Altered Destiny

by Shawna Thomas

  After schooling his features, he turned back to the parchment in his hands. The air warmed with her presence but he continued to read the list of his new assets.

  A tang of fear spiced the dull scent of Noe’s impatience as Keldar ignored her. For Noe to speak first would be a sign of disrespect, one they both knew she couldn’t afford. Not until her fear masked any other emotion did he look up.

  Noe stood, draped in layers of sheer lavender cloth from shoulder to sandaled feet. The cloth softened the outline of her body but did nothing to hide it.

  “Are you curious why I’ve brought you to my chamber?” He didn’t miss her glance toward the bed.

  “You’ve found Jaden—”

  Keldar bared his teeth, his nostrils flaring to catch the new burst of fear behind Noe’s bravado. “Jaden is dead.”

  Her expression didn’t change. “And you think to make me yours.”

  “I always liked your intelligence.”

  “You couldn’t care less about my intelligence.”

  “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong.” He stood and moved around the desk to circle Noe.

  She flinched.

  “The leader of the Svistra should have an intelligent wife, don’t you think?”

  “I will not be your wife.”

  “No?” He grabbed the back of her neck, kicked her legs and pressed her to her hands and knees. “Want to place a wager?”

  “You can take me, but that won’t make me your wife.” Fear tinged the defiance in her voice.

  “I will take you.” Straddling her from behind, he molded his body to hers, his erection pressed against her rounded buttocks. Without loosening the pressure on her neck, he licked the exposed skin of her upper back.

  “Taking command of the army doesn’t make you any less a beast. Jaden is twice the man that you are.”

  Keldar reversed his hold, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of Noe’s throat. He trailed his teeth along the side of her neck then bit hard enough to draw blood. “You taste as sweet as I imagined.”

  “I’ll kill you in your sleep.”

  He sprang to his feet dragging Noe with him and threw her on the bed.

  She lay stunned, eyes darkened.

  “No you won’t.” He neared, breathing in the heady scent that told him more than her words. “You always were a shrewd woman. Power means to you more than anything. I smell your arousal. We want the same things, control, honor, respect. Jaden was never the man for you. I’ll take you. And you’ll enjoy every moment of it. Then you’ll be my wife.”

  Nathan made his way across the courtyard toward the well, the weight of many curious eyes on him. Once again, he stepped up onto the old stone wall of the well and looked out over the crowd. Under the gentle light of the early morning sun, the men appeared more ragged than before, but also rested and fed. By the look of the eyes now staring at him, the men now had enough energy to be angry.

  He shot a glance to Darion and another to Matias, running his fingers through his hair. “I won’t lie. We need you.” He didn’t yell, but pitched his voice to carry over the crowd.

  The men looked at one another, their mumbling dulled like the galloping of distant horses.

  “The Svistra are not many, but each of them fights like five men.” Nathan heard the grumbles of his men. “Have any of you ever seen a Svistra?”

  No one moved or spoke.

  “Do you know why?”

  “Um, we’d be dead?” One of the men stepped forward. A dirty rag that might once have been red encircled his head and trailed down his back like a tail.

  “Perhaps. But not always. You didn’t see them because they didn’t want to be seen.”

  “You mean they can disappear?” another man toward the back of the group asked.

  Nathan turned in the general direction of the voice. “No. They can’t. Svistra are flesh and blood like us. But they are skilled at one thing: killing.” Nathan took a deep breath. “They are warriors trained to fight. Svistra don’t plow, and they don’t tend flocks. They fight. That’s all they do.”

  “But we ain’t soldiers, and our farms ain’t getting plowed or our flocks tended while we stand here chattin’. Can you tell me this will be over by harvest?”

  Nathan looked to see who had spoken but couldn’t pick out the face in the crowd. “You’re not soldiers. But you could be. The Svistra will not stop. They will sweep down from the north and kill your flocks, your women and children, unless we stop them here.”

  “Then let us go back to our families so we can protect them.”

  Nathan met the dark eyes of the speaker. “Could you, alone, stand up against a band of Svistra?”

  The man blinked.

  Nathan turned back to the crowd and raised his voice a notch. “Could any of you? I couldn’t. And I’ve sent many men, women and children who also couldn’t to the Nameless god. Unless we fight together, we will be beaten. Only our unity can defeat the Svistra. Again, if we don’t stop them here, they will not be stopped.”

  Nathan caught Matias’s eye again. The old soldier nodded. Still Nathan waited a few more heartbeats. “Your choices are clear. Learn to fight or die.”

  The silence was complete until someone coughed.

  “If you want to go back home, no one here will stop you.” Nathan glared at Darion. “I don’t want farmers fighting at my back when I need soldiers. But consider, if you miss one harvest, your family will go hungry for a season. If we don’t stop the Svistra, there will be no more harvests or families to go back to.”

  The men exchanged glances. No doubt some would still leave, but Nathan didn’t want those idiots in his army.

  “We can just…leave?” the man with the turbaned head asked.

  Nathan raised his voice another semitone. “In matters of war, I speak for the king. Anyone who will not join the army and help defeat the Svistra is free to go.”

  “How?”

  Nathan pointed toward the gate. “That way. You know where you live.”

  “But Svistra are out there, right?”

  Only by an extreme act of willpower did Nathan not shake his head in disbelief. “Yes. There are.” He glanced around one more time. “If you choose to stay, report to the main hall to be fitted for armor and issued a sword, unless you already have one.” He jumped off the well’s wall and walked toward the fortress.

  “Quite a speech there, Commander,” Matias’s voice was filled with humor. “I think you may have missed your calling.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Matias.”

  From a small rise, Selia followed the road between the trees as it curved toward the west before, presumably, continuing on its journey north. There was a good reason for its detour. Directly north, a pale mist swirled against the blue sky. It didn’t disperse with the warming sun or the gentle breeze. The White Forest.

  Despite the day’s warmth, she shuddered. She’d heard stories about the dead forest, none of them reassuring.

  Farther north, dark clouds hid the Telige Mountains from view and highlighted the ghostly mists. They resembled the pale smoke of the dark priests’ campfires as they journeyed near the tavern toward the Wastes.

  When the sun brushed the treetops to the west, Selia decided to find a place to camp. Although she still had food from the tavern, her body craved fresh meat. She’d set up camp early to lay snares in the hopes of catching an unlucky rabbit or even squirrel.

  She’d made good time. On her first day after leaving the tavern, Selia half expected some kind of pursuit, nearly jumping out of her skin every time she heard horses on the path behind her. Hidden in the dense forest to the side of the road, she’d watched groups of soldiers thunder by. Later, she found a nice hollow to spend the night and had slept until the sun crested the trees in the east.

  Selia began down the hill. Her body was still sore and bruised, but her aches owed more to sleeping on the cold ground than to her injuries—though a spot on her head was still tender and swollen.

  Tw
ice, on the second day, she’d had to leave the road on account of soldiers. They seemed at ease, not like men preparing for an imminent battle. Yet a sense of urgency, a need to hurry, didn’t lessen.

  Oren would have reached Eagle Rock by now, alone and confused. The thought itself was enough to prick her eyes with tears and send a rush of determination through her body.

  Three full days since leaving the tavern, she knew the villagers had to be aware of her disappearance. Martha would be beside herself. Too late, Selia realized her gruff manner hid a soft heart. She could still hear the cook’s lullabies, sung while she’d lain half-conscious in Oren’s bed. Could I have told her about Jaden? Selia focused on the path. It was too late for that line of reasoning.

  By the time the sun dipped below the tree line, she’d made camp and had set a few snares. The S’ian stretched out like a dark ribbon. Here it was only a gurgling stream—crossed by a crude plank bridge—but she knew that farther to the west, it sprang from the Sulat Mountains as a raging river full of surging waters and dangerous eddies. Ahead, the forest thinned and the slanting rays of sunset warmed the marbled trunks of trees, sending long shadows toward the east.

  Selia studied the water rushing by, looking for signs of life. Her water bag had grown lighter and though the sky to the north threatened rain, these things were unpredictable. She stood still and kept her breath shallow, rewarded by a plop downstream. A few minutes later, a sleek weasel popped its head above the water with a small fish in its mouth, looked around furtively then swam to the opposite bank. The creature climbed up the muddy incline. Four legs, proportioned body, and a beady look of intelligence in its eyes. Chances were the water was good to drink.

  Even so, she knelt on the muddy bank, scooped a handful and sniffed. The green scent of fresh water awoke her thirst and she drank greedily before emptying the last of her stale water and filling up the skin. Her thirst slackened, she walked back to check the snares. The possibility she’d gotten lucky so soon was slim, but it didn’t hurt to look. As she crossed the road, she paused at the bridge.

  Through the thinning trees, a meadow stretched out into the distance. Grasses gleamed pale gold in the waning light, bowing before a slight wind. She crossed the bridge and walked a distance. She rounded a turn in the road, then stopped cold. On the other side of the meadow stretched what could only be the White Forest.

  Pale mists traveled through limbs seemingly devoid of foliage and as colorless as sun-bleached bones. As she watched, the pattern in the mists changed in such a way it appeared they had become aware of her and now beckoned. Come closer.

  Selia stepped back, though the desire to walk into the meadow grew. She glanced down the road as it veered sharply to the west, leaving the meadow between it and the White Forest.

  She retraced her steps, feeling oddly vulnerable, like she shouldn’t turn her back on the mists. After finding one of her snares occupied, she returned to camp to clean and cook her catch.

  The camp lay away from the road, far enough so a fire wouldn’t be seen, even through the thinning trees. Tonight, she needed the warmth and light of a fire. As she chewed on a stale piece of bread waiting for her rabbit to cook, an idea formed, one so ridiculous that she dismissed it at once. She knew the road turned west, looping around the White Forest and taking at least three or four days to travel. But by all accounts, though long, the White Forest wasn’t deep. It stretched like a finger from the Wastes into the green lands. She could save time by going through it.

  No one crosses the White Forest and lives.

  The voice echoed in her head as if the trees around her spoke the warning, but she’d heard the assertion from one of her customers at the tavern. Living close to the Wastes taught one there were strange things in the world, and sometimes the strange things had teeth. But she was also practical. Part of the fear the White Forest inspired in her was probably due to the legends. Her nerves had been stretched tight for so long, she was jumping at shadows. Jaden had proven many of the rumors about Svistra wrong; perhaps the gossip about the White Forest was equally unfounded. They were just trees. And trees, even strange white trees, couldn’t hurt anyone. It would take no more than a day to cross and, if she hurried and kept her bow ready and an arrow nocked, she should be okay.

  Her stomach tightened and rolled, apparently trying to dissuade her. But the sooner she reached Oren, the better. Selia rolled up in her blanket and pulled the staked rabbit out of the fire, refusing to debate the issue. In the morning, she’d set off and let the Trickster decide.

  The White Forest stretched out from horizon to horizon. The sun’s early light failed to penetrate the mists. Grasses in the meadow crunched beneath her boots as though the blades were frozen or dead. Selia didn’t stop to determine which; her gaze didn’t waver from the tall bleached trunks surrounded by the swirling pale, almost silvery mist.

  Her curiosity grew with each step. She understood why they said the forest was dead. The trees resembled bones more than branches, but their nakedness was only an illusion. Thin, almost transparent pale leaves shuddered on the white branches. Unlike the trees in winter that shed their leaves and wore a mantle of snow for a season, these trees didn’t bear the promise of life. Yet the forest felt far from dead. As she drew closer, a sensation of expectation increased. It waited for her.

  There was no moment when she crossed from the open air into the forest, at least not one she could perceive. It was a seamless transition. One moment she was under the blue sky, clouds skating along between the mountain ranges. The next she walked between the chalky tree trunks, shrouded in a perpetual mist eddying between gnarled branches or drifting down to linger among brittle-looking waxy flowers peppering the forest floor. The ground gave under her footstep, like thick moss, but as pale as the trees.

  After a while, she could differentiate shades of white. The flowers grew on stalks a slightly darker shade than that of their petals and scented the air with a delicate sweet fragrance. The mist held a hint of silver in its cool breath and swirled among the trees, though she perceived no breeze and the leaves of the trees remained static.

  Twice she spun around, sensing movement, but there was nothing behind her save the shadowed floor and bone-white branches stretching into the mist. As she traveled farther, the sense of expectation decreased. The forest welcomed her. Despite the lack of breeze, or perhaps because of it, she grew lethargic and sleepy. The forest had an ethereal beauty that was somehow soothing.

  She relaxed, and her pace slowed. Free from debris, the springy moss made for easy walking. So the stories weren’t true. Interesting. But why were the trees, flowers, and limited foliage so pale? She didn’t know, but she’d seen stranger things close to the Wastes.

  Although the landscape varied, the uniformity of color and shape twisted her perceptions. As she walked farther, time stretched until it seemed she’d always been here and everything she remembered about life before was a dream.

  Beneath the trees she couldn’t gauge the sun, but her stomach rumbled. It must be close to midday. She found a tree conveniently lying on its side but had the impression it was no more or less dead than the rest. She ate some of the cold rabbit meat and a few bites of the stale bread, followed by a deep drink out of her skin. She’d heard no water of any kind, but then the trees could feed from an underground source. The S’ian wasn’t too far away.

  Though she hadn’t considered a fire, there wasn’t a single twig or branch on the forest floor. Selia gazed at the misty trunks. Myth or no, even if there was deadwood lying around, she wouldn’t burn it.

  Her meal finished, she resumed her walk. I could be going in circles. With no sun to guide her, how did she know she was still going north? Every tree looked similar. There were no boulders, no stumps, no distinguishing landmarks anywhere. Looking back, she watched her most recent tracks disappear as the moss regained its shape. I am alone with the White Forest. She swallowed a surge of panic.

  Selia turned in the direction she’d thought w
as north and continued walking, and though the light didn’t change and her stomach failed to tell her if she’d missed a meal, she knew, far to the west, the sun was beginning to set.

  She should have been out of the forest long before this.

  Gradually, the fragrance of the flowers deepened and the mists swirled in a pattern so familiar, she stopped to watch so she could remember where she’d seen it.

  Before long, she realized she’d sunk to her knees. She considered rising but the ground was soft and comfortable, and she was tired.

  Run.

  The thought was hers but it sounded far away and unimportant. She’d rest for just a moment. The cushioned ground felt warm, inviting. And she was so tired.

  The clouds hung low and heavy over the Telige Mountains, blocking out the stars along the northern horizon. Already the wind had picked up and would soon carry the storm south. Keldar thought it fitting that a storm preceded him. He gripped the stone balcony to gaze out over the rocky landscape. Ibelin, the southernmost of all Svistra provinces, boasted more arable land than all the others. Due east, darker patches of grey doted the landscape, crops growing in soil painstakingly freed of stone. Ibelin farmers sent their produce to the farthest reaches of the Svistra land and were the reason the province’s baron, Marik, was one of the wealthiest men in the Telige Mountains. He also had much more to gain from Keldar’s promised victory. His men would be the first into the flatlands, and the first to claim the land of their choosing. Of course, it would be more complicated than that. The Council of Barons would decide how to divide their newly won land, but if Marik’s people already dwelt in an area and already cultivated it, then chances were he’d get what he wanted.

  Keldar didn’t care for talk. He’d let the barons argue about the details. His job was to give them the land to parcel. As soon as they settled their necessary politics, he would travel south, slipping through the enemy’s defenses as easily as water through his hand.

  Lightning flashed deep in the northern sky. The turbulent black clouds matched his mood: angry, dangerous, and ultimately triumphant. He licked his lips, still thick with the taste of Noe’s skin. Where are you, Jaden?