The Tigrens' Glory (Soul-Linked Saga) (Volume 9)

by Laura Jo Phillips

  “The Glory we know is strong and courageous,” Kyerion said. “Perhaps those things that broke the mind of a child would not do the same to the woman she has become.”

  “Perhaps,” Zainlea agreed. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you can not go in there after her. If you three are lost, you take with you the last hope for Clan Tigren and, in time, all Klanaren.”

  “No matter how well hidden, those memories are a shadow that will one day darken her mind and soul anyway,” Kirk said. “At some point, they will need to be faced. Now is as good a time as any.”

  “As our Arima, her health and well-being come before all others,” Cade said. “We have no choice but to rescue her, and to heal her, Kelta Zainlea. Thanks to you, we will go forewarned. That should help.”

  “Not without a buffer,” Zainlea insisted. She looked into the eyes of the Tigren, shook her head and sighed. “You truly do not understand of what I speak. I wish I didn’t have to do this, but I see that it’s necessary. I’ll show you one memory, and one only, and a mild one, at that. Once you see reason, I will tell you the rest.”

  “Agreed,” Kyerion said.

  “Then watch,” Zainlea said. Kyerion felt his mind tilt, then blur as images, unidentifiable thoughts and memories spun through him at a dizzying speed. Suddenly, without warning, everything stopped. He blinked, his eyes clearing slowly as he fought to bring his surroundings into focus. He looked down, and saw, far below…,

  A little girl, four years old, maybe five, huddled on a pallet of straw covered with a dirty scrap of blanket in the corner of a room lit with a single candle, shivering with cold and fear. The walls and floors were rough gray stone, unbroken save for a small fireplace, cold and empty, and an all too familiar heavy wooden door.

  “The King is on his way now,” a plump woman with straggly hair and a stained apron said with a toothless grin. “Today is special. Do you know why?” The woman didn’t wait for the child to answer. “Today is the day of your birth!” The woman clapped her hands with glee. “My favorite day of the year, though not yours, I warrant.”

  The child shuddered so hard her head hit the stone wall behind her with a sickening crack, leaving a smear of blood. The woman laughed as the door to the dank chamber flew open, slamming against the wall. The child moaned with terror. A tall, handsome man dressed in the finest of silks and velvets, wearing a jewel encrusted crown on his head, stalked toward the tiny child. His mouth was set in a cruel line as he reached down and yanked her up by a tangle of long black hair, holding her high off the floor so that he could stare directly into her bronze eyes.

  “My little murderer,” he spat venomously. “I refrained from drowning you like the worthless vermin that you are after you killed my Queen, and how do you repay my mercy? You’ve scarred my daughters, and my youngest son. Today I learned that you’ve also injured my eldest son. You shall pay in blood for the curse of your existence.” He released his hold and the child fell several feet to the floor where she curled into a ball.

  A small, elderly man entered the chamber with a large bag. He set the bag on the floor and opened it without looking toward the child. The King gestured at the woman, who grinned as she reached for the little girl with hard hands and jerked her to her feet.

  The child remained silent and unresisting as her wrists were stretched out and bound to rings set into the wall so that she was held in place for the physician. She was far too small and weak to fight her jailors, and it never once occurred to her to beg for mercy. She wasn’t even aware that such a concept existed. Her teeth bit into her lip so deeply that it bled, and her heart pounded so hard that the threadbare scrap of rough wool covering her chest quivered with each beat, but she knew that any attempt at resistance would only be rewarded with more pain.

  The king reached into the physician’s bag and removed a wooden stick with five claws mounted on a stiff scrap of leather at one end. He approached the child. “I don’t know why it took me so long to think of this,” he said, his pupils dilated with anticipation, his lips stretched wide in an evil grin. “Now you’ll suffer as you’ve made me suffer. I think I’ll begin with your ugly little face.” He raised the clawed stick high, then brought it down.

  Kyerion closed his eyes and pulled away, unable to watch any more, though the sound of the child’s scream would surely haunt him for the remainder of his life. The next time he opened his eyes he was on his knees in the grass. The sounds of his brothers heaving nearby told him that they’d seen what he’d seen. Even the knowledge that they were in a dream state could not lessen the sickness he felt. When his nausea passed, he forced himself to his feet and turned to face Zainlea.

  “Where did the claws come from?” he asked, guessing the answer but needing to know for certain.

  “They were torn from the child’s fingers,” she said. “They grew back, which infuriated the King even though it took many months and was quite painful for her. Each year, on the day of her birth, he ordered them ripped from her flesh.”

  “Why?” Cade asked.

  “Her mother died in childbirth,” Zainlea said. “When her father saw that she had claws he blamed the Queen’s death on her, though one had nothing to do with the other. He hated the infant not because Aniya died, but because in his eyes she was worse than deformed. She was a throw back, a reminder of his own tainted ancestry. She was an insult to his vanity, which was bad enough. But, worse than that, he saw her as a threat to his position.”

  “That makes no sense,” Kirk said. “How could a deformed child threaten his position?”

  "It couldn’t,” Zainlea replied. “Not to a reasonable man. But Bashir was not reasonable. He hated the Tigren blood that ran in his veins, and feared that were it to become common knowledge, he would be reviled for it. When he saw physical manifestations of the Tigren in his daughter, he hated her for them. He initially ordered her killed.”

  Kyerion’s blood ran cold. “What prevented him from doing it?”

  “It was a royal birth and there were witnesses,” Zainlea said. “Under ancient Ramouri law, the murder of a royal, even by another royal, is treason of the highest order, punishable by hanging. His own kin would have loved nothing better than to hang him for murdering his child, and he knew it. He immediately withdrew the order, claiming that his grief was responsible for his momentary lapse in reason.

  “Unfortunately, there’s no law preventing abuse of one’s child on Ramouri, so long as the child remained alive. He ordered the physician to remove her claws on the day of her birth. By the time she began to crawl, the wounds had healed and the claws had grown back. She accidentally scratched virtually everyone who came into regular contact with her. The King used each incident to further isolate her, gradually reducing contact with her siblings. When she scratched her eldest brother, the king used it as an excuse to declare her unsafe to remain with his other children, and locked her up permanently. She was five years old.

  “The scene I showed you was repeated countless times. He marked her for every scratch she’d inflicted on another person, or so he claimed. It took her a very long time to self-heal and when she did, he immediately marked her again. It infuriated him that she never scarred. Each year, on the day of her birth, her claws were brutally ripped from her fingers.”

  “He imprisoned and tortured a child and no one stopped him?” Cade demanded, both sickened and outraged.

  “Her family demanded to see her regularly to be sure she still lived,” Zainlea said. “There were several attempts to break her out of the castle dungeon, but all failed. Those involved were put to death for their efforts, including the Queen’s sister, who was of noble blood, but not royal. After that, the rescue attempts ceased. Bashir was King. He held the power of life and death over everyone but his own children, and he could rightfully do whatever he wished to them, short of killing them. Gloriani’s torture continued until she was nine years of age.”

  “What happened then?” Kirk asked.

  “Bashir had an
ancestor so ancient he was thought to be legend. Pusan-Lo was the last of his line to be blessed, or cursed, with traits of his Clan Tigren forefathers, one of which was a very long life. The last, that is, until Gloriani was born.

  “Pusan-Lo regularly spent decades at a time sleeping deep within the mountains as a way of coping with his loneliness. One day, after a particularly long sleep of about a hundred years, he emerged from his cavern and decided to visit the palace to see how his descendants fared.

  “The moment he entered the palace he was assaulted by the screams of a child. Screams that no human could have heard but that he, with his Tigren blood, heard clearly. He followed the cries to a cell in the dungeon, where he came upon a woman gleefully pouring salt into fresh wounds the King had inflicted on Gloriani in his latest attempt to scar her permanently.

  “Pusan-Lo went into a blood rage and destroyed the woman in full view of the girl. He was not capable of fully shifting into the form of a tigrenca, but he had the strength, claws and fangs necessary to tear the woman into pieces, and that’s exactly what he did.

  “The sight was too much for the child, who slipped into a deep catatonic state. Pusan-Lo released her from the chains that held her against the wall, then carried her away from the carnage. He found an empty room where he sat and held the wounded child in his arms, praying with all his soul for aid, and I answered his call. Once I realized who the child was, what she was meant for, I understood how badly I’d failed her. The situation was serious, the child near death.”

  Zainlea stood up and began pacing again, the memory of that day too vivid, even for her. “Gloriani’s existence meant Clan Tigren had a sliver of hope for a future. Only she was capable of finding the three of you, and releasing you, Kyerion, from hibernation in time to save all of your lives. It was a very slim chance, one that balanced on the head of a pin with no tolerance for mistakes, and very little room for deviation. But, without her, there was no chance at all. Clan Tigren would cease to be and, in time, so too would all Klanaren. So much rested on that one, wounded little girl. So many lives depended on the woman she would one day become. And yet, it was plain to see that if she were left in her father’s care, she wouldn’t live out the week.

  “Drastic action was called for, but I had to be careful. I couldn’t make changes to her life that might significantly alter the future I’d already seen. She had to remain on Ramouri, a daughter of the royal family. At the same time, she had to be removed from the care and influence of Bashir. In the end, I granted Pusan-Lo the ability to fully shift into tigrenca. He then carried Gloriani into the King’s throne room, locked the door behind them, and shifted. When he returned to human form, he made his demands. Bashir dared not refuse.”

  “That was an end to it?” Kirk asked.

  “No,” Zainlea replied. “Even with the thin barriers I’d given her to block the worst of her memories, Gloriani was so traumatized that she no longer responded to anyone, or anything. I fully healed the damage to her body. That was the easy part and, thanks to the Tigren in her blood, she carried no physical scars to remind her of the past. But the damage to her mind could not be so easily dealt with. It took many months of extraordinary patience on his part, but eventually Pusan-Lo was able to draw her out, little by little. As soon as she was capable, he taught her to hide the memories she couldn’t deal with. Unfortunately, in hiding them, she also lost much of her fear of those responsible for it.

  “It was required, by law, for all members of the Ramourian family to visit the palace and present themselves before the King twice a year. Gloriani was no exception. If she did not appear on the day of her birth and the first day of the spring equinox, her position as a member of the royal family, her title as Princess would have been stripped from her, along with all of the protections that came with it. That could not be risked.

  “Pusan-Lo accompanied her on the visits, refusing to leave her alone for a moment in Bashir’s care. As she got older, she insisted on making the visits on her own. Pusan-Lo allowed her to think she went alone, though he always watched over her. No one said so much as a harsh word to her in all the years since he’d taken her from the palace, so, on her seventeenth birthday, Pusan-Lo decided to allow her to go alone in truth.

  “Gloriani’s visit went as usual. Shortly after she left the palace, she was set upon by half a dozen hooded men, and kidnapped in broad daylight. When she didn’t return home at the proper time, Pusan-Lo went to the palace in search of her. He shifted into his tigrenca and tracked Glory from the palace. By the time he found her in the basement of an abandoned, burned out shell of a house on the edge of the city, it was nearly too late. Her claws had been ripped out, she’d been severely beaten, and the first of her six captors was preparing to rape her. Once again Pusan-Lo went into a blood rage, destroying her attackers while she was held bound against a wall, unable to do more than close her eyes, or leave them open and watch.”

  “Does this King still live?” Kyerion asked when he could trust himself to speak again.

  “Yes, he does,” Zainlea replied. “Pusan-Lo wanted to kill him, but he had no proof that Bashir was involved and had, himself, destroyed the only men who might have provided that proof. Instead, he made it clear to Bashir that should Glory come to harm, any harm, at anyone’s hands, he would personally use his claws to render the king a horror to look upon. Bashir’s vanity is such that no other threat could have worked so well.”

  “And he thinks that’s the end of it?” Kyerion demanded.

  “He cannot believe that he will never have to answer for his crimes against his own child,” Kirk growled.

  “Of course he does, but that isn’t the important issue right now,” Cade said. Kyerion and Kirk turned angry eyes on him, but he returned their gazes steadily. “Glory matters. That is all. Later, once we’ve seen to her health and safety, we will deal with this so-called king.”

  “You are correct, brother,” Kirk said, then turned to Zainlea. “What do we need to do?”

  “You cannot risk going in after her. If you do, you will be forced to relive memories that make the one I showed you seem mild in comparison. You will become just as lost as she is.”

  Kyerion nodded, understanding now why Zainlea refused to allow them through the door. She was right. He’d barely refrained from going into a blood rage the entire time she’d spoken of Glory’s childhood. He could not imagine what he’d do if he were forced to witness the atrocities she’d suffered. “Kelta Zainlea, since Glory is our Arima, does that mean it’s safe for us to convert her?” he asked suddenly.

  Zainlea was silent for a long moment, then her large head shifted from side to side. “There are things I may not reveal, Kelt Kyerion. To do so would risk altering events that must come to pass even more than they already have been. I can tell you only that you are meant to have a future with her. But, do not count too heavily on that. Gloriani was not meant to suffer the events of her childhood, nor was she meant to become trapped in her memories. Chaos is at work here, and it is not yet finished with Bashir, Pusan-Lo, or Gloriani. If you fail, which is a possibility, the consequences will be very…far reaching.”

  There was a long silence while the Tigren absorbed that disturbing news. Kyerion had so many questions he wasn’t sure where to start. But Cade brought them back to what was most important. “If we cannot go in after her, then we must bring her out to us,” he said. “Will you tell us how to do that?”

  The orange and black tigrenca laid down on the ground and placed her chin on her paws, her blue eyes brilliant from the tears that gathered before rolling down her cheeks. “I do not know.”

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  “How did your meeting with the Garakai go this morning?” Kyerion asked Garen over lunch the next afternoon.

  “Very well,” Garen replied, looking more relaxed than Kyerion had yet seen him. “We’ll be leaving half of our task force here until more of the Garakai’s ships arrive, but they’ve officially promised to help all of the con
quered worlds of the LMC to recover and get back on their feet. We’ll be leaving for Jasan this evening, along with the Ala Lahoi, the Vyand, the Eyrie and the Megalodon.”

  “You are to be commended, High Prince, on your handling of this entire matter,” Kyerion said. “Not a single non-Xanti life was lost, yet you freed millions from slavery. As I said before, you are men we are proud to follow.”

  “Your words are appreciated, Kyerion,” Garen said. “But we cannot take all the credit. The Jasani, both Clan and human citizens, did this as a people, working together.”

  “Interesting that you would say that,” Kyerion said. “We have a problem that we spent half the night discussing, but could find no solution for. We hoped to ask if you’d help us with it.”

  “Of course,” Garen said. “We’ll help in any way that we can.”

  “Thank you, Highness,” Kyerion said. “We shared a dream last night that contained an element projected by Glory. It was very disturbing.”

  “What element?” Lariah asked.

  “A door,” Kirk replied. “A heavy door bound with iron. The same door appeared each time Glory Dream Walked with us, but she would not speak of it. Last night we learned that her mind is trapped behind that door, along with horrific memories of her childhood. That’s the reason she remains in a coma.”

  “When Jareth examined Glory, before we left Jasan, he told me that there were many blank areas in her mind,” Lariah said. “Memories that, he suspected, she’d hidden from herself. He was quite concerned about that.”

  “For good reason,” Kyerion said. “We were shown a portion of one of those memories. They are more than vile. Our first instinct was to enter her dream and bring her out, but we’ve been warned that should we attempt that, we’d become trapped with her.”

  “Warned?” Garen asked.

  “By the Guardienne of Clan Tigren,” Kyerion replied. Garen nodded, asking no further questions. The mysterious guardians of some clans, like the Lobo’s Eternal Pack and the Owlfen’s Sentinel, were sacred to those clans that had them. He was surprised that Kyerion revealed as much as he had about theirs. “She also told us that Glory is our Arima, but that many events that are meant to be have been altered by chaos. Nothing is promised.”