Tainted (Lisen of Solsta Book 2)

by D. Hart St. Martin

  Lisen stared Ondra straight in her dark eyes and reached in with slow, deliberate care to take control of Ondra’s mind. She didn’t want Ondra aware of what she was doing until she released her again. Since Lisen didn’t intend to kill, which would have buried the evidence of her interference, she had to be as subtle as possible. Luckily, it would not be to Ondra’s advantage to accuse Lisen outright of using hermit magic. She’d have to admit to threatening Lisen’s life which would reveal Ondra’s motives as well. Lisen felt the rush of connection but forced down the impulse to smile. Mustn’t let on.

  “So you say you’d get away with this?” Lisen asked, keeping Ondra’s mind occupied with the conversation while she herself dug into the woman’s soul.

  “More easily than you think.”

  “But you don’t really mean it, now, do you?” Lisen fought to hold her while maintaining the conversation.

  “You have to admit, it is tempting.”

  It’s working. Lisen was pushing Ondra, and the Thristan woman appeared totally unaware of it.

  “You’re scaring me,” Lisen said, deciding that the second Ondra’s resistance softened, she’d leave everything behind and bolt.

  “It’s a reminder that just because you’re Garlan doesn’t give you rights here in the desert.” Ondra fiddled with her knife, passing her lips over the blade as though it were a lover’s skin. Lisen felt her hold loosening and centered her concentration.

  “I’d like to go now,” she said softly, adding soothers to her tone.

  And then…it worked. Ondra stepped aside, brought the flat of the blade up to her forehead in mocking imitation of a salute and tipped her head to Lisen. “As you wish,” she said, and Lisen slipped past her in a rush. “Not that I ever really meant it,” Ondra shouted after her, but Lisen never paused, the beating of her heart chasing her back to Korin’s chamber.

  Korin sharpened one of his knives, circling it slowly on the whetstone. He found the simplicity of this exercise calming, and he often occupied himself with this task when the Heir left to do whatever it was she did in the privacy of the wet room. Three knives, one at a time, and then two swords could keep him busy for just about long enough for his Liege to attend to her needs and return. If he ever finished without her returning soon thereafter, he’d go check on her, but it hadn’t happened yet. He kept the knife at its accustomed angle, then turned it over to fine hone the other side. He breathed deeply, all the while hoping for a good day’s sleep. In a couple of days they would be leaving, and he had yet to come up with an explanation for their departure that wouldn’t leave them looking like the fugitives they were.

  “Korin!”

  He dropped the knife and whetstone to the pallet and jumped up as Lisen rushed into the room, out of breath, her eyes wide. Her terror made his pouch ache. An odd response, but he dismissed it.

  “Korin,” she repeated. “Oh God, Korin.”

  He grabbed her by the arms and stared at her, watching as she finally focused on him. “What happened?” he asked as calmly as he could. His entire body had sprung to attention quickly, and his heart’s rhythm had surged. Still, he didn’t dare let her know the extent of his concern.

  “It was Ondra,” she managed between quick gulps of air. “It was Ondra. She found me in the wet room and threatened me with a knife. I thought for sure she was going to kill me. I was unarmed. It was stupid, I know. I should have had something on me, just in case. But it’s the wet room. You told me, if the curtain is closed, don’t go in, so I just assumed—“

  “Did she hurt you? Are you hurt?” he asked, interrupting her. She was talking so fast and wiggling though he still held her arms tightly. He must center her concentration.

  “No, I’m not hurt. But she tried to kill me. What are you going to do?”

  He released her arms. He’d succeeded in bringing her back into this chamber. “Do?” he asked. “What can I do? It’s your word against hers.”

  “But she threatened me.”

  “And to everyone here you are just a Garlan girl. Do you think they’d believe you before they’d believe one of their own?”

  “But…but….” Her head dropped.

  Korin squatted down to look up from below and into her eyes again. “I believe you, but you haven’t a scratch on you. If Ondra had intended to kill you, you’d never have walked out of that chamber unharmed.”

  “But she did intend to kill me. She said she meant to destroy the Tribe’s chances at fertility this year. And she expected to get away with it.”

  Korin stood up again. “Come here,” he said to her, and taking her hand, he led her to the pallet where they both sat. “Now,” he continued, still holding her hand, “tell me one thing.”

  “What?” She’d definitely calmed down a bit.

  “How did you get away from her? Ondra’s one of the best, so if she really intended to kill you, how did you get away?”

  Lisen—how could he help but think of her as Lisen, their having shared so much these last weeks—Lisen sighed but said nothing. Her eyes met his but then turned away. She shrugged and remained silent. It could not have been easy to get out of there. She must have done something. Because once Ondra decided to act, her determination drove her to the very end. Nothing could distract her. So what had the Heir done?

  He shivered, suddenly aware of the truth. He covered his reaction by rising from the pallet and going to his basket of belongings. “Start packing,” he ordered, still unable to allow himself to think the unthinkable.

  “What?” she asked.

  “We’d be leaving in a few days anyway. I can use Ondra’s threat as an excuse to the Elders.”

  “We’re leaving?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “Tonight. You pack, and then I’ll stand watch today while you get some rest.”

  “But what about you? You’ll need some rest, too.”

  “I can rest once we’re back in Garla,” he snapped, then regained control. The horror of what she must have done sought to consume him. “We’ll have a couple of extra days. We can make camp somewhere and stay there a bit.”

  She looked up at him, nodded slowly and rose to go to her own basket. He dreaded facing Hozia. The Elder had given her time and knowledge to Lisen without condition, and now he would repay her by sneaking off, leaving her with an explanation which, though true, was also a lie. No doubt Hozia wouldn’t question him, but one day the Thristans would all know the truth. When that day came, he would have to answer for intruding on the peace of the mesa and bringing an Heir-Empir into their midst without revealing her secret to them. For now, though, Hozia would wonder but remain silent.

  He looked over at Lisen where she sat packing. He looked at this young woman whose life remained in his care, at the woman who had fearlessly joined him in the Farii, and he remembered. He remembered what he’d said and wondered what, if anything, had happened after. He’d tried to remember but had failed to recall even a hint. Could he have overwhelmed her before she could get away? He doubted it. Had they bonded and was that why she seemed more than royal charge to him now? No. She wouldn’t have broken her promise.

  He shook his head. Within a few days, they’d be back in Garla. The enchantment of this place that always surrounded him would loosen its hold, and he’d have only Garla’s magic to deal with. At that thought, another shiver threatened, and he wondered. What the Destroyer did she do to distract Ondra from her cause?

  Lisen lay on the pallet, pretending to sleep, and realized everything was about to shift again. In the eighteen years of her life, her most harrowing experience up until nearly three months ago had been learning to drive. At least that’s what she would have said if asked three months ago.

  Now? Now she knew that she’d gone from Solsta to Earth and then back to Solsta again. She’d journeyed from Solsta towards the horror that Halorin had turned out to be, on to Seffa, then to Rossla to regain her soul, and finally out here and the heady horizons of Thristas. And soon it would all change again, the ulti
mate goal finally in sight. Avaret. Like a whisper it blew through her mind. They would head west to Avaret. She’d never seen Avaret, not in conscious memory, but it was her true home. Strange that home was a place without even hidden memories for her.

  I don’t feel any different. Well, aside from the pouch and all. She’d adapted to that, no longer felt trapped inside a body that seemed like anything but her own. It fit better, more naturally than ever before since her return. The nausea had mostly subsided as well. Pity. I can finally enjoy Thristan food and we’re leaving. The headaches remained, but she knew the source of those and could do nothing about them save for shielding herself best as she could.

  With her renewed sense of wellbeing, her soul should have overflowed with confidence and with anticipation for the challenges to come, yet she felt only anxiety at what an absolute amateur she remained. All the training she’d had—and she’d had only the best—yet she possessed no more ability than she had that night up on Solsta’s tower when she couldn’t even properly strap on a sword. If forced to rely on physical skill alone, she would never take her brother in a fight. She would have laughed had the idea not also included disaster for Garla should she fail. Or so said Eloise and the others.

  “Lisssen….”

  Her head bolted up, and she squinted in the dark. She knew that voice, and it wasn’t Korin calling to her from where he sat at the doorway. He sat there, stock still, breathing rhythmically, unaware of anything amiss.

  “Come, Lisssen. He sssleepsss. He will not know.”

  Her heart raced. She sat up very carefully, studying Korin’s silhouette in the light from the corridor. He didn’t move.

  “I told you.”

  “I won’t come,” she thought silently, figuring that the disembodied voice could hear her while leaving Korin undisturbed.

  “One lassst time. No fear.”

  Fear? Fear? She felt nothing but fear. Out there somewhere, a woman lurked, a woman who wanted to kill her. And now this voice from nowhere calling to her. Only today yet to survive, then she’d be well gone and safe.

  “No.”

  “Then clossse your eyesss. Picture my realm and come to me.”

  She fought the urge to follow it, whatever it was, into her mind—to allow it to lead her from this room to another plane. But it was stronger than she, and her eyes closed on their own.

  She rises from the pallet, steps over Korin’s sleeping body and out into the corridor. She looks up and down, and with eyes that see as though she stands in sunlight, she spies no movement anywhere. I don’t like this, she thinks but knows she cannot change it. She hikes up the tunnel, passing many little caverns containing sleeping Thristans. No one appears to challenge her, and although she checks behind her many times, no follower emerges in her heightened vision.

  She arrives at the trap door and halts, her mind brimming with chaos and questions. What am I doing here? What is this…thing…that keeps calling on my essence and pulling me upward to the mesa’s crown? She reaches up, pulls the door down and steps out into a light so bright she fears blindness may result. She sets her feet firmly on the hot soil of the desert’s day, the air calm around her, and pretends she’s bold when she definitely is anything but bold.

  “All right, I’m here!” she shouts. “What do you want?” She doesn’t know what to expect. She does know that an aggravated mind will deny her access to the spirit realm, and this thing—whatever it is—is a thing of spirit, incorporeal and gossamer in its existence, yet powerful in influence. She sits down on the rough, dry ground, closes her eyes and breathes in deeply, willing herself to that open place necessary to receiving the unseen.

  “Ah, Lisssen.”

  Her eyes shoot open. She expects to see nothing, and she isn’t disappointed. Yet, she feels the presence and hears the voice.

  “I’m here,” she answers.

  “Your captain isss taking you home,” it hisses.

  “Yes.”

  “And you want to know who I am, what I am, and why I continue to call you.”

  She takes a deep breath. “Yes.”

  “Thisss isss not the fire.”

  “Not that crap again!”

  “Your odd wordsss do not confussse me.”

  She smiles. Korin never comments when she slips into English.

  “You will have yearsss to learn the truth.”

  “I don’t have years!”

  “But firssst you mussst learn patienssse.”

  She snorts but says nothing. What a waste of effort this has turned out to be.

  “The child will bear the burden,” the voice continues.

  “What?”

  “And you will carry your calling for all to sssee.”

  “I’m really tired of all the riddles.”

  She senses a gentle laugh. “Go, Lisssen of Sssolsssta. It isss time.”

  Gone. She feels it leave as surely as if she’s watched it step through a door. She sits there, paralyzed with confusion. “Bear the burden”? What does that mean? “Carry your calling”? Perhaps that refers to the hermit ring she plans to retrieve from Rossla on their way back? What does it mean by “the child”? Herself? She’s no child anymore. Some other child? What child?

  “Lisen?”

  She started, thinking at first the voice had returned, but then she realized she lay on the pallet in the little chamber within the bowels of the mesa. She opened her eyes, and there he stood—Korin, her Captain Cutie—though somehow that seemed a childish way of thinking of him now.

  “Korin?”

  “It’s time,” he said, hefting his pack. “It’s time to go.”

  She sat up. “Really? Really?” She couldn’t believe it. Had she truly spent the whole day in her dreams up on the mesa with the voice?

  “I’ll leave you to dress. Meet me in the stable. It’s just below the training room.”

  She nodded, the sensation of her time above still more real than the hard floor of Korin’s cave. Once he’d gone, both their packs slung over his back, their swords cradled in his arms, she sat there for a moment longer, contemplating all she’d learned here, all she’d seen here. The Thristans deserved a lot better than this. Perhaps, if she found a way to defeat her brother, she could offer these people something…something to…something to ease their burden.

  Finally, she made her way down the tunnel, past the cave where she’d spent so much time training to fight for her life, and arrived at the stable. He’d saddled up their horses and loaded their packs along with a day’s worth of water in leather bags.

  He smiled as she stepped in. “Elder Hozia asked to see us off. She should be here soon.”

  Lisen nodded. She wished she could interrogate Korin about this so-called child the voice had mentioned, about the voice itself, about what place she might fulfill in Thristan lore, but not now, perhaps never.

  Hozia burst into the stable and halted with a smile when she saw them there. “Ah, good. I was afraid I’d miss you.”

  “You asked us to wait,” Korin said.

  “But there’s an irresistible gale blowing you back to Garla, and I was afraid you’d have caught it before I could get here.”

  “No.” In one syllable, Lisen heard the sorrow in Korin’s tone. He didn’t want to leave, and that had never occurred to her.

  “Well, Lisen,” Hozia said, turning to her. “You’ve taught me much.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Hozia laughed. “A good teacher learns as much, if not more, from a good student as the student learns from the teacher. I can only hope I was as good a teacher as you were a student.”

  “Master, you were better. Much better.”

  “‘Master,’ is it?”

  Lisen stared at her feet. The word had slipped out, but she had meant it. “I should have called you ‘master’ sooner. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You’re a precocious, capable student. You’ll do well, whatever you intend to do.”

  “It’s time to go,” Korin said, st
ill cheerless.

  “A moment alone with the Elder?” Lisen asked. Perhaps Hozia could provide the answers Korin might never give.

  “I’ll wait outside.” Korin took the reins to the two horses and left them, the stable hand following him out.

  The two women stood there alone, Lisen quickly refining her questions to get the most from these last few moments of privacy with the Elder.

  “I…I may have to meet a well-trained man in a duel.”

  “Korin told me as much.”

  “Of course he did,” Lisen replied, feeling stupid, but she pressed on. “Well, here’s the thing. I’m not certain I can win, and don’t you have to be certain? In order to win, that is?”

  “There’s certainty, and there is certainty. One exists in an atmosphere of confidence and optimism; the other is merely arrogance. And you can never really be certain of the difference.”

  “And…,” Lisen began, then hesitated. “And one other thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “What’s on top of the mesa?”

  Hozia’s eyes narrowed in on her. This abrupt change of subject had surprised them both. “They say Mantar is on top of the mesa,” the Elder answered cautiously. “Why?”

  “Have you ever heard of Mantar speaking to people?”

  “’Speaking to people’?”

  “Yeah, you know, like you and I are speaking. Except Mantar can’t be seen or maybe is hiding somewhere.”

  “Mantar spoke to you.”

  “I don’t know. Something did. Once. Then today I had a dream. I just don’t know.”

  Hozia reached out, put a hand on Lisen’s shoulder. Her robe, a dull brown so as to blend into the desert’s neutral tones, reminded Lisen of a hermit’s habit with its wide sleeves and hood. “Heed what you heard, whatever it was.” Lisen started to answer, wanted to tell her, hoped the Elder could provide some enlightenment, but Hozia held up her hand. “No. Don’t tell me. Mantar’s words were for you, and only you can interpret their meaning.”

  “But—” Lisen wanted so badly to ask about the child, what that meant, but Hozia interrupted her.