Protector of Thristas: A Lisen of Solsta Novel

by D. Hart St. Martin

  They stood in silence, staring at one another, and Lisen still felt like a vessel so lacking it could never satisfy Rinli’s needs. She herself had learned by doing and by analyzing what the rogue, Opseth, did to her during the hidden times before she laid claim to the throne of Garla. This situation, however, felt contrived, and she felt like a misguided Yoda. How could this ever possibly work?

  “I know what I did,” Rinli said softly. “I know what it felt like, and I’ve had a great deal of time to contemplate it.”

  “This is good,” Lisen replied. “Perhaps we will start there.”

  “Does anyone know you’re here?”

  “Only your father and Hozia. We thought it best.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me what you felt,” Lisen asked.

  “Wait. You tell me something first. What do you hope to accomplish?”

  “The ability to block your power may prove an incentive for the Elders to pardon you.”

  “That’s it?” Rinli turned away, took two steps to the other side of the chamber and stood there. “Can’t I push them to decide in my favor?”

  Lisen sighed. She wanted to tell Rinli that that would be an excellent use of her power and that they would work on that first. But every bit of her soul railed against such a thing. “If you’re able, that’s a decision only you can make.”

  “I pushed them to find Tinlo guilty.”

  “What?”

  “Fa didn’t tell you?”

  “No.”

  “I mean, they might have ruled against him anyway, but I did think hard at them as I left after testifying. Is that it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Have you ever pushed Fa?”

  “Not until yesterday, when we started across the desert. I couldn’t let anyone see me coming with him, and since I couldn’t pick out who to push and who not to push, I had to push in every direction.”

  “And he didn’t like it.”

  “No, but he accepted it. Now, let me sit down and do my best to look like part of the rock. Sit down here, and we’ll see what we can do about training you.”

  Lisen sat and waited while Rinli settled in front of her. She heard the guards outside talking, the sounds of the words indistinguishable. But it gave her an idea. Finally. “How often do the guards outside change?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe twice in a sleep cycle?”

  “All right, so the Elders believe your guards—what do they call them, ‘Defenders’?—can’t be pushed. I’ve proven them wrong, so I want you to practice on them. Let’s see. Something innocuous.”

  “Like what?”

  Lisen smiled. “Well…”

  Nalin looked up from the scroll he’d been reading on this quiet afternoon in late December. Had he heard a timid knock on the door to the sitting room? He waited, and another knock confirmed it. “Enter,” he said.

  The door opened slowly, and he watched as Insenlo stepped in, her piercing green eyes uncharacteristically dull, her expression filled with distress. He gestured her to him with a hand and patted the seat beside him on the couch. The girl stepped forward, making her way to him hesitantly. When she reached him, she stood staring at him.

  “What is it?” he asked with the same gentleness he would use with his own children, then waited. This seemed to be something long in the considering and difficult to say.

  “Uncle Nalin,” she began, then paused.

  “Why don’t you sit? Sometimes the hard things are easier to say seated.”

  She sighed and accepted his invitation. He turned to face her.

  “It’s bad, isn’t it. This thing with Mother and Fa and Rinli.”

  “What did they tell you?”

  “That Rin was in trouble and needed their help. They told us not to worry, everything would be fine. But I felt…something different.”

  “What?”

  “That everything wouldn’t be fine and we should worry. What’s really going on? I promise I won’t say a word to Nas. He doesn’t handle bad news well.”

  “It’s complicated,” Nalin said, stalling. Should he tell her or not? Lisen had always said Insenlo was the most perceptive and mature of her three and the most likely to possess powers, but then it had turned out that Rinli did, too. “Yes, your sister is in trouble. She was arrested when she and your father arrived in Mesa Terses. They’ve charged her with using the push to stop the young man who tried to kill her.”

  “But it saved her life.”

  “Apparently the Thristans don’t see it that way.”

  “So Fa rode back to bring Mother to…do what?”

  “I don’t know. She didn’t either when they left. But she’s always had the ability to conjure up a plan when she needed one.”

  The girl’s face tightened as though she might be about to cry, but somehow she held it back.

  “I want to be a hermit, you know.”

  Nalin pulled back a bit to look at her. Where had that come from? “No, I didn’t. When did you decide that?”

  “After they left. I’m not made for this life. I’d rather be reading or meditating. And I’m afraid that if Nas makes the wrong move, I’ll be stuck with this because Mother will name me instead.”

  “Your mother was nearly a hermit.”

  “I know, but she wasn’t suited to it. I am. Nas can have Holding Forn along with Prea. I don’t want it.”

  Nalin lifted her chin up with a finger so he could look full into her eyes—the sea-green eyes of her mother. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I’m hoping you’ll help me make my case with Mother. When she comes back.” She paused, and when she resumed, Nalin shared the fear behind the words. “If she comes back.”

  “You’re a big girl, almost as old as Linell. And she’d never let me treat her like a child. So we’re going to be adults, you and I, right?”

  Insenlo nodded, and Nalin thought what an excellent hermit she would make.

  “I’m not going to pretend. I’m also afraid she won’t come back. It’s a very dangerous mission she and your father have taken on. That’s why I’m here and not with my own family.” He shifted and took her upper arms in his hands. “But I want you to remember something. Your mother and father have stepped into impossible situations before and have survived. If there is a way to defeat the Destroyer in this, they’ll find it, whatever it is.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  “Sen, I’ve learned to hold on to hope over the years. It’s hard sometimes. Damn, it’s always hard. But I look to hope to save me, to save all of us. I gave up hope once, when your mother was abducted, when I lost my foot.”

  “That was horrible,” she said, commiserating. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

  “No, it was the guilt, not the loss of my foot, that nearly destroyed me. I thought your mother was dead because I’d failed to stop them. Physical pain makes hope even harder to hang on to.”

  “So you’re telling me to be patient and not give up hope.”

  Nalin smiled. “I’m telling you we don’t know anything, and we won’t until someone brings us word or they return.”

  Insenlo looked down at her hand, then back up at Nalin. “So until desperation has a reason, it’s useless.”

  “Well put.”

  Insenlo stood up and straightened her tunic. “Thank you. May we talk again some time?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll get back to Nas now. He acts all tough, but he’s worried, too.” She turned, and taking soft steps, she left the room.

  Nalin sat back and rubbed the light beard on his chin. The girl was a quiet thing who kept mostly to herself. But Lisen had called her wise, and Lisen was right. If anyone would be able to accept whatever happened, it would be this girl. In fact, Nalin suspected he’d be turning to her for consolation if it came to the worst.

  He shivered, then harnessed hope and pulled it back in to comfort him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  “I FORGIVE YOU”<
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  Rinli plopped back on her blanket. “No more,” she begged, spent beyond exhaustion. One meal had been passed through, eaten and returned, and another was likely due soon, and still her mother pressed on. She’d refused to eat, claiming that Rinli needed sustenance far more than she did.

  “We don’t have much time,” her mother said. “Picture the rock rising.”

  “I’ve pictured it. I don’t understand why I’m trying to move things. What good will that do?”

  “It’s a good place to start, especially after your failures with the guards outside.”

  Rinli felt a pout coming on. She’d really tried to push them to hear an unuttered call, but she’d failed. Miserably. Multiple times over. So her mother had finally conceded that battle and turned to the little rock. “But things?”

  “You remember your Aunt Bala’s sister, Jozan? You never met her, of course, but I know I’ve talked about her. Well, the first morning of my new life began with a mudslide that nearly claimed her. I had no idea what I was capable of, but I had to do something. So I pushed and held the mudslide back so your father could find her and save her.” Her mother smiled. “That’s the moment our lives joined although we denied it for over a year.”

  “All right, all right. Enough of the romance. I’ll move the damn rock.” Under other circumstances, Rinli would have raised her voice, but quiet was the order of the day.

  “Think of it as threatening Madlen’s life unless you move it someplace else. And you can’t touch it because it’s…oh, I don’t know…hidden by a wall? Now, do it. Madlen’s screaming for help, and the rock is about to destroy her. Save her.”

  Rinli felt invigorated, her heart pumping, her breath coming in speedy heaves. She pictured Madlen, her dear Madlen, on the verge of obliteration. She had to move the damn rock.

  And…she moved it. It rose up at least half a foot, maybe more, and as she heaved a sigh, it dropped again, harmlessly, to the floor.

  Her mother looked up from her rock-like huddle and smiled. “I knew you could. Now, let’s get back to those guards.”

  “Maker and Destroyer, Mother, I can’t. I’m too tired.”

  “You need the fullness of your gift working for you. Now. Before your trial.”

  “I still don’t understand what good that’s going to do me if it would be unethical for me to influence the vote.”

  “Yes, the ethics are important, but here’s the thing. They won’t realize it until later, but if they find they voted counter to what they believe, they’ll know they were pushed. And then they’d just arrest you again.”

  “How did you do it on the plain?” Rinli wished she’d allowed her mother to train her the first time she’d offered. If she’d conceded then, a lot of these questions would have already been asked and answered. No matter. She needed to understand, and her mother wanted to help.

  “Well,” her mother began slowly, “I pushed a mountain of angry people filled with fear and battle lust. I had help from the gryl, of course.”

  “That made you stronger.”

  “And blind. Which meant that even though I could picture you as I could picture everything around me in my mind, I didn’t really see you until several days later on the road back to Avaret. Now, stop with the questions, and make one of those guards out there hear the sound of a man’s voice.”

  “What?” That wasn’t the assignment from before; then, her mother had only asked her to send her own voice asking for help.

  “Your father’s voice would probably be the easiest to remember. Let them hear your father calling out to them from down the tunnel.”

  “That’s too hard.”

  “It’s all hard. Here, let me show you.”

  As her mother closed her eyes, Rinli waited. She expected that first her mother would have to draw up memories of the all-too-familiar voice. Then, she could send the voice into—

  “Rin, I love you.”

  Rinli gasped. “How…? How?”

  “Think it through. Mindfulness and patience. Reverse what you just felt.”

  Rinli sighed. Reverse it. Sure. She closed her eyes as her mother had done and pictured her father—tall, dark of hair, dark of eye, the eye patch, his heavy braid, his firm but loving voice. She heard it in her mind, gave it words and sent it out. “Guards, I want to see my daughter. Now.”

  “What?” she heard someone say from outside her cell. “Who goes there?”

  She looked to her mother, and her mother responded by scooting forward on the floor and grabbing Rinli in a hard embrace. “You did it,” she whispered in Rinli’s ear.

  “Are you sure there isn’t someone out there?”

  Her mother pulled back and beamed a smile at her. “There isn’t. I’d sense them. The guards are alone, and they’ll figure that out soon enough.”

  Rinli heard frantic muttering from outside, the only part of which she could properly discern being “We must have heard it wrong.”

  “I did it,” she said, amazed.

  “And they don’t even suspect.”

  “Now what?”

  “First, you know what it feels like now when you do it, correct?”

  Rinli nodded. “Definitely.”

  “Will you be able to recognize it in an emotionally charged moment?”

  “I hope so.”

  “So that’s what you’ll tell the Elders. Second, if you are, indeed, Mantar’s Child, you’re the daughter of a deity. The fact that you can perform magic may have nothing to do with your relationship to me and everything to do with Mantar. Tell the Elders that.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, but don’t say it unless you believe it for yourself.”

  “Excuse me.” A voice outside. “Let me go in and get her.” Hozia’s voice.

  Rinli’s gut twisted. This was it. It was time. “Mother?” she whispered and found herself enfolded in her mother’s arms.

  “Here’s what I can tell you,” she whispered to Rinli. “It will be all right. That can mean many different things, and it’s a hard lesson to learn in life, that what is all right is not necessarily what you think is all right. But hold on to that thought. It will be all right.”

  “Has it gone well?” Hozia asked as she crawled into the little cave.

  “As well as a day allows. Thank you.” Her mother’s gratitude was sincere, and Rinli smiled as she pulled away from their embrace.

  “As soon as Rinli and the Defenders leave,” Hozia explained, “Korin will come to guide you back to his chamber. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait there.”

  “I understand,” her mother replied. “If my concentration were to slip in public, even a little…”

  “Yes. Rinli?” Hozia held her hand out. “Once we get outside with your guards, I will hold on to you until we reach the Elders’ Chamber.”

  Rinli nodded but paused and turned back to her mother. An urge overcame her, thrusting her into her mother’s arms. Words rose unbidden, and she whispered, “I forgive you. For everything. Ever.”

  Her mother gasped, but Rinli didn’t tarry. Her thoughts took her back to that moment at Adkor Ba’s sentencing when she’d forgiven him. She didn’t know why she’d said that then, and she didn’t know why she’d done it again, but something inside her required she forgive. So she had.

  “Rinli?” Hozia repeated, shaking her hand in Rinli’s direction.

  And with a fear greater than any she’d ever experienced, Rinli took Hozia’s hand and followed her through the hole. It was the first time she’d been out of that claustrophobic cave in over three weeks, and being able to move about more than three or four feet in any direction left her feeling free, momentarily. Then she remembered where they were taking her, and her thoughts flew back to her mother still in the cell. She owed her mother everything, and she should have thanked her, not forgiven her. What a foolish thing to do. And she grieved because she might never get the chance again.

  She forgave me. Creators, she forgave me. Lisen ached with unanswerable q
uestions. Would she ever see Rinli alive again? Had she come anywhere close to giving her daughter what she would need to survive this trial? Or had all the training and all her so-called words of wisdom failed? She felt as desolate as the desert itself. And then a thought. The desert only appears empty and dead. There’s life teeming everywhere; we have but to look for it. This gave her hope—only a glimmer, but hope regardless.

  “Lisen.” It was a throaty whisper from her Korin, her captain, the one who held her up when she couldn’t do so herself. They would need each other, she feared, more than they ever had before.

  She readied herself to vanish, sent the push out and then crawled through the tunnel. When she touched Korin’s hand, he flinched. “I’m here,” she whispered.

  “I know,” he replied and strode quickly down the tunnel from Rinli’s prison cell, pulling her along until she was able to match his speed. They said nothing, of course. Korin Rosarel talking to himself would be noted by others. They stepped into his chamber together, but he didn’t close the curtain.

  “I have to go. I’ll try to get word to you if I can.”

  Alone. For the first time since Avaret. And her tears burst forth like a flood breaking down a dam.

  Hozia had insisted on a stop at her chamber high up in the mesa where a bucket containing a small amount of water awaited. The Defenders stayed outside while Hozia had ministered to Rinli, saying soothing things as she washed the dust and sweat of a frightful three weeks from Rinli’s body. Then she deftly re-braided Rinli’s hair and offered her a clean tunic, one of her own, Rinli realized as she put it on.

  The two of them emerged, and the Defenders of Terses resumed their watch over Rinli as they made their way to the Elders’ Chamber not far from Hozia’s quarters. Hozia turned to her as they entered, nodded and started to leave her with the guards, but Rinli grabbed her arm, mouthed, “Thank you,” then let Hozia go. Her guards guided her over to the place where Tinlo had sat a little over two months ago. This was the place of the accused, and as she looked around the room, she realized it was possible her father wouldn’t have a seat from which to observe. Every Elder sat on one side of the bench that circled the room, carved from the rock, and they spoke in soft whispers waiting for the trial to begin.