“That’s boring,” Maely said as she resumed walking. “If you’re tired of me talking, then why don’t you tell me something?”
Gryyth sighed again. “Like what?”
“I dunno,” Maely said as nonchalantly as she could manage. “Why don’t you tell me about the prince?”
She’d been intrigued by the tall, handsome older boy. Not just because of his physical appeal, but because of the strange way he’d treated her when he’d thought Maely a servant. And then there was his saving her on top of the palace tower when Jenoc tried to blast her over the battlements with a wind spell, which she had repaid by saving him from drowning in the courtyard canal.
“What do you want to know?”
Maely shrugged her shoulders, well at least the one that wasn’t pressed against Gryyth’s furry side. “He seems different. He’s not like what I thought a prince would be like.”
“And what did you think a prince would be like?” Gryyth rumbled.
Maely frowned. “All the nobility I’ve ever met are selfish bastards who treat peasants like ghern shyte–no, worse!”
Gryyth chuckled. “Yes, cub. Prince Raelen is different.”
“Are you sure? I’ve met men who acted all proper when they were around people, but when they get someone alone they’re just like all the others.”
“I’ve looked after the prince since he was a cub. His Seiro is true.”
Maely wrinkled her nose. “Seiro? What’s a Seiro?”
“Seiro is a path my people follow. You would call it honor or morality.”
“So, it’s like what the monks of Rasheera teach?” Maely asked.
Gryyth shook his big head. “What they teach is only an echo of what The Mother taught us.”
The mention of the Ursaj’s esoteric religion reignited Maely’s irritation. “You know sooner or later you’re going to have to tell me something about where we’re going and why.”
Gryyth opened his muzzle then immediately froze as a wave of pain made him tremble. Maely swung around to face him, and helped him lower his furry body to the forest floor where he rested on his knees.
“Gryyth?” Maely asked. “Are you okay?”
Gryyth slowly nodded.
“I’ll get some more poppy extract.” Maely knelt in front of Gryyth and dug through her satchel.
“Cub, you know I―”
“Have to fast? Yeah, well, how are you going to make it to this sky temple of yours if the pain keeps slowing you down or making you stop to rest?”
The bear-man didn’t respond and Maely smirked to herself at the victory.
“Here,” she said as she produced a small leather bag, and then proceeded to pour some powder into her palm. “Open that muzzle of yours.”
Gryyth didn’t move.
Maely’s temper flared. “You know, if I hold this stuff too long, I’m gonna get all silly, and then probably pass out. Then when I wake up, I’ll have the craving and probably become a poppy-addict. Who knows, maybe I’ll get so desperate, I’ll become a poppy whore! What does your Seiro say about that?”
She met Gryyth’s large, blue eyes, and the bear-man opened his mouth. She poured the powder onto his tongue, and then spit on her hand and wiped off the residual powder on the dirt.
“So bitter,” Gryyth complained.
“Is that the real reason you didn’t want to take it? Because the big, tough bear doesn’t like his medicine?” she quipped.
Gryyth looked at her for a long moment and then rumbled a deep, rich laugh.
Maely couldn’t help but laugh, too. She sat on the ground and said, “We should wait until it starts working before we keep going.”
Gryyth nodded as he slowly rolled from his knees onto his bottom. They sat in companionable silence for several minutes. Maely was starting to like the white-furred bear-man and so decided to give him the quiet he’d pined for earlier. Consequently, she was surprised when Gryyth initiated a conversation.
“How did you get entangled in the plots of that Allosian warmonger?”
The peace Maely was feeling evaporated as Gryyth’s question brought back all her worry, pain, and guilt. She drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them.
“A boy,” she said in a soft exhale.
“Aww,” Gryyth rumbled. “The farm boy with the sword.”
“Jekaran.”
“He is your friend?”
“Was.” Maely stared at the grain of the pine tree directly in front of her, the lines making her think of the threads of a worn quilt.
“He is dead then?”
Maely looked from the grain of the tree to a half buried white rock in the ground. Was Jek dead? She’d agonized over that since fleeing Aiested, but deep down, beneath the storm of worry was a steady confidence that he’d survived the collapsing palace. “Probably not. The sword talis he has makes him almost invincible.”
“So why do you say he was your friend?”
A warm tear rolled down Maely’s cheek, the cold of the north forest instantly chilling it. “Because I did something terrible to him.”
She was grateful when Gryyth didn’t ask what, but a sudden need to confess overcame her, and she started to sob. “I love him, but he doesn’t love me back, and I have a ring talis that can make people do what I want.”
She sniffed and wiped her runny nose with the back of her hand. “I used it to make him kiss me and think he loved me. Worse, I helped Jenoc start the talis war.”
Gryyth’s only reply was a grunt of acknowledgement. For some reason that infuriated Maely.
“Is that it?” She snapped. “Don’t you have something to say?”
“What am I supposed to say?”
“That I’m a selfish and immature lovestruck girl! That I’m as bad as a rapist!” She leaned her forehead on her knees. “That I’m a monster.”
A heavy paw gently touched her shaking shoulders. It rested there, and Maely leaned into Gryyth’s unburned side. He held her like that while she sobbed. “We were supposed to get married. Everybody knew it.” She hiccupped a laugh. “Well, everyone except Jek. He didn’t know I loved him until that day in the palace. Boys are slow.”
She as much felt his words as heard them when he rumbled, “To be ashamed is to see the mud on your fur. To make amends is to wash it off in the river.”
“Is that a proverb from your Seiro?” Maely’s voice was muffled by the Ursaj’s fur.
“No,” Gryyth chuckled. “I heard it from a traveling minstrel who performed for the prince’s thirteenth birthday. I just changed skin to fur.”
Maely couldn’t help but laugh. She pulled away from Gryyth and began wiping her cold wet cheeks. When the tears dried, she asked, “But how am I supposed to make amends?”
“Only you can know that, cub.”
They sat in silence for the next few minutes, Gryyth’s breathing growing less haggard; an indication that the poppy extract was starting to take effect. A moment later he announced, “I am ready to resume our journey.”
Instead of standing, Maely reached into her dress pocket and produced her mother’s ring. Gryyth stared at it intensely, but made no comment. “This is the compulsion talis,” Maely softly said. “It belonged to my mother, but she didn’t know what it was.”
Maely scooted over to the half-buried white rock, and placed the ring on top of it. She then searched the ground until she found another rock, this one an ugly gray caked with dirt. She picked up the stone, raised it high above her head, and brought it down on the compulsion ring. The blow, fueled by her anger at what she’d done with the ring, came down so hard that it not only shattered the Apeira shard and jewel set, but chipped away a piece of the rock as well. She looked up at Gryyth.
He nodded and said, “You have just dipped yourself into the river. Next comes the washing.”
Maely looked down at the broken compulsion talis and her guilt eased. Gryyth was right. This was only the beginning. She had to do more if she was to atone for her crimes.
Mu
lladin started as a ball of mud slapped his cheek. No, not mud, he realized as the foul smell assailed his nostrils. Oxen dung–fresh and still warm. He turned in the direction of the throw only to be rewarded with another ball of warm excrement, this one striking him in the forehead. The laughter of two boys, probably no older than thirteen, rang out and he closed his eyes as he wiped the filth from his forehead.
He didn’t get angry until the woman hanging in the neighboring crow’s cage joined in on the laughter, to which he responded by hurling the remnants of dung at her, catching her in the eye and abruptly silencing her. He smirked as she unleashed a stream of cursing in Tolean and hurled pieces of rotting pulp at him from the morning’s fruit and vegetable assault by the townspeople.
“You’re going to want to save that for supper,” Mulladin said as he shielded his face with an arm. “It’s all you’re going to get to eat.”
The Rikujo wench spit at him, her wad of phlegm arcing too high and landing far short of his cage.
“You’ll want to save your spit, too. I think the next drink we get will have to come from the clouds.”
“This is your fault,” the woman hissed.
Mulladin couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re the one who stole my friend’s sword.”
“It’s my birthright!” she snapped.
Mulladin sighed, too thirsty and hungry to maintain his anger. They’d been hanging in the crow’s cages for almost two days with only rotten produce to eat and a cup of pity water from the village monk to drink.
“Why do you keep saying that?”
The woman didn’t respond, having shifted in her cage to put her back to Mulladin.
“Well, can you at least tell me your name? We are, after all, going to be dying together.”
Still no response.
“Fine.” Mulladin exhaled and leaned his head back onto the cold iron bars.
“Keesa,” the woman said.
“That’s not a Tolean name,” Mulladin replied.
“I’m only half Tolean, you fly-ridden mound of shyte.”
Mulladin was about to retort, but the smell of the oxen dung on his face stopped him. Then for some reason, he started to laugh.
“You mock me?”
Mulladin shook his head, unable to form words.
“Suffering has already made you mad,” Keesa concluded aloud.
When Mulladin was able to speak again, he said, “I’m not mad.”
Keesa didn’t say anything, and a sidelong glance at the woman revealed her confused expression.
“I am a fly-ridden mound of shyte. Oxen shyte, to be exact.” He motioned at the smears of dung on his face where he’d tried to wipe it off.
To his complete surprise, Keesa started to chuckle and then joined him in a fit of laughter that lasted a full five minutes. Villagers began to point and chatter with one another, and a few who’d been preparing to pelt them with more rotten vegetables dropped their produce and walked away. Apparently, their pathetic state mixed with hysterical laughter was enough to evoke some pity from the people. Either that, or it just wasn’t as much fun to torment a crazy person.
Mulladin wiped away tears with a clean patch of his sleeve. “I’m Mulladin.”
“You were with Argentus when he came to Lord Trous’s manner.”
“Yeah.”
“You feigned being a simpleton and then interfered in the succession duel.”
“And got a lightning bolt in the chest for my trouble.” Mulladin rubbed his breast where a few days ago there had been charred flesh. He didn’t bother with a reply to Keesa’s “feigning being a simpleton” comment.
“You were Argentus’s servant, then?”
Mulladin barked a laugh. “I knew him as Ezra, and he was my friend. Foster father, really.” That invoked a feeling of hollowness in his chest, and he had to bite back an involuntary sob.
“Ezra?”
“Yeah.” Mulladin coughed to cover the emotion in his voice. “He was a farmer. I didn’t know he was the Invincible Shadow until a few weeks ago.”
“A farmer?”
“He left the Rikujo years ago to raise his sister’s son.”
Keesa’s jaw tightened. “The boy with the sword?”
An image of Jekaran’s vacant eyes flashed across Mulladin’s mind. “Jekaran.”
“He killed Kaul?”
“I guess,” Mulladin said. “I wasn’t there. What’s it to you, anyway?”
Keesa’s eyes flashed, but the anger quickly faded and she shook her head. “I was supposed to kill Kaul.”
“Why?”
“He killed my mother.”
“I’m sorry.” And Mulladin was surprised that he meant it. “In any case, he’s dead. So you can take some satisfaction in that.”
Keesa went on as though she hadn’t heard him. “I spent years working my way up through the ranks of Rikujo enforcers just to get close to him. I did things that I’d never thought I’d do, things to gain favor or advantage.”
A tear rolled down Keesa’s cheek, leaving a trail through the drying oxen dung. “She never wanted me to become involved with the Rikujo, you know. She moved us away from the big cities when I was a little girl. She made me swear to stay away from anything that had to do with the underworld. But none of that mattered, not after he robbed, raped, and murdered her. Would’ve done the same to me if I hadn’t hidden like a coward in the wardrobe closet.”
Her tears flowed freely now. “I saw it all. Everything that bastard did to her.”
Kaul’s face with its hellish grin flashed in Mulladin’s mind.
“I was only sixteen at the time, but I could’ve done something. Damn it, I should’ve done something! I was just so scared.” She sobbed.
“He had a talis that did that,” Mulladin offered. “I’ve felt its power.”
Keesa shook her head. “It can be beaten.”
“Only with practice.”
“The monks of Rasheera teach that love can overcome fear. My love for my mother should’ve been strong enough, but in the end, I hid there, frozen, watching him humiliate and beat her.” She sobbed. “I didn’t even come out of hiding until two full days later–that’s how scared I was that Kaul was still about. By then my mother’s corpse had started to bloat and stink, and I couldn’t stand the smell enough to get close and kiss her goodbye.”
She leaned her head against the bars of her crow’s cage, squinted her eyes shut, and sobbed. Mulladin watched Keesa, giving her the only thing he could– sympathetic silence. He shot a little girl carrying a basket of apples a dangerous look when she started to approach them. Apparently, his expression had been fierce enough to turn the child away. Why couldn’t the ones who threw the dung at him be so easily intimidated? But those apples didn’t look rotten. Maybe he should’ve let her chuck a few. If he could catch one…
When Keesa’s sobbing subsided, she continued, “After burning down our house and setting fire to the farm, I swore to kill Kaul. That became my life. Everything I’ve done since that day was to fulfill that oath.”
She wiped her eyes. “Then Rasheera decides to play me for a fool, and send another to take the kill that should’ve been mine.”
Is that why she wanted Jek’s sword? Was it some macabre trophy? The blade that killed the man she hated. But no, she'd said it was her birthright.
Keesa sniffed. “I was at Lord Trous’s manner house during the guild lord’s council. I’d planned to hang myself the very night Argentus reappeared. When I learned that he was going after his nephew and the sword, I set my sights on a new goal.”
“You wanted the sword,” Mulladin said.
Keesa narrowed her eyes at him. “No, I wanted to kill Argentus. It was his fault Kaul came after my mother.”
What? Something started to bother Mulladin about the woman, a nagging sense that he was missing something important.
Keesa barked a harsh laugh. “But Rasheera took that away from me, too. That’s when I decided to claim the sword. It was mine b
y right, after all, the only thing I had left.”
Words echoed in Mulladin’s mind, words from another life. Words he’d heard from a monster amidst a backdrop of flames. Poor Arynda… I decided long ago, Argentus, that I would have everything you had and more. So, I started with her. They were Kaul’s words. Spoken as a taunt to Ezra just before he and Mulladin had made their escape.
“Divine Mother,” Mulladin gasped. “You’re Ez’s daughter!”
“I’m the daughter of the Invincible Shadow!” she snapped. “Not the skinny old farmer you call Ezra.”
“Arynda was your mother.”
Keesa glowered at him. “He talked about her?”
“He loved her,” Mulladin said.
“Then why did he abandon her?!” she shouted. “Why wasn’t he there to protect her from Kaul?!” Tears were pouring down her cheeks again.
Anything Mulladin said would just upset Keesa more, and truth be told, he really didn’t know much about Ez’s relationship with the woman Arynda or why they’d parted. Was it when Ez left the Rikujo or before? He probably hadn’t known about fathering a child, of that Mulladin was pretty sure. The man he knew as Ezra was too honorable to abandon his own daughter.
“Excuse me,” a small voice said.
Mulladin started and instinctively covered his face, but no fruit or feces flew at him. He cautiously lowered his arms and found a little girl standing below his hanging cage. It was the same girl with the basket of apples. She was small, probably only seven or eight years old, but tall enough to extend an apple up to him.
“What are you doing?” Mulladin asked.
“It’s for you.”
Mulladin eyed it suspiciously.
“It’s good.” The little girl took a bite and chewed it. “See,” she said, exposing chewed apple. Then she offered it again to him.
Mulladin shot a hand out and grabbed the apple, pulled it into his cage, and attacked it. The little girl giggled as she watched his desperate feasting.
“I have one for you, too,” the little girl said to Keesa. Then walked over to her cage, and handed up another bright red apple.
Keesa actually said, “Thank you,” before tearing into hers.
Mulladin ate the entire thing, core and all, not even stopping to pick out the seeds. “Can I have another?”
The Lure of Fools Page 63
