If I cannot fully engage her, which your insistence on her remaining aware and able to communicate prohibits, then I may have reached the limits of my restrained abilities.”

  “You learned nothing?” Opseth shook her head in the negative, and Ariel continued. “Then what am I paying you for?”

  “It is my understanding that you are paying for me to locate the necropath. The sooth might have proved helpful in that regard, but she’s very strong. I might yet be able to wear her down, and I’ll be happy to continue attempting to do so. But I believe that my gifts are proving more fruitful with the younger, less experienced necropath.”

  “But you told me you hadn’t located her, that you only knew she was far away.” To the Destroyer with the woman’s so-called gifts; she manipulated words as a means of confusion.

  “That’s true, my Liege, but I continue to make progress.”

  “All right. Fine, then.” Ariel sighed, looked towards the windows to his right and then back to where she still stood by the chair, seemingly deferential, though Ariel knew better. The woman oozed arrogance from every pore of her humility. “Stay with the necropath and keep me informed.”

  “I would like another chance at the sooth.”

  “I’ll summon you when I think it’s time. Now go. I’ve seen enough of you for one day.”

  She nodded, playing the humble servant, leaving Ariel with the taste of humiliation in his mouth. When this was over…. No, he wouldn’t think about that now.

  “Thank you, my Liege,” she said, backed away towards the secret door and exited hastily.

  Once she’d closed the door behind her, Ariel listened to her footsteps retreating down and towards the entrance at the fountain, and then the sound collapsed into eerie silence. He grabbed a tiny bronze statue of some ancient ancestor he’d taken a liking to amongst his mother’s things, and he threw it across the room. It clattered harmlessly to the floor as he sat there, breathing too fast, too hard for comfort.

  An excess of untidy pieces to this business. Less than a month remained before his throning, and yet it seemed too long a time to wait. Once the ceremony cloaked him with the protection of his station, the ability of all these loose strings and nagging little messes to deny him of his birthright would evaporate. Until then, he worried at them in his mind and could find no peace. Soon, he told himself. Soon.

  ”That’s it,” Lisen heard Korin pronounce from the shadows of the training cave.

  She whirled on him from where she’d stood in a failed attempt to defend herself from Elder Hozia’s advance. “No!” It sounded childish, even to her. “No,” she continued, calming her tone a bit. “We’ve only been at it a couple of hours.”

  “You’re spent,” Korin said, looking past her to the Elder she knew stood behind her. “You’re not sleeping, and that’s affecting your concentration.” She noted that he chose not to mention the puking that had arrived four, no, five days ago and now seemed never ending, and she appreciated him keeping her personal distress a secret from Hozia. She had managed to avoid vomiting more than once a day, but the nausea remained, as did the headache—relentless, waxing and waning, but never completely gone.

  “You’re not sleeping?” Hozia asked, parental concern coloring her tone.

  “It happens,” Lisen replied, shrugging it off, her back still to the Elder.

  “I agree with Korin,” Hozia said, and Lisen heard the clatter of the woman gathering up her gear.

  “But….” Lisen appealed to Korin with her eyes, but in truth, she was grateful to get the remainder of the night off. Her gratitude, however, couldn’t ease the tension that tugged at them, pulling them apart, further and further, every day since the Farii.

  They left the training chamber, Lisen following Korin up the tunnel to their quarters, and once the Elder was no longer present to serve as a buffer between them, Lisen tossed the equipment she had carried back with her into a corner, plopped herself down on the pallet and lashed out.

  “Thank you so very much for your support.”

  He was on her before she’d completed her sentence. “You’re pushing too hard,” he said as he squatted down in front of her. “You’ve got to ease up or you’re going to collapse.”

  “I’m fine.” What was the point of discipline if you never had to really draw on it?

  “No, you’re not fine. I’m not sure what’s wrong, but you are definitely not fine.”

  “It’s probably the food. Did you ever stop to consider that? Strange food can have an effect on the digestion, you know.”

  “It probably is the food, but it doesn’t matter what it is. You’re not at your best. Listen to me. I know what training takes out of a student. It’s what I do, remember? Let me be the judge of when you’ve had enough.”

  She looked away, disgusted. I’m never going to be ready in time, she lamented. Hozia had been working with her for two weeks, and her fighting skills remained as minimal as when they’d first arrived here. It was pointless. She was beginning to think she would have been better off honing her innate gifts. Pushing was her true strength, after all, and proficiency at that was an achievable goal within the timeframe imposed upon her.

  She lay down on the pallet and closed her eyes, blocking any further conversation with Korin. She heard him leave, taking the only torch in the room with him. All right, then. He was just as disgusted with her as she was with herself. She appealed to sleep to provide her with strength, with courage, with the damn coordination she seemed to lack with such appalling consistency.

  She awoke much, much later—in the middle of the day by the near-silence from the hallway and by the sound of rhythmic breathing coming from behind her. Korin slept, so it must be late. She lay there, no longer able to sleep, filled with a longing she couldn’t contain. She sat up, fought down the initial queasiness which plagued her unfailingly whenever she lifted her head above the rest of her body, and then rose very slowly, very, very quietly from the pallet. Korin’s breathing remained unaltered—a good sign.

  She needed to go somewhere. Where? She had no idea. She needed to get out of this particular confinement, find someplace open. The intricate, enclosed cave-and-passage network of the mesa oppressed her, so, still wearing the tunic from last night, she grabbed her sandals from the floor beside her and stepped out into the corridor. She looked back into the room, checking on him, and it appeared that he still slept. Good. She didn’t want him to know she’d left. She then grabbed a torch, looked up the narrow way and decided to head in that direction. Something called her—open space, she figured.

  She arrived at the trap door before realizing where she was going. She stared up at it, pondering the promise of fresh air and broad sky beyond. She hadn’t been free of this wretched place in weeks—she, who had made the parapet at Solsta a second home; she, who had headed to the beach the minute she’d gotten her own car. A need more compelling than any she had ever felt before settled over her, and with a deep breath of determination, she set the torch into the wall sconce, reached up and pulled the trap door down. To just peek out and breathe the air would refresh her, body and soul. To just….

  Reflexively, she threw one arm up to shield her eyes against the midday sun. She forced herself to open her eyes, then slowly brought her arm down, squinting as she did so. She managed to make her way up the ladder and rose to the point where she could look out on the glory of the mesa’s crown, her eyes continuing to ad
just, her skin tingling in the brutality of the heat. But looking alone failed to satisfy her. She climbed up and out, and leaving the door open behind her, she sat down at the edge of the opening and closed her eyes, breathing in the wonder of the hot desert air.

  “Lisssen….”

  Her eyes flew open, and with a hand at her brow line to cut out the glare, she looked around. Someone had called out to her, but she didn’t recognize the voice. Confused, she continued to search for a source, turning in every direction, but only the scant brush and wide bright sky greeted her. She had heard her name, but she saw nothing anywhere capable of speech. She decided to return to the safety of the mesa, but as she rose, she heard the voice again.

  “Lisssen. Ssstay.”

  She twirled around, but she remained alone. “Where are you?” she asked softly.

  “I am here. I am everywhere.”

  “That’s a big help.” She continued to look around. The voice possessed no apparent gender, and it stretched her name out to something even more foreign to her than where she stood. “Who are you?”

  “I am the Maker and the Dessstroyer. I am the Beginning and the End. I am all thingsss, and I am nothing.”

  “You speak in riddles.”

  “I am a riddle.”

  “Did you bring me here?” Her frustration intensified as each response gave life to yet another mystery.

  “I called you.”

  “Why?”

  “Becaussse you believe thisss isss the fire.”

  She shook her head. “What does that mean, I ‘believe this is the fire’?”

  “Thisss isss merely the ssspark before the fire.”

  She stomped her foot. “You’re a manifestation of my fears. Go away!” Yet she continued to seek the voice’s source, moving a few steps in each direction from the door.

  “You will not find me.”

  “So sure, are you?”

  “You approach the kindling where the ssspark will break into flame.”

  She put her hands up to her ears. “I’m not listening!”

  “Go back. Meet the kindling. Then ressst sssafe with your captain.”

  She dropped her hands. “Why do you call him that?” She would have understood one of the Thristans referring to him as “the captain,” but “your captain” meant something entirely different.

  “Becaussse he ssservesss you. Becaussse he lovesss you.”

  “No, he doesn’t. Not really.” She shook her head to rid her mind of that mess, then asked, “Who are you?”

  “I told you. The all and the nothing at all. Return to him. We will meet again. In time.”

  She felt, not heard, a pop, and then, only sultry silence.

  “Hello?” she implored the air. “Hello?” She looked all around again but knew she was alone.

  Confused, she climbed back down the ladder and closed the door behind her, leaving her poor eyes blinded in the near dark. She turned and abruptly halted with a gasp when she ran into a figure she hadn’t seen with her sun-dazzled eyes.

  “Ondra?” She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew.

  “Little Lisen.”

  “I’m as tall as you. Why do you call me that?”

  “You’re young,” Ondra replied, “unseasoned. You don’t know who you are yet.”

  As Lisen’s eyes adjusted to the torch-lit dark, she saw that Ondra wore a simple sleeping shift. Lisen felt overdressed in last night’s tunic. “You’re stalking me,” she said.

  “You are not prey, and I am not hunting you. But I tell you this, Lisen of Garla. We do not trust you.”

  “Who is ‘we’?”

  “Those of us who view Garla as the bridle with its bit between our teeth. Those of us who strain at the reins and will not remain submissive any longer.”

  “You people and your riddles,” Lisen said with disgust and grabbed the torch. She stomped away from the testy Thristan, not caring if the woman followed her or not. She hoped she didn’t lose her way returning to Korin’s cell. If that…voice had guided her up here, it could guide her back down as well.

  Lisen reached the chamber without incident and without Ondra, who, she assumed, had returned to her own chamber and her spouse after their little confrontation. Lisen left the torch outside and slipped in as quietly as possible. Korin still slept, so she lay down, her back to him, and as promised by the voice, she quickly drifted off, her restlessness quieted for now.

  Opseth sat, quiet and alone, in her little sanctuary and breathed in deeply. Something stirring in the ether had disturbed her in the garden as she planted seeds for summer vegetables, and she had run inside to hunt that something down. She had calmed the rushing of her spirit and had quickly encountered unbearable light and frustration tinged with the smell of alarm. She knew full well the necropath was communing with the spirit of awe. But what? she asked herself. The girl was filled with contradictions and anomalies, and Opseth found it difficult to sense her truth and even more difficult, if not impossible, to determine the reality behind the ethereal impressions.

  Opseth opened her eyes. Whatever had been had vanished. Bright light. Awesome presence. What is the girl up to? Is this the desert’s doing? As Opseth thought back on the event, she realized her awareness had been cut off just as the girl had experienced some sort of shock, but there had been no avoiding the sudden termination of their connection. Opseth hoped that it hadn’t caused the little one any actual harm because the girl possessed power and could prove to be a strong ally if properly…encouraged.

  Opseth rose from her chair, opened the curtains to the afternoon light and blew out her candle. A profitable turn despite the scantiness of the information acquired. The girl’s location in the desert was no longer in question. By all rights she should tell her employer the truth, but for some reason, Opseth felt emboldened to withhold it for now. Maybe later, but not now.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ON, TO AVARET

  After nearly three weeks of struggle to get Lisen to place her feet right, and to get her defensive moves right, and to make her lunges right, Elder Hozia had retired from training her a week or so ago. Gave up, more likely, Lisen thought as she stood, toiletries in hand. After another night back working out with Korin, Lisen shook at the thought of Hozia’s departure. I’m pathetic. I’ll never get it right.

  “And don’t tarry.”

  Lisen jumped as Korin’s voice intruded on her reverie.

  “All right. All right,” she responded to the warning he always issued when she left to use the wet room, and embracing the washing bowl and its contents, she headed out. Hopefully, she’d succeed at cleaning off the sweat and grime produced by lunging and parrying with Korin in the exercise room over the last few nights. How they got away with avoiding any kind of other labor in the Tribe, she didn’t know. She assumed that he’d told the Elders some story to satisfy them and that Elder Hozia had likely intervened on their behalf.

  She entered the small room where the Thristans at this level attended to their personal needs and pulled the curtain. She slipped the light wrap used as undergarments out of the way and sat down on the throne. She’d tried calling it the potty chair in her mind, but had soon tired of that, opting instead for an Earth term that possessed a certain irony in her case.

  After getting her “undies” back on, she undammed the stream, filled her bowl and then dropped the dam’s gate down again. Using the small cloth she saved for this purpose, she began wiping the dirt from her face. She was about to take off her tunic when she heard a noise and turned as Ondra stepped into the room. In the torchlight, Lisen saw the satisfied smile on Ondra’s face.

  “We meet again,” Ondra said.

  “We meet all the time,” Lisen replied. “What’s so different this time?”

  “I’ve been noting your habits for some time now and knew this would be an extended bathing time. Korin won’t expect you back for a while. By that time….” And Ondra completed her sentence by drawing her knife slowly from its sheath at he
r belt. “Oh, and from all outward appearances, you never bring a weapon with you. Foolish girl.”

  Lisen’s eyes widened, and her heart beat faster. Did Ondra really intend to do what it sounded like she intended to do? Lisen herself might be just a blip on Ondra’s radar, but Korin—Korin meant something special to Ondra. Could she do that to Korin? Lisen had no idea, but retreat seemed her best option, if she could get past Ondra to the opening to the hall. Because, as Ondra had so astutely deduced, Lisen had never thought to bring any means of protection with her in here. But Ondra stood at that opening, trapping Lisen where she stood.

  “What do you want?” Lisen asked.

  “I want to end any possibility of fertility for the Tribe this year.”

  By ending me. This failed to surprise Lisen; she’d already figured it out. But to hear it stated so boldly…. “That seems a bit…self-defeating, don’t you think? The Tribe will know what you’ve done, and they’ll feel obligated to respond.”

  “Over a Garlan girl? They’ll move past it with barely a notice. There are many of us who’d like to see all of Garla brought down, and my friends will overcome any decision by the Elders Council to punish me.”

  Ondra brought her knife up, and Lisen gasped. She was supposed to have been safe here in the desert, protected from Holder Zanlot and her spies. To find herself once again confronted by someone with a knife intending to kill her seemed more than a touch ironic. I could kill her, use my powers to make her turn her knife on herself, but I’d never get away with it. Lisen ran swiftly through a slide show of possibilities in her mind. Killing, no. Pushing, yes. But what will help me? Ah. Move her aside and….