Souls of Aredyrah 1 - The Fire and the Light

by Tracy A. Akers

  Torin frowned at his sister, then placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Kerrik, you are a man now. Be brave. Be smart.”

  “Yes, Torin,” Kerrik said, looking up at his big brother proudly.

  Torin stared into the boy’s sparkling eyes, the blueness of them now surrounded by streaks of pink and gray. For a moment Torin hesitated, then he took the small chin into his hand and shook it firmly. “Be careful,” he stressed. The boy nodded enthusiastically and Torin straightened his shoulders. “Off with you then.” He escorted Kerrik across the room and out of the tent.

  “I don’t like this. Something’s not right,” Jensa said.

  “Brina needs us, sister, and she’s always done for us. What would you have us do, ignore her plea for help?” Torin walked toward her and placed an arm around her shoulder. “Kerrik will be fine. You’ll see.”

  * * * *

  “No, Dayn, wait!” Reiv shouted from the atrium. But it was too late. Dayn had already thrown open the door.

  Dayn froze in the portal and felt the color drain from his face. Before him stood Crymm, flanked by several Tearian Guards, swords drawn. Dayn grabbed the door in a desperate attempt to shove it closed, but he quickly found himself knocked to the ground. Crymm took a menacing step toward him and seized hold of his tunic, yanking his head from the floor.

  “Where is the princeling?” Crymm demanded.

  “I don’t know!” Dayn cried, grabbing Crymm’s wrist.

  Crymm slapped him across the mouth. “Do not lie to me!”

  Dayn felt warm blood pool on his lower lip. His eyes darted around for a sign of rescue.

  “Crymm!” Reiv shouted as he rounded the drape and ran into the room. “Let him be!”

  Crymm threw Dayn to the ground and stepped over him, then marched, sword in hand, toward Reiv.

  Reiv stopped, but stood fast.

  “So I have you at last, Jecta,” Crymm said, grinning.

  Dayn’s eyes shot to Reiv’s, searching for the reaction that would surely come from his being called Jecta. But Reiv’s expression indicated no acknowledgment of it.

  “Why Crymm, whatever do you mean?” Reiv asked. He folded his arms across his chest.

  “You know full well what I mean. You are harboring Jecta thieves, are you not?” Crymm tightened his grip on the sword.

  “They are not thieves,” Reiv said.

  “Oh, but you are,” Crymm replied. “I saw you stealing from the dormitories this very morning. Do not deny it. I watched you.”

  “I do not know what you think you saw, but I stole nothing.”

  Crymm slitted his eyes. “Oh really? I seem to recall your guests were dressed in some rather odd attire last night.”

  “What of it?”

  “Do you normally keep women’s clothing in your apartment?” Crymm motioned to Alicine who was now being shoved into the room by another guard. “I’m sure Labhras, as well as the Commander, will have some choice words for you and your thief friends.” Crymm strutted over to Alicine and fingered a long strand of hair that cascaded across her shoulder. He glanced at Reiv, no doubt expecting a reaction. Alicine jerked her head away, while Dayn scrambled to his feet and rushed toward her.

  Reiv threw out an arm to block his cousin’s path. “I will handle this,” he said. He took a step toward Crymm. “Take your hands off of her, or I will be sharing a few choice words with Labhras about you.”

  Crymm smirked and released Alicine’s hair, then wiped his hand down his chest. He strolled around the room, lifting an item here and there, and examined the meager contents with a critical expression. “Not exactly a palace, is it?”

  “What is your point, Crymm?”

  “My, but your arrogance does land you in the worst sort of places. Well, compared to the jail cell you will soon be visiting, this will seem like a palace.”

  “And just why do you think I will be visiting a jail cell?” Reiv asked coolly.

  “Stealing, for one thing,” Crymm said, eyeing Alicine’s sarong.

  “I stole nothing. It was a purchase, nothing more.”

  Reaching into a small pocket, Crymm pulled out a coin and flipped it into the air, then caught it in his hand. “Is that so?”

  “Your pay for the month, Crymm?”

  Crymm’s face grew red. Snapping his fingers, he motioned one of the guards toward him. The guard stepped forward with a bag clutched in his fist. He handed it to Crymm who shook it in the air, jingling its contents. “It seems you dropped something in your mad dash from the dormitories, princeling.” He opened the bag and held it up. Turning his hand over slowly, he poured out its contents. Beaded necklaces, bronze bracelets, and a decorative belt of shells, cascaded down and danced across the floor.

  Reiv’s jaw went slack. “You know full well I did not take those things!”

  “Oh, but I saw you drop them. Of course that is what I will tell the Commander.”

  “Why should he believe your lies?”

  “Why should he believe yours? We will let him be the judge of who is lying and who is not.” Crymm then turned to the guards. “Take them,” he ordered. And with that he turned on his heels and strode out the door.

  Return to Table of Contents

  Chapter 18: The Other Side of the Bars

  Brina pushed her way against the chattering flow of Jecta and kept her eyes on the dirt road ahead. The cloak she had borrowed concealed her hair and upper class attire, but her face was still at risk for recognition. Over the years she had made the acquaintance of many of the Jecta bustling past, but she dared not make eye contact with any of them now.

  The crowd began to thin and Brina found her advancement to Pobu less trying. She quickened her pace, rehearsing in her mind what needed to be said to the Spirit Keeper. Nannaven would not be expecting her, and Brina prayed the old woman would be home, not tending to a sick child or some other task that befell her status in the community. There was no time to search for her, and little time to explain.

  Pobu was just ahead, nestled in the valley at the end of the dusty road. It was nothing like the great metropolis she had left behind. While the pastel outline of Tearia’s buildings was impressive, Pobu’s was dull by comparison. Its buildings were low and tightly packed, the mud-brick walls of them blending into the dirt as if they had simply risen from it. There were no gates, no guards, no banners, nothing to indicate pride in its identity or any desire to maintain power and security for its residents. It was dusty and crowded and filthy compared to Tearia, for the Jecta had long since given up hope of improving their lot in life.

  The rutty road stretched into the city until it was assimilated into a huge courtyard, leaving Brina to select any one of the narrow lanes that disappeared between the sameness of the buildings. Normally she would have been met by the noises and smells of vendors selling their wares: dried fruits scavenged from Tearian orchards, flatbreads and sweet breads, unknown meats hanging from hooks, blankets and trinkets and crafts. But today the courtyard was unusually empty, except for the beggars and those too old or sick to make their way to Market. Brina scurried past them without her usual offering of assistance. Her errand would allow her no time for charity.

  She made her way down several narrow, winding streets before reaching the weatherworn door of the Sprit Keeper’s house. She knocked, then pushed open the creaky door and peered inside. “Nannaven?” she said. She stepped through the threshold and glanced around. The room was dark and cool and smelled of sweet herbs and onions. The Spirit Keeper always had something cooking in the great black pot that hung in her hearth.

  “Brina? Is that you?” The elderly voice from across the room sounded soft and calm and did not seem terribly surprised, although it should have. Nannaven was sitting on the floor in front of the hearth, reweaving the grasses of a well-worn mat. She ushered Brina over with a wave of her hand. “Sit child,” the old woman said. “Tell me.”

  Brina gathered her wits and sat as instructed, then stared into the ancient face of th
e Spirit Keeper. The crinkles around the woman’s eyes deepened with her smile.

  Brina worked her mind to find the words to explain, but she suddenly felt afraid. It surprised her, for she had never before feared the wise old woman seated across from her. But she had lied to the Spirit Keeper and now realized she had to face her for it.

  “Nannaven,” Brina said, “I have come to beg your help. There is a boy and a girl I need you to shelter.”

  Nannaven tilted her head and eyed Brina curiously as she continued to work the reeds of the mat. “What is so unusual about that, my dear? You’ve spirited many an unwanted Tearian child my way over the years.”

  “But these are not Tearian children.”

  The old woman paused. “Your face is flushed. Here, let me get you some refreshment.” She moved to raise herself up, but Brina motioned her to stay.

  “There is no time for the luxury of drinks,” Brina said, the pace of her words quickening. “Will you shelter them?”

  Nannaven furrowed her brow. “Who are these children?”

  “There is a boy, sixteen years old, and a girl, younger. They are at Reiv’s and must be smuggled out.”

  “Reiv’s? But how did—”

  “It is a long story, but I will say this much, I would give my life for them.”

  “You did not answer my question, Brina. Who are they?”

  Brina’s gaze moved from the Spirit Keeper’s questioning face to the fire dancing in the hearth. “The boy is my son,” she said.

  “I see,” the Spirit Keeper replied.

  Brina’s eyes shot to hers. The tone in the woman’s voice had not contained the shock or confusion she had anticipated. It had, in fact, sounded almost as if the Spirit Keeper expected it.

  “Nannaven,” Brina said, “I lied when I told you my son was dead. That night sixteen years ago when I took him to do what was expected of me, I found I could not do it. I went to the mountains instead. I took him to be saved, but I sinned in doing so, this I know. I defied the laws of my people and of my gods, but I did not care—not then, not now. I took my baby to the sacred mountains, searching for the gods, but in my ignorance I left him with a man.”

  “A man?” Nannaven said. She set the mat aside.

  “I thought he was a god, but he was a man. All this time my child has been with strangers, raised in an unknown place, a forbidden place. Now he has returned to me, but his life is in great danger. Please, Nannaven, will you take him?”

  “Of course I’ll take him. Did you think I would not?”

  “He has been falsely accused of thievery, but I have no time to explain. I must get back to Reiv’s.”

  A sudden shadow darkened the doorway and the jingle of shells mixed with the sound of labored breathing entered the room.

  “Brina, Spirit Keeper,” Torin said, bowing hurriedly. “You must come back, Brina. Guards have taken them!”

  Brina gasped and rose quickly from the floor. “Guards have taken them? Oh gods, oh gods.” She paced back and forth, wringing her hands. “What am I going to do? What am I going to do?”

  “Calm yourself!” Nannaven said, rising also. “Torin, what do you know?”

  “Kerrik was watching them. The guards came and took them—Reiv, the boy, and the girl.”

  “Were they all right? Were they hurt in any way? Were they?” Brina demanded.

  “I don’t know,” Torin said, but his expression said otherwise.

  “I must speak with Mahon.” Brina brushed past him and headed for the door.

  “Stop this instant, Brina,” Nannaven ordered. “You’re not thinking clearly. You’re letting your emotions dictate your actions. Exercise some common sense, my girl. You mustn’t reveal too much too soon. What would you say to Mahon?”

  “I do not know, but he is the boy’s—” She glanced at Torin, then rephrased her statement. “He is the Commander of the Guard and would have some say as to their treatment. Perhaps I could persuade him.”

  “To do what? Let them go? Why should he?” Nannaven asked. “No, you mustn’t reveal any of what you have told me, Brina. Not to anyone, especially to your husband. Talk to Mahon if you must, but no matter what he sees or suspects or thinks he knows, he mustn’t know the truth. Not yet. Do what you can, but watch your words.”

  Brina nodded.

  “You must get them here to me, all three of them.”

  “Reiv would never.”

  “He’ll come,” Nannaven said. “I do not think he’ll have a choice.”

  ****

  Reiv threw a scowl in Crymm’s direction, sending an extrasensory dagger into the guard’s arrogant back. The man was strutting up ahead, his golden head held high, his sword of power clutched in his hand. From the cocky bounce in his step, he had a prized catch indeed.

  A throng of spectators lined the streets, making way for the small parade of guards and prisoners walking down the middle of it. Anxious voices traded theories about the two Jecta, particularly the pale-haired boy. His features were whispered to look like that of the Lord Prince. But it was the red-haired prince-turned-Jecta that held most of their attentions.

  Reiv twisted his wrists to ease the pain of the straps that bound them at his back, struggling to keep his eyes ahead of him rather than at the crowd gathered on either side of him. But that could not prevent him from feeling the sting of their judgmental eyes, nor hear the cruel assault of their laughter. He swallowed back the nausea that had edged up his throat and worked to keep a brave mask in place, but even a mask wouldn’t disguise his humiliation if he vomited it onto his feet.

  Crymm glanced back at Reiv, who refused to meet his eye, then stormed toward him and thrust a boot in his path. Reiv tumbled into the dirt while Crymm displayed an expression of exaggerated surprise. The crowd reacted with cheers and laughter, though a smattering of boos and hisses could also be heard.

  Crymm grinned and raised his arms as if he were a performer on a stage. He placed his hands on his hips and leaned toward Reiv. “Are you tired, princeling? Here, let me help you.” He grabbed Reiv by the hair and forced him up, eyeing the audience with a cruel gleam.

  “Show some respect to our prince,” an angry voice shouted from the crowd.

  “Is that not what he is doing?” another said, laughing.

  “Do not spoil his pretty face,” a woman’s voice exclaimed.

  Reiv spit the dirt from his mouth and forced his eyes forward. His stoic mask slid back into place. He knew better than to let loose his proud temper. It would do him little good bound like an animal, and he could not risk Dayn and Alicine over it. He marched on, a guard prodding him in the back.

  The crowd thinned as the parade neared the inner quadrant. No doubt most of the spectators realized they would see nothing more once the prisoners were secured within the walls of Guard Headquarters. They would find out soon enough what was going on, so most turned to enjoy what was left of their holiday instead.

  Reiv glanced back at Dayn and Alicine. They were walking a few paces behind him, their hands bound at their backs, their mouths agape as they drank in the sights. This part of the city was different from that which they had passed, certainly nothing like where Reiv lived. Evidence of great wealth could be seen in every inch of it. The buildings were a harmonious blend of white, blond, and pink stone, and there were towering pillars carved with flutes and scrolls and god-like faces. Baskets of flowers dangled from archways, and fountains sprayed water amongst marble statues. More than once Dayn and Alicine tripped over themselves as they looked at everything but their feet.

  “Surely no such place exists in this world,” Dayn said, pausing momentarily in his tracks.

  Reiv turned his eyes to the source of Dayn’s awe and felt his legs go weak. Before them stood a soaring peach-colored building, so tall it seemed to touch the clouds. Terraced with floral gardens, the massive structure was built on a hillside and surrounded by cascading streams and bubbling fountains.

  Reiv struggled to divert his attention, but the
pull of the place was too overwhelming to ignore. There, in all its radiance and beauty, was his former home, the home of his family, the place where he had been born and raised. A lump of sorrow filled his throat, but he pushed it down. That was in the past, and there was nothing he could do about it now.

  They were escorted up a pathway that wound through a great greenway, landscaped and clipped to perfection. From there they continued up the hill toward Headquarters, a handsome structure that housed the business dealings of the Guard. Frescoes decorated its vast, cream colored portico where scenes of Tearian guards atop great horses could be seen, their manes and flags forever waving.

  When they reached its entrance, Crymm ordered them to halt. A guard pushed open the door while Crymm strode back to Reiv with a smug grin plastered across his face.

  “It has been a while since you were here, has it not, little lord?” he said. “Well, this time you will be seeing it from the other side of the bars.” He turned on his heels and marched through the doors, signaling the guards to follow with the prisoners.

  Reiv, Alicine, and Dayn were ordered to stand off to the side while the Commander was summoned. They gazed around the room, from its clean, whitewashed walls to the simple but elegant furnishings it contained. The brown terracotta floors were polished to a shiny glow that accentuated the light shining down from the casements above. Crymm stood in the filtering light, his back to the group, legs spread apart and hands clasped at his back. He lifted his head as voices could be heard echoing down the corridor to his right.

  Dayn and Alicine glanced at Reiv, who could not disguise his anxiety.

  “What is it, Reiv?” Dayn whispered.

  “Nothing,” Reiv said quietly. But it was not nothing. Mahon was approaching; he recognized his voice.

  Mahon stormed into the room, red-faced at the unwelcome interruption. An impressive man, Mahon was tall and well built, with a golden mane of curls that reached to his shoulders. His gray eyes flashed in Crymm’s direction.