Souls of Aredyrah 1 - The Fire and the Light

by Tracy A. Akers

  “No, I won’t. You’ve gotten in over your head and there’s nothing that can make me stay now.”

  “Not even Reiv?”

  “No, not even Reiv.” She turned to walk away, but Dayn regained his hold on her arm.

  “Where are you going?” he asked. “Aren’t you coming home with me to wait for him?”

  “No. Nannaven had to go run some errand and said it couldn’t wait any longer. She left me to finish the rounds by myself. I don’t have the luxury of going home and waiting for someone who won’t likely be back to see me anyway!” She shrugged her arm away, then spun on her heels and marched away.

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  Chapter 24: The Quick and the Dead

  The drapes were drawn in the King’s bedchamber, leaving the room dimly lit and stifling with summer heat. Scented candles flickered, their sweet perfume unable to disguise the stench of sickness that lingered in the air.

  Whyn sat by his father’s bed, listening to the rattling breaths of a man soon to draw his last. “Is there nothing else you can do?” Whyn asked the healer.

  The healer shook his head. “It is just a matter of time.”

  “But the potion the Priestess conjured, it should have worked.” Whyn rose and reached for the glass decanter on the table next to the bed. “You are still giving him the potion, are you not?” He lifted the decanter to his nose and sniffed. The familiar, but repugnant, odor made his stomach sick. “Gods, we have been forcing it down his throat for weeks now. Why has it not worked?”

  The healer took the decanter from Whyn’s shaking hand and set it back on the table. “His soul is in the hands of the gods now, Lord Prince.”

  “Well what about her god!” Whyn snapped.

  Two male attendants spoke in hushed whispers, their eyes watching Whyn cautiously.

  The healer’s face grew stern. “Blasphemous words about our Priestess will not save your father. You must accept that which is meant to be.”

  King Sedric moaned and stirred slightly. Whyn threw himself back onto the chair by the bed and grabbed his father’s hand. “Where is Mother? Why is she not here?” he asked the healer.

  “She has been by our lord’s side day and night. Surely you would not deny her a moment’s rest?”

  “No, I would not deny her,” Whyn conceded, realizing his mother might be a selfish woman, but she always did her duty by her husband.

  For a moment Sedric’s breathing slowed, then increased its rhythm to shallow, staccato breaths. His eyelids fluttered as a tremble moved along his body, vibrating the coverlets that were draped upon him.

  Whyn felt the fear of the inevitable clench his chest. “Fetch Mother immediately!” he ordered the healer. “The rest of you—out!”

  The healer nodded, and he, along with the attendants, hustled out.

  Whyn stared into his father’s skeletal face. “I am here, Father.”

  “Ruairi,” Sedric rasped.

  “No, Father. It is Whyn.”

  Sedric half-opened his eyes, the once vibrant spark of them now dulled with pain. “Whyn,” he croaked.

  “Yes, Father. Whyn.”

  “Ruairi. Is he safe?”

  “Of course he is safe.”

  Sedric’s drawn features softened as a smile wavered on his lips. But then his lungs exploded into spasms and his eyes rolled back in his skull.

  The coughing gradually eased. Whyn moistened a cloth and dabbed the blood that was left on his father’s lips. “No more talk, Father. You must save your strength.”

  “Please, son, let my last words be those of redemption,” Sedric whispered. He lifted a weak hand and Whyn took hold of it.

  “You need no redemption, Father. The gods have prepared a special place for you. I only hope that I will be as great a king as you have been.”

  “I have been a good king, but a poor father,” Sedric said.

  “You have been a fine father,” Whyn insisted.

  Sedric turned his fading eyes to him. “No. I could not save my son.”

  “I told you, Ruairi is safe.”

  “But you are not. The fire saved Ruairi . . . but it will not save you.”

  “What do you mean it will not save me?”

  “The Priestess…” Then Sedric’s eyes grew wide and staring, and a long last breath hissed from his lungs.

  A sob escaped Whyn’s throat. “No, Father! You cannot leave me. I need you.”

  He threw himself across his father’s chest, crying like a child. “Please stay with me. I do not know what to do.”

  “Lord Prince,” a voice boomed from the doorway.

  Whyn turned his tear-streaked face toward it, but was too overwhelmed with grief to respond.

  “The Priestess will see you now,” the priest in the doorway said.

  Whyn leapt up, his fists shaking. “How dare you summon me when my father has just passed!” he said. “Leave me!”

  But the priest did not move.

  “I said leave me!”

  “You will come with me now,” the priest said. Then he turned to the side and bowed his head to allow the Prince to exit before him.

  Whyn wiped the tears from his face with the palm of his hand, then gazed down at his father one last time. “I will be back soon, Father,” he said. “I promise.” He lifted his head and stormed through the door, brushing past the priest without a word.

  When Whyn reached the temple, the Priestess was not waiting for him in her usual receiving room, but in her private chambers. He had never been to her room before; it would not have been proper. His first instinct was to run in the other direction, but his body was too weak with anxiety to run, and his mind was too numb to invent a way out of it.

  “My dear Prince,” the Priestess’ sultry voice crooned as she rose from her dressing table bench. Whyn had not seen her when he first entered; she had been half-hidden by shadows in the corner of the room. Two young handmaidens could be seen at her side, their identical heads bowed. The Priestess dismissed them with a crisp command followed by a flick of her hand. They scampered out of the room, leaving her alone with Whyn.

  “Priestess,” Whyn said. He bowed at the waist and remained in that position.

  She circled him slowly, her long white dressing gown sweeping the floor around him, but she did not motion him to rise. “So, your father is dead,” she said.

  “Yes, Priestess,” he said to the floor.

  “And now you will be King.”

  “Yes, Priestess.” Whyn could feel heat building in his cheeks, but he could not tell if it was from humiliation, or the blood rushing to his head.

  The Priestess tilted his chin up with her finger. “You may rise,” she said coolly.

  He complied and pulled in a deep, but subtle, breath. He could not allow his body language to reveal his emotions. That would only serve to give her more power, and she had enough of that already.

  “We have business to attend to, Whyn,” she said.

  “But Father died only moments ago!”

  “Do you question my authority?” she asked.

  “No, Priestess. I only thought—”

  “You are not here to think. You are here to obey.”

  Whyn felt fury well within his breast. Perhaps she was the supreme power of the Temple, but he was now King. What right did she have to talk to him in such a manner? He tightened his jaw, then said, “I am King of Tearia and as such I feel we are due mutual respect.”

  Her eyes flashed like lightening and she raised her arms upward, lifting him by an invisible force into the air. He lingered there for a moment, then she slammed him to the floor. His cheekbone cracked as it met the tile.

  “You are due nothing!” she hissed.

  Whyn raised himself onto all fours, then reached a hand to his throbbing face. He looked up at her with contempt; there was no way he could disguise it.

  “Oh, dear,” she said with feigned sympathy. “I fear that is going to bruise.”

  Whyn staggered to his feet
and watched as she walked to an ornately framed full-length mirror.

  “Come,” she ordered.

  Whyn did as he was told, his hand still on his throbbing cheek, and stood before the mirror, watching her pale eyes stare at his reflection.

  “Remove your hand.”

  Whyn slowly moved his hand away. His face was swollen and already bruising. Clearly the bone was fractured.

  “Oh, my. And you had such a pretty face.”

  Whyn wanted to glare at the callousness of her remark, but he kept his expression in check. If she was capable of this, what else was she capable of?

  The Priestess smiled, then swept her hand before his face. In an instant the injury disappeared, leaving his features as smooth as they had been before. “How did you do that?” he gasped. He leaned in toward the mirror, running his fingers along his cheek. It didn’t even hurt.

  “I am capable of much more.” She strolled to a velvet cushioned chaise and draped herself across it. She gestured to a nearby stool and motioned him to sit.

  Whyn walked over stiffly and lowered himself to the stool.

  “Now that we have come to an understanding regarding the issue of respect,” she said, “we have business to discuss. It seems your brother has not faded as was expected. He has, in fact, become the topic of increased discussion as of late.”

  “You mean the Prophecy,” Whyn said.

  The Priestess’s distaste was immediately apparent. “Yes, the Prophecy. But the issue will be solved soon enough. And you will be the one to solve it.”

  “But what can I do? I do not even know where he is.”

  The Priestess plucked a grape from a nearby bowl of fruit and popped it into her mouth. “Then you must find him.”

  “And do what?”

  “What do you think?”

  “But he is my brother!”

  The Priestess’s eyes flared. “What is your point?”

  “You would ask me to kill my own brother?”

  “Not ask, Whyn—tell. Was it not you who pledged your full support? Was it not you that said no sacrifice was too great for Tearia.”

  “But the Goddess said he was only to fade.”

  “Do not forget there are other gods who work against Her.”

  “Then it is the Goddess’s will that I do this thing?”

  “Yes, and mine. You owe me much, Whyn. Do not forget the role I played in your brother’s disinheritance. Your parents did not have the courage to do it until I gave you the information needed to persuade them. No doubt they thought disinheritance preferable to his death at my hand. Without me, he might be king-heir still. And what of Cinnia? You said you wanted her, did you not?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “That you feared your father would not allow a union between you because of your brother?”

  Whyn swallowed thickly. “Yes, Priestess, I said those things. But Cinnia said she loved me and wanted me, too.”

  “Of course she did, after I was finished with her.” The Priestess rose and moved to her dressing table, then lifted a brush and swept it through her long, white hair. “Cinnia is such a beautiful child. She did not like it when I showed her what it felt like to have hands like your brother’s. It was illusion only. But it could have just as easily been real.”

  Whyn rose from the stool and felt his blood drain to his feet. “You mean she does not love me?”

  “Of course she loves you. Never fear. You have her heart as well as her body.” She curled her lips into a smile. “But I have the rest of her.”

  Whyn’s mind raced as he replayed their agreement and all the events that had happened since. “Why did you have me attempt reconciliation with Reiv? And why have me give him the sword?”

  The Priestess threw the brush onto the dressing table, sending bottled potions skittering across it and crashing to the floor. “Because I expected him to attack you with it, fool!” she snapped. “Then the guards could have taken care of him right then and there. But the cursed boy did not even touch it.” She ground her teeth. “I always knew he was more trouble than he was worth. I should have taken care of him sooner. That was my original plan. His injuries gave me pause, but even as a Jecta he continues to plague me. If only I’d arranged for him to die from the fever that took him after the accident.”

  She spun to face him. “Enough of what could have been. We need to discuss what will be. I have received word that a band of Jecta insurgents has been meeting. Our interrogations of suspects have turned up nothing, and the cells are filling. They are plotting against us, Whyn, and must be stopped. If they gather enough sympathy to their cause, and if talk continues about the Unnamed One, we will have more on our hands than we bargained for. I have received a document that may give us the information we need to defeat them. It may take time to interpret, so we must gather our forces and make a swift show of power. Your family may grieve in private tonight. The announcement of the King’s death and public condolences will begin tomorrow. But the formalities cannot be allowed to drag on. I have arranged for your coronation to take place in six days.”

  “But burial is always delayed eight days in order for the soul to—”

  “I said six! Then the Purge must begin.”

  “Purge?” Whyn felt as though his legs were about to go out from under him. “Surely you do not mean—”

  “That is exactly what I mean. The time has come for Tearia to be rid of the boils on her backside. It is time for Tearia to be purified once and for all.”

  “Priestess, I do not think I can be a part of such a plan.” Whyn tensed, prepared for whatever was to come. Instead she floated toward him and ran her finger slowly down his neck, stopping at his breastbone.

  She planted her palm upon his chest. “You have left me no doubt as to what must be done now, Whyn. I do not have time for subtleties. The Purge must begin. And it must begin with you.”

  The hand upon Whyn’s chest suddenly felt like fire burning through him. He cried out and struggled to retreat, but it was as though her flesh had melted into his, connecting them as one. He could not move, his arms, feet, and lips unable to offer a single defense. She pulled his startled gaze into hers, and her icy blue eyes turned black as coal. He could feel her hand within his breast, reaching for his quivering heart. But then he realized it wasn’t his heart she was reaching for, it was his soul.

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  Chapter 25: The Fire and the Light

  Nannaven struggled up the rocky hillside, slipping and sliding over the gravel that littered the overgrown path. Once she could have run up that trail without a moment’s hesitation, but that was when she was but a girl, and many rotations around the sun had passed since then. She paused and wiped the sweat from her brow, leaning a hand on her knee to calm her labored breaths. The cave wasn’t much further now. At least she didn’t think it was.

  She gazed up the path, squinting her eyes at the blurry landscape before her. Her vision was poor these days, and her destination would appear as only a dark dimple in the rocks. She could not afford to pass it by; time was growing short and her arthritic body could not take much more abuse.

  Her gaze fell upon a tall cedar just a short distance away. Its ancient branches clawed the sky as if in the throes of death. A painful memory grabbed at her insides, urging her to turn around and never look back. She closed her eyes, willing the image of two dark-haired girls high up in the branches to go away. But she knew all the willing in the world would never erase that image, nor that which had lain beneath the tree.

  She navigated the terrain and stopped before the tree, running her fingers over its gnarled bark. She looked with mixed emotions at the towering branches, a living monument to her childhood memories. “We are not so different from one another,” she said. “Both of us old, both of us a witness to evil. But we once had fun together, didn’t we?” She smiled. Yes, there had been some happy times in that cedar-scented world. It had been a retreat for her and her older sister, a pretend palace wh
ere they invented kingdoms and dreamed of handsome young men. But then one day they learned what men could be like, and the harsh reality of the world came crashing down around them.

  Their mother died a cruel death beneath that tree, and Nannaven and her sister had been witness to it. They had scurried up the branches at their mother’s command, swearing that no matter what happened they would make no sound. They barely made it to the topmost branch when their mother was dragged beneath by the King’s guards. There the men did despicable things to her, and there was nothing her daughters could do about it.

  Nannaven felt a lump swell in her throat. After all these years the pain felt fresh. But she was not there to give into pain; she was there for a much more important reason. She surveyed her surroundings. If memory served her right, the cave would be to the left, just a short distance away. It would be covered with brush and rock; she and her sister had carefully concealed it before they left all those long years ago. But she was certain of its location now, and prayed it still held what she was looking for.

  The entrance to the cave was indeed sheltered by overgrowth, but the rocks she and her sister had piled in front of it were now tumbled away. She pushed between a wide break in the shrubs and clambered in, an avalanche of pebbles trailing behind her. She straightened her back and worked to focus her eyes in the dim light. The cave was not deep, though she and her sister had discovered many tunnels worming into the hillside behind it. But what she was looking for was not in the tunnels; it was here in the main chamber.

  She stepped further in, her footsteps echoing against the high arched walls, the damp, musty smell filling her senses with more memories. There was no more obvious evidence of the life she had shared with her sister and mother in this place. She and her sister had taken what few possessions they owned when they left all those long years ago. But there were some things they could not risk taking. And that was why she was here now.

  Nannaven hobbled over to a boulder resting alongside the wall and pulled in a breath. The last time that boulder moved was by the will of a woman and two adolescent girls. She prayed she could find the same strength within her now. Pushing her weight against it, she heaved with all her might. The boulder moved but an inch, so she tried again and again, but with little success. She sank to the ground, leaning her tired back against it, and turned her gaze to the recesses of the cave’s dark throat. If she could not move this obstacle, perhaps the other would be easier.