by R. J. Larson
“Hiding.” He could tell her that much, at least. Akabe paused, recognizing his own mistrust. Hypocrite! How could he expect her to talk with him honestly when he harbored his own secrets—among other things, his suspicion of her and the Thaenfalls? Awash in guilt, he kissed her tender cheek. “Cait . . . Cait! Don’t be afraid! Whatever our differences, you’ve been tossed into this situation through no fault of your own—and you’ve persevered wonderfully, my brave queen—so endure me awhile longer. Believe me, I’ll protect you with my life!”
Caitria huddled against him, clearly fighting sobs.
So much for talk. Akabe sighed, smoothing Caitria’s soft hair and holding her tight. Sweet, courageous wife! Here was the truth—and his fear: Despite their secrecy, despite his guards, they’d already been followed and attacked, proving he’d placed his friends and his wife at risk. Had he and his counselors miscalculated? Fatally?
If so, he’d be killed before reinforcements arrived—leaving Cait vulnerable. And with his death, the Infinite’s temple might never be restored to Siphra.
Sickened, Akabe bent, kissed Caitria’s hair, and prayed with more ferocity than he had in months. Infinite? Protect us. Save Your temple. And Caitria. Let her turn to You!
Let her survive!
Cait? He’d called her “Cait”?
Choking down fresh sniffles, resting her head against Akabe’s shoulder, Caitria tested the name in her thoughts. Cait. Her family had only ever shortened her name to Tria. But she’d never liked Tria.
“Cait” sounded so normal. So accepted and cherished. Particularly when pronounced by her husband. Was Akabe beginning to love her? Did she dare hope?
She drew back slightly and peeked up at his handsome face to see . . . anguish. He masked the emotion instantly with an enchanting, heartening smile. But that brief glimpse was enough.
Caitria looked away. If her husband was beginning to love her, it was too late.
With one unguarded glance, he’d told her the worst—her own fears.
He believed they would die.
Unable to quell his worries and aware of the others watching them, Akabe faced Ela in the forest’s deepening evening shadows. “Prophet, surely you know what I’m about to ask.”
“You seek the Infinite’s will.” She closed her eyes and averted her face, as if praying.
Ela recoiled in apparent shock, and a sickening drop in Akabe’s gut told him the truth. His Creator was somehow displeased. Ela opened her eyes, and Akabe saw one of the sights he’d prayed to never see: a prophet aiming a warning at him. “Sir . . . you have hated His silence, yet this is the first time you’ve truly sought His will concerning your recent decisions regarding this journey, and—” she faltered—“Siphra’s Temple.”
Silence pressed in around them, building like a force. A wall.
The Infinite’s Holy House? Akabe flinched, forcing himself to meet Ela of Parne’s gaze. “How could it be wrong of me to rebuild His temple?”
A tear slid down her cheek. “Rebuilding the Temple was your will, for your name, not His. The time was your choosing, not His. I blame myself, too. For simply accepting—”
“For accepting my decision,” Akabe finished. Infinite? What have I done?
Aware of the darkening sky above and their need to continue the journey, he asked, “Am I now His enemy? Has He no word for me?”
Ela covered her face with her hands, swaying. Akabe waited, afraid to breathe, aware of Kien and Caitria both drawing near, both alarmed. Ela lowered her hands, trembling visibly as she looked up at him now. “The Infinite loves you as ever, of course. You are His beloved child, but . . .” She looked around. “Here we are now, according to your plan, with our enemies approaching . . . plotting our failure. We must pray and walk this path together.”
A path he had decided for them.
Too horrified to speak, Akabe allowed her to turn away first, as he begged in silence: Infinite, forgive me! Show us Your mercy. . . .
Akabe watched five bedraggled travelers ride past them on the dirt road, their expressions disinterested in everything but the destroyer. Understandable. He’d deliberately extended this night’s journey past dawn, into the trees and winding valleys of the DaromKhor Hills, guardians of Siphra’s border with Belaal and stoic witnesses to his past—to this place, which was the start of his life’s journey. And perhaps its finish. Each bend in the road revived a memory. Provoked fresh pain. And sharpened his guilt over leaving these hills eleven years ago. Infinite? Was I wrong to return? Will You not protect us?
Scanning toward the left, he saw the road. Overgrown now, nearly hidden amid the trees, vines, and fallen evergreen limbs. Akabe called over his shoulder, “Everyone, remain close.”
Caitria, Ela, Riddig, and Kien nodded, staring about as the horses picked their way through a litter of crackling twigs, leaves, and shrubs rooted in the road. Did his comrades realize their journey ended at the crest of this overgrown path? But what had he done? Akabe tensed. Infinite? I am not prepared to confront this place! All the more, knowing I’ve failed You. . . .
Beyond the final turn, he saw the hill’s crest—bare-rocked as it had always been—encircled by a vine-covered wall. Crowned by the bleak, lifeless stone tower.
Verging on ruins, as was he, Siphra’s vainglorious king.
21
This was their destination? Kien stared at the neglected walls. The stone tower’s shutterless windows opened to the landscape, blank as dead, staring eyes. And the tower’s uppermost crenellations looked half broken as if someone—most likely many someones—had tried to dismantle the structure and finally abandoned the task.
A desolate wreck of a fortress. Kien shuddered. He should have expected ruins. Akabe never spoke of his kindred. But why speak? This skeleton-fortress gave eloquent testimony of the devastation Akabe—and, most likely, his family—had suffered.
Summoning all the reverence required of one approaching a personally sacred site, Kien goaded Scythe after the king, following the last turns of the overgrown winding pathway. Even the destroyer seemed affected by the air of gloom permeating this place, eating only a few snatches of leaves along the narrowed road.
Without explanation, Akabe rode through the gateway, the left half of its huge metal-studded wood gate sagging open as if surrendered to despair. Inside the heavy, curtain-like stone wall and sweeping central yard reflected disaster. Heaps of rubble—stones evidently cast down from the crenellations—stood amid overgrown grass and briers. Piles of scattered grayed, weathered wood. A large broken clay water jug partially embedded in the soil. An entire fortress left to decay.
Following Akabe’s lead, Kien dismounted, using the destroyer’s thick mane for a handhold, swinging himself down along Scythe’s massive black neck. The warhorse lowered his big head, allowing Kien’s booted feet to hit the ground. Kien muttered, “You’re obeying well, for a runaway monster. You deserve extra rations.”
Scythe huffed, shook out his heavy mane, then swung around to watch Ela. She’d dismounted and was removing her vinewood branch from its leather casing alongside her little horse’s saddle. Why? Kien fixated on the branch. No, not glowing. Even so, did Ela have a premonition that she might need the sacred insignia? He smoothed Scythe’s glossy neck and spoke quietly. “Feel free to trim all this grass. We’re safe.” For now.
He crossed the huge, overgrown yard and offered Ela his arm as if they were at court. When Ela leaned against him and sighed, he whispered, “Prophet, what will happen here?”
“When I know more, I might tell you.” She stared up at the tower, looking squeamish, as if the sight made her ill. “This was Akabe’s home.”
“Apparently. How else would he know of such a place—much less bring us here?”
Ela looked from the barren tower toward Akabe. “I wish it weren’t so.”
By now, Akabe—followed by Caitria and Riddig and several guards—had crossed to the far corner of the yard. Seeking some indication of Akabe’s plans, Kien
led Ela toward them.
“Sir,” Caitria asked Akabe, “why are we here?”
“For me, this is where everything started.” At the jointure of the fortress wall and the shaded stone foundation of a long-vanished building, Akabe kneeled, removing a dagger from his belt. He tore at the thick, moss-cushioned grass, casting handful after rustling handful aside. Finished, he studied the wall, then aligned the blade with a seam, slid it into the dark, bared soil, then pried it up as if digging for something. Clearly wondering aloud, Akabe asked, “Has it been stolen?” He eyed the adjoining stones, then slid his dagger through the bared furrow again, deeper this time. When the blade snagged, he dug into the soil.
A grimy, broken gold chain emerged, bearing a clod-encased pendant. Akabe rubbed the damp soil between his fingers, cleaning the chain and slowly revealing a delicate, crushed, gold flower pendant. He stared at the flower for a long time, a war of emotions turning his mouth, bringing a glint of tears to his eyes. Showing the pendant to Caitria, he said, “This was my little sister’s. Deeaynna. I found it after we buried her, and I feared she’d miss it. My horsemaster refused to disturb her or my parents and older brothers. I’d guessed this line to be just above where she’s placed.”
Obviously stunned, Caitria stared at the fragile, smashed golden flower, then at the patch of overgrown grass. “Are you saying . . . your parents and siblings . . . are buried here?”
Sickened, Kien watched Akabe gently run his fingers through the grass, as if touching his long-dead family. “Yes. They were attacked as ordered by my predecessors. The night before, I’d coerced Beniyon, my horsemaster, to help me escape our unexpected company. Some long-winded government officials and their servants had arrived, all droning on and on about potential laws my lord-father was supposed to endorse. I couldn’t bear the thought of listening to them when I might be hunting instead. No one saw me enter the hall or leave it. Beniyon and I snatched our gear, stole food when Cook was distracted, and we rode off.
“I hid in the DaromKhor Hills through the next day, supposing I’d be punished for abandoning my duties in waiting on my lord-father.” Akabe continued. “I never dreamed my family welcomed their own murderers. Our servants . . . were herded into the keep’s stables, then slaughtered and burned. Even a day later, the stench was nauseating. As for my parents . . . my family—and a serving boy evidently mistaken for me—I found their bodies arranged in order like fallen trophies. For some reason, the fire didn’t touch them.” Akabe fingered the gold chain, gazing at it. “I couldn’t believe they’d killed Deeaynna. She’d just learned to write her name.”
Cold fingers entwined with Kien’s. Ela. He turned and saw her staring at Akabe, tears sliding down her face. She sniffled moistly, but said, “They would have killed you as well, sir.”
“Often I wished they had. However—” Akabe managed a pained grimace of a smile. “Beniyon insisted I live. We buried my family by night, then he dragged me away.”
Kien winced. If Ela or his family and friends had been massacred, yes, he would have shared Akabe’s wish to die—he’d traveled that particular path of grief before. “From here, you fled to the Snake Mountains as Akabe of No Name?”
“Yes.” Akabe slid the gold chain into his money pouch, caressed the grass once more, then stood. “It was easy to deny my name. If my family never existed, then neither had they died. Though I had nightmares for years. . . .”
He left abruptly, striding through the unkempt yard, whistling sharply at the horses. Most likely attempting to bury the remnants of his sorrow with work.
Caitria stood, drawing Kien’s attention. Not looking at anyone, she returned to her horse, evidently focused on removing her gear, though she moved with a peculiar dazed blankness.
“Someone should speak to her,” Kien murmured.
“Someone speaks to her now. Caitria must choose to listen.” Ela caressed Kien’s whisker-roughened cheek. “Let’s go tend the horses. And Akabe.”
Hearing footsteps, Akabe turned. Not Caitria as he’d thought, but Ela and Kien, with Riddig trailing them. Accompanied by the guards, they worked alongside him in mute, sympathetic companionship, grooming the horses, then testing ropes and buckets to access the well. Good friends, indeed. But they weren’t married to him. Drawing a sharp breath, Akabe slid a glance toward his wife. Caitria was rummaging through her gear as if she’d not heard him speak of the massacre. Had he mistakenly supposed she might care?
Never mind. He couldn’t speak to anyone right now. Not Ela, not Kien, nor Riddig and the guards. Least of all, the perplexing young woman he’d married.
Infinite? Does she hate me after all? Should I set her aside as she insists?
No answer, of course. Despite this, he would persevere. He must. Giving up would hand the victory to his enemies.
Akabe finished tending the horses, then looked up at the tower. Time to face it now. This would be their shelter until they received word from Faine that it was safe to return to Munra in several weeks. He scooped up his gear and Caitria’s bedroll, crossed the yard, climbed the stone steps, then strode through the doorless entry into the tower’s main hall.
Musty silence, cobwebs, mice droppings, and a dust-filled central hearth greeted him. Bird nests festooned some of the carved brackets that supported stout ceiling beams, reminding Akabe of the floors above. Were the upper chambers intact? Surprisingly, for all the dust, droppings, and birds’ nests, the beams appeared sound. He started for the stairs. Riddig followed, his boots thudding a rushed rhythm of haste. The military surgeon darted in front of Akabe, his silver hair seeming to bristle in alarm. “Sir, please, allow me, with the guards, to inspect the building first. If you or the queen drop through a rotten step or floorboard, the blame will be mine.”
Akabe nodded. “Do your work, then.” As Riddig and several guards stomped up the stairs, Akabe dropped his gear and the bedroll and glanced around, still hoping to see Caitria. Kien and Ela followed him instead. Ela’s red eyes and damp lashes revealed she’d been crying.
If only the tears could be Caitria’s. Not that Akabe longed for his wife to be miserable. But even the slightest show of sympathy might offer him hope that she cared. He paced the tiled floor, listening as Riddig scuffled and thumped through the chambers above. The timbers sounded sturdy; at least the guardsman hadn’t fallen through. Folding his arms, Akabe halted, waiting.
Just as Riddig clattered downstairs into the hall, his expression satisfied, Akabe noticed a shadowfall at the entry. Caitria carried her few belongings into the main hall. Rumpled, obviously exhausted, she sat on her bedroll, refusing to meet Akabe’s gaze. Her unspoken loyalties must be with the Ateans.
He’d suffered worse sorrows. But a pang cut through him. He’d failed her.
Trying to shield himself, Akabe focused on Riddig, who offered his report. “There’s some splintering of the planks and timbers below the windows, sir. Beware. And it’s clear that the furnishings and decorations were stolen long ago—everything’s bare wood and stone, though habitable. And”—Riddig grinned—“several doors above are intact.”
Akabe nodded. “Good news, indeed. We’ll choose sleeping quarters, prepare some food, and take turns at the watch. Perhaps we should nap today and sleep tonight as normal people. I’m sure we’ll be safe enough this first night—and we can hunt for food in the morning. No one knows we’re here, yet.”
Riddig shifted the quiverful of arrows, then his sword, checking his weapons as if unnerved. “If it’s your . . . wish, sir.”
“Yes.” Akabe grabbed his gear and Caitria’s belongings and headed for the stairs. Caitria followed him at a distance. No doubt reluctant to be near him, yet fearing to be alone.
He climbed the spiraling stairs, aware of her presence with every step. At the uppermost floor, he chose the old room he’d shared with his brothers. Riddig was right. The place had been looted, stripped to bare stone walls, wooden floors, and a shutterless window. Fresh stabbing grief halted Akabe in the center of the
dusty chamber. Nothing was left of the thirteen-year-old he’d been. Nor of his brothers, Jorem and Matthan. Akabe swallowed.
A soft footstep told Akabe that Caitria had entered the chamber. Akabe dumped their gear, then turned and stared at Caitria. She averted her face. Akabe stifled a growl of frustration. “Have you nothing to say?”
She sat on the rolled pallet, still avoiding his gaze. Her tone almost lifeless, she said, “Sir, again, you should set me aside.”
Emotionless as her words sounded, they sliced into his already wounded spirit. Akabe turned and left the chamber. She didn’t follow.
In the darkness of their chamber, Ela nestled beside her husband on their shared pallets, cherishing his warmth. Loving him. “Tell me your plans,” she whispered. “I saw you talking with the king.”
Drawing out his words as if reluctant to speak, Kien murmured, “We need meat, and Akabe wants to survey the surrounding hills. Some of the guards will remain here.”
He turned and slid an arm around her. “Why do you ask? Are you worried?”
“Of course I’m worried. Yet we must trust the Infinite’s plans.” Ela wished she could see Kien’s eyes in the darkness. Not to mention his handsome face. “I don’t know much of what’s to happen in the next few weeks, but I must warn you . . .” She propped herself on one elbow to emphasize her words. “Whatever happens, hunting or not, you must be sure the king never crosses the Siphran border into Belaal. If he disobeys, he will be captured. And so will you.”
“By Bel-Tygeon?” Kien’s voice turned frosty as he spoke the name of Belaal’s king.
“By his men.” A prompting image of what might be made Ela shiver and hug her husband close. “Belaal will kill Akabe and take Siphra. You mustn’t fail.”
Kien tensed in her embrace. “Do Bel-Tygeon’s men know the king is here?”
“No.” Ela soothed her husband with a kiss. “They don’t know he’s here.” But they suspected her presence. Ela shook off the realization. Akabe and Kien were her chief concerns now. “However, my warning is serious. Promise me you’ll not let the hunt or anything carry you from Siphra.”
