by Brandon Barr
She looked north. It was just as thickly covered in frozen brier as every other direction. And beyond the brambles, the colossal trees blocked any landmarks from sight. Somewhere out in that direction were familiar mountains cutting the skyline like ragged teeth. At the base of those mountains lay the road.
“You want to accost a commoner for a ride?” she asked, though she knew it was just as likely they might run into soldiers. And now that Brantieth was Luminar, it was hard to tell how any one man might react to the sight of their dethroned Luminess.
Rathan also looked north, “It is our best chance, risky as it is.”
“Out this far from the Hold, most travelers won’t recognize me. We can hope in that, at least.”
Rathan cut a path north through the bramble. How far they’d wandered east, she wasn’t certain. At a point the road bent west, and she could not be sure if they’d passed that spot or not in last night’s scramble from the road. The clouds parted for an hour, but then quickly swallowed the sun back into the dark grey maw. Stopping only once to eat, they soon saw the fang-like peaks rising above the trees, but they were still a quarter day’s walk away from the road, and the light was beginning to dim.
“We’ll have to make camp,” said Rathan. “We’ll wake early and find the road before sunrise.”
They found a shelter between two large boulders that would provide a roof in case snow fell during the night. Ella scoured the surrounding woods for firewood, frozen as it was, and when she returned, Rathan had gathered a thick carpet of dry tinder from beneath the boulder.
“Are the trees thick enough to hide our fire?” she asked, though she knew the answer. She only liked to hear Rathan’s reassurance.
“Rest easy, Ella. We can enjoy this fire tonight.”
They roasted a portion of the wolf meat and ate in silence as the faint glow of the clouds ebbed into a black, starless void.
Rathan laid down to sleep near the fire, the pile of wood at his head to keep the night warm. “You should sleep, we need to wake early.”
She looked over the flames at Rathan. The warmth of the fire bathed her face and arms, and the bare skin beneath her furs and leathers was delightfully hot—a tingling sensation she’d all but forgotten in the past two days. She withdrew the item the Old Seer had placed in her hands and stared at it. There were markings on it unlike anything she’d ever seen.
She looked upon the object for a long time, pondering its origins and how it might have come to Hearth.
Rathan woke and placed another log upon the fire, then closed his eyes. She studied him as he slept. She remembered him seven years ago, though his face was leaner then, and he was not so tall. He always chose a table in the library far from hers, but sat in a seat that faced her direction. She had been thankful then that he didn’t bother her as some of the other young men did, but she never failed to notice that he was there, and that he was studying the same scriptures and histories as she. It had made her curious then, but she’d known well enough that trying to talk to boys her age was like throwing fat on a fire.
Rathan had never once tried to speak to her, though she did catch glimpses of him watching her as she practiced the sword. He must have thought he was well enough hidden in shadows for her not to notice him.
When he went to serve full-time in her father’s army, she saw him frequently as she often accompanied her father on patrols. He had been a quiet presence in her life up until the time she’d called him to be one of her ten riders. Of the ten, he was the most dutiful to the sacred teachings, and this impressed her more than his sword. Having breathed the same air as him over the last year, his good character had not gone unnoticed, nor had his loyal heart, and that made Rathan the only candidate to come to mind after the Old Seer left her there in the passageway.
If she had had any doubt then, she was certain now.
Rathan would be the father of her child.
She stood and walked to the pile of wood at Rathan’s head. She placed more sticks on the fire, then laid down again.
If Rathan had resurrected the oath of Life Protector from the yellowed pages of scripture, he knew that to bind himself to her in such a way gave her the right to choose him as her husband. How he would react to her choice, she wasn’t sure. If he still saw her as Luminess, then it would be a very difficult request to make of him.
As the fire burned bright, consuming the tinder, her thoughts turned again to the cold black object in her hand.
Until it was delivered, her future was still uncertain.
--
RATHAN
The crunch of snow stirred Rathan awake.
His eyes remained closed as he listened, but his hand, hidden beneath his cloak, quietly moved to his sword. Whether the sound was that of man or animal, he couldn’t yet tell. He knew Monaiella lay on the opposite side of the fire, but the sound was directly behind him, where he had set the makeshift pack with the wolf meat and supplies. Instantly he regretted not hanging the pack in a tree.
Slowly he opened his eyes. The fire was burning steadily, for he’d woken recently to add more wood.
A thick branch lay half in the flames. He dared not pretend any longer, lest an arrow put an end to him. Rathan reached out swiftly and took the wood in his hand, then rolled onto his knee, his sword raised and the burning branch cast out toward the intruder.
A man gazed back at Rathan and raised his hands slowly, still squatting beside the pack.
Rathan stood, eyeing the strange figure. He was dressed entirely in white but for his odd black boots. His shirt and pants fit snugly to his body, made of some material Rathan had never seen. He was not dressed warmly, and Rathan could not imagine how the man had come this deep into the woods and survived the night cold. And what was it he’d hoped to find rummaging through the pack?
More importantly, Rathan saw no weapons on the man.
“Give me a reason I shouldn’t kill you,” said Rathan.
The stranger grinned, and looked on the point of laughter. “I mean you no harm. I am looking for something that belongs to me.”
“We’ve nothing but the clothes on our backs.”
Monaiella stepped up beside Rathan, wrapped in her cloak. “Who are you and how did you find us?” she asked.
“My name is Raem, my origin is not important. I will tell you this: I am hunting for something that does not belong to your world. Perhaps you know what I speak of?”
Rathan recalled Monaiella’s mission. The item given her by the Old Seer. “We’ll share a meal with you, but we’ve only supplies made from our own world.”
Raem lifted his right arm and looked down at the back of his hand. Upon it was a strange covering Rathan hadn’t noticed. Attached was a thin, silvery metal that spread like a glove over his knuckles, stopping just short of his fingernails. Something glowed just above the wrist.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to call you a liar, unless your woman friend there has been keeping secrets from you.”
The stranger’s eyes shifted to Monaiella. There was something about the man Rathan distrusted—a lightness of manner, too casual considering he was outnumbered and seemingly weaponless. Rathan peered again at the man’s right hand, which hung loosely at his side.
“I have only my sword and cloak,” said Monaiella. “If you’re hungry, you’re welcome to some of our supplies. I would be fascinated to hear more about you and worlds beyond ours.”
“I’m certain you would, but I haven’t the time. You see, I’ve just come from a place you might know called the Hold—it’s a sort of castle built inside a mountain. There was a very old man there who had the gift of Sight. Before I killed him, I was able to squeeze out a few helpful words as to who he’d given the memory leaf to.”
The corners of Raem’s lips twitched. “You, young lady, wouldn’t happen to be Monaiella, the dethroned Luminess everyone is searching for? Young, with golden, waist-length hair. A pearl-faced beauty, with turquoise eyes, as one man told me.”
“
I am only a traveler,” said Monaiella, but her words came out stilted.
“Strange,” said Raem. “Usually travelers take the road.” A hardness came into his eyes and he raised his right hand. “Let me try a different tact. Give me the memory leaf, or I kill your friend.”
A white glow emanated from the fingertips of the silvery attachment. Rathan glared at what he now knew to be a weapon. He stepped towards the man. “Run, Ella.”
“I can kill you both if you’d prefer,” said Raem. The light at his fingers brightened and he shifted his hand toward Monaiella.
“Stop or I’ll burn it,” said Monaiella. Rathan looked over his shoulder and saw that she had the black object in her hand and was holding it out over the fire.
Raem’s head tilted to the right. His face remained hard. “Don’t harm the leaf!” he growled.
A musical chime sounded from the man’s hand. The light at his fingertips dimmed and he glanced down at his wrist. “Damn! Your searchers are here.” And then he glanced back up, just in time to see the flash of Rathan’s sword.
Rathan swung the blade down in a powerful arc and brought it full force upon the stranger’s right arm, slicing through the bone and sinew. The silvered hand fell to the snow and Raem stumbled backwards, screaming.
Rathan leapt forward to finish the task when a rough cry sounded to his right.
“There they are!” shouted a man’s voice.
Rathan spun toward the sound. In the dim shadows cast against the trees from the fire, men charged, coming out of the dark as if spawned by the night. Rathan looked left only to see more men.
An arrow splintered against the rock just above his head.
Rathan leapt over the fire to where Monaiella knelt, gripping the handle of her sword. Desperation swirled in her eyes at the urgent need to break her promise to the gods.
“Stay down,” cried Rathan, spinning around and preparing himself to do as he’d pledged, defend her life to the death.
Hysterical laughter roared over the shouts of a dozen men.
The man who called himself Raem stood, holding his severed half an arm, the light at the tips of the bloodless fingers glowed brightly, and then lightning tore the air, forking in a white hot frenzy. Five men suddenly flailed about, as if caught in a spidery web of electric light, their bodies contorting horribly as the lightning blazed from their ears, eyes and mouths.
Bursting over the crackling sound of burning bodies came another peal of Raem’s maddened laughter, and he turned and held his silvered hand out in the opposite direction, the strange blue fire poured into another six or seven men.
Rathan took Monaiella’s hand and they sprang out from under the rocky overhang, cutting behind the large boulder to block Raem’s line of sight. The snow had hardened during the night, the freezing temperatures turning the crust to ice. They rushed blindly through the trees and held their hands out, fighting the branches lashing out at their faces.
“The road,” said Monaiella, breathing hard. “It’s on our left.”
Rathan turned sharply in that direction, his grip firm on Monaiella’s hand. “I don’t know how he found us, but I’d guess it won’t be hard for him to do so again.”
He glanced up every now and again and wondered if he might see the outline of some inconceivable shape hovering over the trees. Until this night’s encounter, he’d half thought the stories of such events only legend.
But there was a portal, and if the stories were true, there were worlds where men had harnessed powers that defied the imagination, and that man’s silvery hand dealt death far greater than any weapon on Hearth.
CHAPTER 5
MONAIELLA
A torch blazed in the dark, and for a moment, she thought they’d come upon the road. Rathan maneuvered behind a tree as a group of men passed several lengths in front of them. It seemed Brantieth was more eager for her blood than she had earlier thought.
As the torchbearers moved on, they continued.
She wondered if the Old Seer had known about his own death—if Raem’s account were true—and if that was the reason he had given her the object to deliver to Quanthum. The memory leaf, as Raem had called it, rested heavy within her cloak despite its lightness. What sort of memories were on it? Did it contain the memories within itself, or did it conjure up the past, like embers stirred up within a human mind? Was there some trick to it? For she herself had held it in her naked hand and it had not caused anything to arise within her other than curiosity.
Rathan paused again, and she saw the distant flicker of another torch. “The woods are crawling tonight,” he said.
She whispered, “I didn’t think Brantieth’s head was lodged so far up his ass. Does he think I would defy the will of the regents?”
“It’s your right to defy them. You are the Luminess.”
“Yet you know I wouldn’t.”
“You would surrender the throne to such as Brantieth?”
“With sadness in my heart, yes. If the regents want another brute on the throne, let them drink that bitter fate. We weren’t ready, Rathan. Humans have all but abandoned the sacred teachings. There are not many like you and I.”
“What about your citizens?” said Rathan, watching the torch light fade into a thick stand of trees. “They would support you even if the regents would not.”
She knew Rathan was right, and he spoke from experience, for he had accompanied her through many of the southern hamlets and villages in the northeastern region of the Blue Mountains. It was there the armies regrouped before riding further east to battle, and whenever she stayed in any civilized place, she always refused the hospitality of the mayor or town dignitary, and instead knocked on the door of a commoner’s house. She’d created quite the stir by doing so, and the fact that she loved the peasant and the servant as much as any regent did not fare her well among the highly stationed
But she cared little for man’s traditions. The love of wealth and position was a knife slash throughout the history of humankind. It was the traditions of the gods she prized, even though they too could slash and cut, but in different ways. Sacrifice, humility, suffering. These lay along the path of the Makers, but she’d grown to see the beauty in the hard road, with its stones and ruts and dust. It was easy to do what one hungered to do, but to do what one ought was an altogether different question, one that the sacred writings forced her to consider.
That wasn’t the reason, though, that she enjoyed the company of blacksmiths and woodsmen, seamstresses and cobblers. She preferred them because they made up the majority of her citizens. If she only lived in her mountain castle, and dined exclusively with dignitaries, she would be as self-serving as a mayor who never associated with the men and women of their village. As Luminess, she wasn’t to be served, but was to be the servant of all.
Ella looked to Rathan and shook her head, her heart heavy, for the citizens he’d mentioned were dear to her heart. “I wouldn’t dare start a war within my own realm. I’ve seen enough blood for a lifetime. I’m disappointed you and Brantieth would think me capable of such an act.”
Rathan was silent then, and he moved on, his hand guiding her forward through the tall trunks and brush.
Finally they came to the road that ran between the Hold and Tilmar.
A faint haze of grey birthed within the clouds over the jagged mountains that towered dismally overhead.
The road was quiet and the early morning cold severe.
At her request, Rathan held her in his arms for warmth, but even that seemed barely enough heat as their muscles cooled quickly now that they were at rest. There was a faint warmth where Rathan’s arms draped across her back, but where they failed to touch, her skin felt dead with cold, and the backs of her legs within the fur-lined leathers ached as if clothed in ice.
She buried her face inside Rathan’s cloak and together they waited.
The clouds had grown white with winding ribbons of light when a caravan appeared on the road, moving in the direction of the Hol
d. Four horses pulled a pair of open carts loaded with barrels and crates.
“Stay here,” said Rathan.
“What are you going to do? They’re going the wrong way.”
“I’m taking a chance that these merchants favor you. The gods know how good you’ve been to your people.” He pressed her back into the trees. “Stay put. If things turn ugly, you know what to do.”
“Break some more knees?”
He gave her an exasperated look, then strode into the road.
—-
RATHAN
Rathan raised one hand in the air while the other rested at his hip, a finger length from his sword. The driver of the first wagon slowed, the man’s bushy grey brows dipped warily over his eyes. The second cart pulled up alongside the first, a young man and woman seated on the bench. The young man’s hand dropped down behind a block of wood where Rathan could see the brown handle of a sword or knife
“Have you heard the news?” called Rathan. “Brantieth has expelled Monaiella from the throne.”
“So we’ve heard,” said the older man, his grey brows lifting slightly. “Riders arrived in Tilmar midafternoon yesterday. By now the news has spread the entire northeastern region.”
Rathan folded his arms across his chest. “Have you any allegiance to the deposed Luminess?”
“Let us pass,” said the young woman. “We haven’t seen her. You can check our carts if you don’t believe us.”
Rathan turned a harsh gaze upon the woman. “So you won’t foreswear any allegiance to Monaiella. Do you approve of Brantieth as your new Luminar?”
“Luminaries hardly need approval from the likes of us,” said the older man. “We are simply delivering wine and fruit to the Hold—a trip we take every two weeks. Now if you would be so kind, and let us by.”
Rathan gave a small bow, then looked back into the woods. The three merchants had said enough despite the young man’s silence. He waved at the half a face peering from behind a tree.
