Souls of Aredyrah 2 - The Search for the Unnamed One

by Akers, Tracy A.

  BACK TO ToC

  Chapter 9: The Crooked Child

  Tenzy clutched her shawl around her thin shoulders, but it did little to stave off the cold of her cell. Cold: For years now, it had been her only waking companion, wrapping her like a cruel lover, owning her body and soul. She no longer knew what it meant to be warm, just as she no longer knew what it meant to be loved. She had never felt the embrace of a man, nor the feel of a child growing in her belly, something she had once longed for but steadfastly refused to bear. There could be no flowering of a child without seed, and the thought of a man pressed against her had always been abhorrent. Her mother had died at the hands of men, many men, swarming over her like flies. And Tenzy and her younger sister had been forced to watch. The cold that wrapped Tenzy’s body had been her only mate for nigh on sixty years now.

  She shuffled over to the table that dominated the center of her dismal cell. It was stacked high with parchments and ancient tomes, their leather covers tooled with the markings of many races, some familiar, some not. Her eyes swept over them. They should have brought her comfort, should have been her companion in the lonely hours of her life. But they were only the shackles of her miserable existence.

  Her gaze rested on the tome that had recently been slammed onto her table. “You will interpret it,” the Priestess had ordered, “and you have three days time in which to do it.”

  Tenzy had yet to open the book. She knew what it contained, just as she knew by whose hand the pages had been written. It was not the tome, however, that had her insides twisted into a knot. It was something else the Priestess had said: Perhaps a crooked child would sway you.

  “You’ll not have him,” Tenzy said with determination.

  But how to protect him?

  She surveyed the book, her hand hovering over it. The crooked child was within those pages, as were the players in so many other prophecies, some true, others false, but all very powerful. It was the prophecy of the child, however, that held the greatest power of all.

  The crooked child had visited Tenzy’s dreams many times, so many that she had come to think of him as her own. But he was not. He belonged to everyone, though she had become selfish in her attempts to claim him. He came to her when she slept, and so she slept often, but he did not come with the purpose of bringing her joy; he came to remind her that he was waiting.

  She lifted the cover and slowly turned back the pages, her emotions fluctuating from fear to comfort and back again. So many beautiful words were contained within, words of hope and optimism, but also words of foreboding. The pages fell open to the stanzas of a song. The Song of Hope. She smiled in spite of herself. She no longer felt hope, that had long since been drained from her, but she remembered her mother writing the words of this song onto the page now opened before her, and realized it was probably the last time she had felt the very emotion it celebrated.

  Tenzy paused and gazed at the piles of books that surrounded her. In all likelihood they were the last remaining documents of her people. The stacks also included writings by Tearians and other societies, some extinct, others assimilated into the masses. The writings she found most fascinating were from a race of people to the north, a region burnt into the sea during the event that became the catalyst for the Purge. They were the ones who had told the story of the child. It had been such a favorite of hers during childhood that she had asked to be its transcriber. As she flipped through the pages now, she became determined to find it. If she could lay her eyes on the story of the child one last time, perhaps she could find the courage to do what needed to be done.

  She sat on the bench at the table and searched the pages until at last she found what she was looking for. There it was, tucked between a tale of a sinner’s redemption, and the musings of a long dead philosopher. The story of the child revealed no author, nor did it indicate a title, just some lines that at first glance seemed inconsequential. But from the moment she had first lain eyes on it in the dim light of a cave all those long years ago, until the moment when she would read it one last time, she knew it would bring salvation to this world and a golden path that would take her into the next. Perhaps she had not lost hope after all.

  Tenzy ran her fingers lovingly over the lines, her eyes glinting as they traced the familiar words:

  He breathed his breath and cried with Joy,

  but Love was stolen from him.

  Into the Darkness he was cast,

  O crooked child of Blindness.

  Hunger, Terror, Pain, and Sorrow;

  all wrapped him with abandon.

  ’Til secret hands did raise him up,

  and bathed his heart with Gladness.

  His spirit was as pure as Light;

  and Fire dared not harm him.

  Vast Water drew him to its arms,

  to place its kiss upon him.

  The Earth saw not child’s winged path,

  and sought to keep him planted.

  But Starlight showed his destiny,

  and paved his footsteps God’s way.

  Child’s Goodness gave forth sustenance,

  all creatures gathered round him.

  Upon their shoulders he was raised,

  all Evil banished from him.

  The World was lifted into Day.

  The Night its calm companion.

  For Child laid claim to Purity,

  and blessed the World around him.

  Tenzy wept as she realized her love for this child, this crooked, beautiful, unnamed child. He was more than words on parchment; he was a part of her deepest self. They were entwined, he and she, like a mother and unborn child, their blood mingling as one, the breath of their souls in perfect unity. For too many years she had abandoned life, allowing herself to be made a prisoner. And in so doing, she had kept the child a prisoner, too.

  She bent and kissed the page. “Child of my heart,” she whispered. “I will free you from this place.” Rising from the bench, she gazed one last time at the knowledge and history that surrounded her. The writings contained power, and she could not risk the Priestess learning of it. Even more importantly, she could not risk the child. Were the Priestess to touch him, she would thrust him into a darkness from which no hand could ever raise him.

  Tenzy shivered, for she realized there was only one way to save him, and in so doing she risked the world ever knowing him. There was but one other record of the child that she knew of. Had it, too, been confiscated? Or was it still buried in the mountainside, never to be found? Tenzy hesitated, realizing the selfishness of her plan, but she vowed to protect him, no matter the consequences.

  She set her jaw, then lifted a candle from the table and gazed into its flame. With shaking hands she tilted it toward the tome. Wax plopped onto the cover, obscuring the pale symbols tooled into the leather.

  “Forgive me, dearest,” she said. “But if the world perishes for the want of you, so be it.”

  She touched the flame to the book, watching as the fire consumed her crooked child. Clutching him to her breast, she allowed his pain to become hers. Then she burst into ethereal light, and her spirit rose to mingle with his in the air.

  BACK TO ToC

  Chapter 10: All That Slithers

  Whyn stood at his bedroom window, staring out at the morning landscape, but his attention was not on the scenery; it was on the mental image of his brother and the plans the Priestess had for him. Whyn clutched the windowsill so tightly his knuckles turned white. The Priestess had made it clear that there were to be no more delays. She was ready for a young, healthy monarch to rule Tearia by her side, and there could be no more doubt as to who that monarch was.

  “Whyn?” Brina asked as she peeked through the barely opened door to his bedchamber.

  Whyn spun to face her. “Brina,” he said with surprise.

  “I came to see how you were holding up.” She stepped in, closing the door quietly behind her.

  “Well enough. I am grateful that Father no longer suffers, of course, but I
was not prepared for his passing.”

  She crossed over to him and laid a hand on his arm. “Of course not, dear. One can never be prepared for such things.”

  “Where were you last night, Brina? When you could not be located during the family gathering, I grew concerned. Mahon went looking for you.”

  Brina sighed. “Well, he found me, or rather I found him. He was waiting for me when I arrived in my room.”

  “And?”

  “We had our usual sparring of words.” Brina frowned. “I am sorry I was absent during the announcement regarding your father, Whyn. It grieves me that I was not there, but I have not been sleeping well and went to the springs to toss in a coin. I thought perhaps an offering to the gods would bring me respite. The gods answered me, perhaps too well. As I reclined on the grass for a moment, I was lulled quite to sleep. Strange how the gods answer prayers, is it not?”

  “Yes…strange.”

  “You look tired. Have you had any rest?”

  Whyn turned to the dressing table next to the bed. He leaned in and stared into the mirror. A strange memory flickered through his mind: a feeling of weightlessness followed by terrible pain. His fingers rose to his cheek. As he gazed at his reflection, he realized his face looked different somehow, as if a stranger had crawled into his skin. I am still Whyn, he whispered. Still Whyn. He turned his attention to the eyes staring back at him from the mirror: pale blue, with a hint of red circling the irises. He drew a sharp breath and backed away from the table.

  “Whyn?” Brina asked with concern.

  Whyn turned to face her. “I—I am sorry. You asked me something?”

  “I asked if you had had any rest. I understand that in addition to your other duties, the Priestess summoned you.”

  “Yes. We spoke earlier. She wants the formal transfer of power to happen as soon as possible.”

  Brina blinked. “You mean…before the eight days of mourning have passed?”

  “She wants it on the sixth day instead of the eighth.”

  “Did she say why?”

  “In a sense. She wants my first order as King to be given without delay.”

  “What order?”

  “I cannot say.”

  “Cannot, or will not?”

  “Do not concern yourself, Brina. I have everything under control.”

  “Does this involve your brother?” Brina asked.

  At first Whyn thought not to answer. Who was she to ask him such questions? But he kept his anger in check and said, “The power of Tearia’s new King must be displayed with swiftness and fortitude. Since Father’s illness, things have slipped out of control. It has to be stopped, and the sooner the better.”

  “Of course,” Brina replied. “And you will be the King to do it. But if you rush things to the detriment of your father’s memory, it might only serve to turn hearts against you. You want the people to love and respect you, dear nephew, not resent you or feel they are being intimidated by you. Surely the Priestess understands that.”

  “Her wishes take precedence over the desires of any King. She made it clear I am not to question her.” He lifted his hand to his cheek without thinking.

  “Perhaps she is only testing you.” Brina smiled. “My dear boy, you must let the Priestess know you have a will of your own. May I remind you that she may be a priestess, but she is also a woman. Perhaps a little friendly persuasion would help her see that you will be an accommodating prince, but one that—”

  “What do you mean by accommodating?” Whyn snapped.

  Brina seemed startled. “I—I only meant that that smile of yours can be very persuasive. You managed to convince the Priestess to spare the Jecta thieves that day, did you not? You said so yourself. Surely you worked some of your charm on her then. Perhaps you just did not realize it.”

  “I accommodate no one. Her will is my will.”

  “The Throne and the Temple have always been strong allies, Whyn, but there must be a separation between the two if balance is to be maintained. Your father understood that.”

  “Father is no longer here. Tearia is my responsibility now. The Priestess demands that wrongs be made right. She demands nothing less, so I give nothing less.”

  “You poor boy. If only that headstrong brother of yours had mended his ways, then he would be King and bearing these heavy burdens instead of you. All those years of training invested in him…but you know, he was never truly suited for it. He knew it and wished to be rid of the responsibilities, but what choice did he have?” Brina paused and sighed. “I suppose one should always exercise caution when it comes to wishes.”

  “Yes,” Whyn said. “Perhaps one should.”

  “Now here you are,” she continued, “thrown into a role you never wanted, forced to take on so much responsibility in such a short time. I wish there was some way I could ease things for you. Tell me, how can I help?”

  “It would help me to know how things are with Reiv,” Whyn said, displaying concern. “I am worried for him. Have you heard anything?”

  “Yes, I have made inquiries. You need not worry about your brother anymore. He has found work in Pobu I hear tell, and has finally accepted his fate. I am sure it was not easy for him. I understand he is working for a weaver. Apparently he does well at a loom.” Brina smiled and shook her head. “Who would have thought it? Your brother a weaver? But as long as he is happy, that is all that matters I suppose. I must say, I am very relieved. When he was still living within the city walls I stressed over him so. But now I feel I can finally let him go. It is time I focused my attentions on you, my young King. You are the one who needs me now.”

  Whyn nodded, then cocked his head. “Reiv has become a weaver you say? I heard tell he was a Shell Seeker.”

  Brina laughed, her eyebrows raised in surprised amusement. “Reiv? A Shell Seeker? Oh Whyn, I do not know the source of your information, but I find it hard to imagine your brother a Shell Seeker. Why, he would have to dive into the murky depths of the sea, and I certainly cannot see him doing that. As a boy he did not particularly care for swimming in a calm pool, but amongst turbulent waves? Perhaps he is a Shell Seeker, but I would surely love to see it if he were.”

  “Perhaps you are right,” Whyn said. “Reiv probably would prefer woman’s work at a loom to diving into the unpredictable depths of the waters. Besides, there are snakes in the sea, are there not? Reiv never did care for snakes.”

  “No, he never cared for anything that slithered or crawled. Poor boy. Well, hopefully the weaver’s shop is creature-free, or they may find his work disrupted more often than not.”

  Whyn crossed over to the bed and sat. “I am tired, Brina. Do you mind? I need a moment to rest.”

  “Of course, dear. I will leave you now. Do not worry. All will be well.” Then she left the room, closing the door behind her.

  Whyn lay with his hands behind his head and gazed at the white plaster swirls of the ceiling. A creak at the door redirected his attention. A grin spread across his face.

  “Good, she is gone,” Cinnia said crossly. She moved over to the bed and crawled into it, curling her body next to his. “What was she doing here?”

  Whyn wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “She said she came to see how I was getting on.”

  “And how are you getting on, husband?”

  He turned his face to hers and kissed her on the lips. “I am getting on well since my beautiful wife brought herself in here.”

  Cinnia giggled and snuggled close. “What did the Priestess say?”

  The tone of Whyn’s voice turned grim. “She has great plans for me, but even greater ones for my brother.”

  “So it is to be done then?” Cinnia raised herself onto an elbow and stared into his face.

  “Yes, it is to be done. My mind supports it, but I fear my whole heart does not.”

  Cinnia bolted upright. “You are King now! That is all that matters. People are talking, Whyn. Some believe Reiv is still Ruairi, the Red King. That his disi
nheritance was a travesty. That it is he who should sit upon the throne, not you. You cannot quell this unrest by pretending it will go away. You must quash it now.”

  “I know, but it will be no easy task.”

  “Well, it will be much easier if you rid Tearia of the canker that has been allowed to fester this past year! I do not wish to be Queen to a King whose legacy is weakness.”

  Her face was flushed with temper, and Whyn looked at her with amusement. Then he pulled her back down beside him and wrapped his arms around her once more. “Is that what you think of me? That I am weak?” He twirled one of her long, golden curls around his finger.

  “No. I only want you to be a great King, that is all.”

  “I promise you, Cinnia, I will be. It is not like I have not been working to solve this issue by other means. You know I swallowed my pride at the Priestess’s command and tried to endear my brother with apologies. That was a dismal failure. Then I gave him the sword as she instructed. The Priestess expected him to attack me with it, then the guards could have taken care of the problem then and there. But no; he did not raise a hand to me. The sword almost worked its magic when Reiv flaunted it at the gate the night he brought in the thieves. But that fool Crymm, letting him pass, then making a spectacle of everything during the arrest the next day. Do not worry though; orders are in place. The problem will be solved soon enough.”

  “I am surprised the Priestess allowed Reiv to live when she had her chance to be rid of him. What was she thinking?”

  “There was some discussion at the hearing of putting him to death, but the Goddess did not wish to risk him becoming a martyr. But now…”