by Brandon Barr
“The Makers made you a prophet,” continued Wiluit. “You dole out judgment and warnings easily enough, but when someone turns from their transgression, why do you mock them? The Luminar’s daughter confessed as a result of your words, and you ridicule her for it? Seems to me, you need a word of warning for yourself, lest you wallow in your self-righteousness.”
Jauphenna harrumphed and stormed out of the small circle lit by the fire.
Wiluit frowned. He’d been harsh. Perhaps too harsh. But those words had been long in the making. Jauphenna’s gift was not used often, but when it was, she could become full of judgment and derision. He would have to lift her up in the next week. Find the right words to restore her, for he knew how easily she could become insecure about herself. He felt so lost shepherding a young woman like Jauphenna. What she needed was an older woman, a mother-figure or a grandmother.
Wiluit felt the tug of weariness. He laid down his mat and drew his blanket from his pack. He was about to lie down when an impression came upon him, jolting his head up. It was urgent and it was precise.
Someone was near the barracks.
And this person wanted the Luminar’s daughter dead.
Quickly, Wiluit scooped up Shauwby’s sleeping form from where he lay beside Seethus and wrapped a blanket around him. Holding the boy in his arms, he made off through the orchards toward the barracks. Wiluit carried no weapons, and yet, he carried the greatest weapon of all.
Carrying this boy, he might as well have had the entire army of the Verdlands cradled in his arms.
“Where are we going?” yawned Shauwby.
“Meluscia. The Luminar’s daughter,” said Wiluit between breaths. “She’s in danger.”
“The princess?”
“Yes,” said Wiluit. “Here, climb onto my back.”
The barracks came into view, and Wiluit slowed his pace. He paused at the last row of trees in the orchard, pressing himself against the trunk.
“Shush now,” whispered Wiluit in Shauwby’s ear. “Not a word.”
In the quiet, he could hear the faint sounds of men snoring inside. Meluscia had been given her own room. Where it was in the barracks, he didn’t know, but on this side of the building was a sole window, and he sensed he was to wait and watch.
Footfalls sounded behind him, pattering lightly in the stillness.
He turned to see Jauphenna coming up behind him.
“I saw you leave, and I followed,” she whispered.
“You shouldn’t have come.” Wiluit’s voice rose above a whisper. “This task is for Shauwby.”
“I have my throwing knives,” said Jauphenna, lifting one to the side of her face. “My aim has improved. You’ve seen.”
“It doesn’t matter. Stay. It’s not safe for you to leave us now.”
A frown passed across her face then, suddenly, it was washed away by concern. “Did you hear that?
Jauphenna spun around. As she did, the twang of a bowstring sounded. Something snapped in front of them and fell to the ground. Another twang and then another.
Snap-snap.
Wiluit squinted at the ground, where lay three broken arrows.
“Who are you?” asked a voice out of the darkness.
Wiluit stepped out from the tree. “If you’ve come to harm the Luminar’s daughter, then we are your enemy.”
A figure cloaked in black emerged from the dark. “You must be the prophets I’ve heard tell about. I see the god-coddled child on your back. He’s the reason you’re still alive.”
“Who are you?” called Wiluit.
“I am your enemy,” said the black-cloaked man. A whistle tore the air and a horse trotted out of the orchard. The dark figure swung onto its back and shouted, “She’s as good as dead. If I cannot kill her, another will.”
Wiluit saw Jauphenna lurch back, and then she threw a knife at the cloaked rider.
A sword flashed in his hand, and he batted the knife away with ease. “Mark my words, if you continue to defend Meluscia, your blood will run as red as hers upon the ground.”
He spun his horse around and tore off through the orchard, the thundering of hooves fading into the night.
Wiluit adjusted Shauwby upon his back. “Stay with me,” he said to Jauphenna. “We must hurry back to camp. Takmuk and Seethus sleep unprotected.”
“What if he doubles back on us?” asked Jauphenna.
“Do you feel an impression to stay?” asked Wiluit.
“…No.”
“The Makers will give us direction,” said Wiluit. “Come now. Let’s hurry to camp.”
When Wiluit arrived, he found the men still sleeping, the fire at their feet only a fading wisp of deep-red coals. He lay Shauwby down beside Seethus.
“I’m not tired,” said Shauwby.
“You will be, soon enough,” said Wiluit. “Just close your eyes.”
“Will that bad man come back?”
“No,” said Wiluit. “He’s gone. Hush now.”
Wiluit sat on his mat and wrapped himself in his blanket. Before him, the red glow of dying embers ebbed in and out of existence. Like a distorted face full of crimson eyes closing and then opening again.
Wiluit wondered at the identity of the dark-cloaked man. He seemed to have a power himself. The ease with which he had deflected Jauphenna’s knife with his sword was skill beyond anything Wiluit had witnessed.
And he spoke of others who would try to kill Meluscia. Wiluit wondered if they would be as dangerous as the cloaked man who’d shot off three arrows before he’d taken two breaths.
Fear grew inside his chest as he recalled the grim impression he received while at the house of Mayor Brucite. He looked at Shauwby. The child lay in peaceful sleep.
It was not the boy he feared for.
Across the dying fire sat Jauphenna, wrapped in a blanket and sitting on her mat, just as he was. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and began fiddling with the ends.
“I’ll retrieve my knife in the morning,” said Jauphenna. “It was a good throw, you have to admit.”
Wiluit gazed at her fingers tugging and twisting the hair that fell just below her shoulder.
“I’ve had an impression,” said Wiluit. “You and I, we must stay close to Shauwby. This is a dangerous mission the Makers have set us on. Meluscia is hunted, and I fear we may be also.”
“Fine by me. I like being close to you, especially when you’re not reprimanding me.”
“You are my family,” said Wiluit. “I speak out of love.”
Jauphenna gave him a frail smile, then drifted into thought.
“The Makers will continue to protect us, won’t they?” she asked. “We are their chosen vessels.”
“We are not invincible,” said Wiluit. “You’ve read enough of Takmuk’s work to know this. Some prophets of history have been murdered.”
“I’ll be careful,” said Jauphenna. She winked and grinned. “When am I not careful?”
Wiluit frowned. He did not feel like recounting instances. It would only lead to an argument. “Just continue to be wary. More so than usual. We cannot let down our guard.”
MELUSCIA
Meluscia sat on her horse outside the stables beside the barracks, waiting for Terling, her scribe. The entire garrison was mounted, as was the band of prophets. She’d arranged with Solvig to send five horsemen to accompany Praseme back to the borders of her realm, along with Belen and Bezmerenna.
Her sleep that night had been restless, filled with fearful dreams in which Praseme had revealed all that Meluscia had done, and of the child growing in her womb. Meluscia had awakened several times and thrown off her blankets to pace the room, plagued by fears. But what kind of repentance would it be, if she ordered Praseme to keep quiet about what she’d done? Or about the child? Not a very sincere one. By morning, she’d resolved to surrender her fate to Praseme’s tongue. In doing so, she was placing her destiny in the hands of the Makers.
She knew it was right.
Meluscia rea
ched down and stroked the neck of her horse and stared absently out at the orchards lining the road ahead.
“How long is the ride to Feaor’s castle?” asked Meluscia.
“We should arrive this afternoon, if we press the horses,” said Captain Solvig.
“Very well,” said Meluscia. “Our mission is urgent.”
Dawn lit the fruit orchards a beautiful golden red, but when Meluscia closed her left eye and looked through her right, she saw but a slit of the landscape before her. Gingerly, she touched her skin. A swollen mound of flesh obscured the eye.
“Are you certain you do not want the culprit punished?” asked Solvig. “In our land, to strike royalty is to strike the King himself. It is a grave offense.”
“I told you already. I deserved the blow. Now do not speak of it anymore, as I’m sure the topic will arise again when we reach King Feaor’s castle.”
Solvig nodded.
Meluscia looked again at the stables, hoping to see Terling coming on his horse, but it was Praseme she saw.
“I’m coming with you,” said Praseme, riding up beside her. “You have something that belongs to Mica and I.”
Her cryptic words hung in the air, but they rang clear in Meluscia’s ears. Meluscia saw Praseme look upon her swollen eye. A momentary flash of remorse shown upon the girl’s face, then disappeared.
Meluscia maneuvered her horse so that only Praseme could hear. “I am…grateful for the mark. It was owed me.”
Praseme’s lips held straight, her eyes wavering between anger and something kinder. “Despite everything, I’ll see your mission through,” she said under her breath, then reached down to touch the slight swell of her own stomach, “And I’ll see both of Mica’s children safely home.”
Praseme turned her horse and fell back beside Terling, who had just arrived from the stables along with Belen and Bezmerenna.
“We are all here,” called Meluscia to Solvig. “My attendants won’t need an escort to my father’s borders after all.”
“Very well,” said Solvig. The captain gave a shout, and their delegation started down the path.
Meluscia found the beauty of the fields and fruit orchards very different than the beauty of the Hold and its untamed forests. Mountains and dense woodlands were replaced by rolling hills, grasses, streams and the occasional orchard. As the sun rose high in the sky, Meluscia felt its touch like never before. The warmth held healing. All was right again in her soul. She was no longer skulking in shadows. Everyone could see the bruise on her face and, more importantly, Praseme knew everything.
Even of the unborn child forming inside her. If the secret ever got out, it could destroy any chance Meluscia had of persuading King Feaor to sign the treaty. Even if Praseme did not speak of it, in time, her disgrace would be evident to all.
It was not long before the towers of the castle rose above the tallest hill. Red roofs and windows lined the simple, yet immense structure. Her thoughts turned to King Feaor, and to Taumus, his advisor. She remembered Savarah’s words well. How she would deal with the threat she had only begun to consider.
A rider came close alongside her.
“Luminess Imminent, if I may have a word with you.”
Meluscia met the man’s eyes. It was the leader of the prophets. Wiluit.
She smiled faintly. “What is on your mind?”
“I’m afraid it is a word of caution to you. Are you aware that you are being hunted?”
Meluscia felt a pang of fear at the words, despite already knowing the truth. “Yes,” she said. “I am aware.”
Wiluit looked slightly surprised. “What do you know of the matter?” he asked.
“They are spies of Isolaug. They’ve come from the Star Garden Realm and embedded themselves in our kingdoms.”
“How did you discover this?”
“Savarah, my mercy sister, the one whom Jauphenna healed. She was once a spy for Isolaug.” Meluscia’s eyes met Wiluit’s. “But she’s turned on her master.”
“I would like to hear more of this,” said Wiluit, “but we approach the castle gates. Our band will not be allowed in. We have tried before and been denied. Unless the Makers open a way, then you must go to the King alone. We won’t be able to protect you.”
Meluscia wondered at those words. Did they have a power beyond prophecy, that they could physically protect her?
“My sister gave me the names of the spies in this land. I will be wary.” The party began to slow as they approached the large iron gates. “Let’s talk more of this later, Wiluit. Thank you for your warning. I know of one threat within the King’s own castle. Pray that all goes as I have planned.”
QUICK FIRE
“How much are we being paid for this job?”
“More than the last five jobs combined.”
“What are they paying with?”
“Diamonds—pink, sun-yellow, blue, you know, the pricey kind. One carat and up. And a crate of fire opals. That’s on top of the VOKKs we’re keeping.”
“Does this mean I get Quick Fire cleaned? Trimiga’s blood stains are still fouling up the bridge.”
“I’ll buy you a mop and you can give it to that crazy, one-eyed bastard you keep re-hiring.”
“Piz wouldn’t even know what a mop was, drunk as he is half the time.”
“Get Quick Fire to Hearth and then we’ll talk about sterilizing your ship. That kiehueth is worth the lion’s share of our payment.”
“I’ll have to break the bad news to Piz. He wants to keep the thing for a ship mascot.”
“Do us all a favor. Shut him in the airlock and shoot him into space…then let me know if his shriveled head explodes or not.”
-Transmission between Captain Mhadrees, Quick Fire, and Mauris TeHekee, COO, Red Merchant Enterprise
Chapter Ten
AVEN
Pike was asleep. Aven sat against the wall, holding Daeymara’s fingers in his left hand and the braid of hair with the butterfly wing in his right. His eyes slowly scanned Daeymara’s broken body. She was still elegant and beautiful, yet so damaged.
The sight of her was not titillating. It was not like the time she had wanted him to stay the night in her room back at the Guardian Tower. Now, when he looked at her, he felt only sorrow and loss.
His thoughts drifted back to Harvest. The way her face had captivated him. Every expression so alluring, feminine and mysterious.
Aven took a deep breath and closed his eyes. That girl was gone. Now here, in this prison, the cruelty of losing someone beautiful and good was a fresh wound once again.
He thumbed the braid gently. No expression touched Daeymara’s face other than the peace of sleep. Beneath her right breast was a blackened mark where energy from the weapon had entered her body. There was another mark on her stomach and a third high up on her right thigh. Aven wondered what damage that energy had done inside her.
Could the damage be undone?
He stood and went over to the water hose where he’d hung his shirt to dry. He felt it. It was dry enough. He draped it over her, covering her as best he could. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had.
A cold tug suddenly jerked at his mind. He looked around, disoriented by the strange sensation he’d just felt. It came again, much stronger this time, and he collapsed, hitting his head on the floor as his mind was seized and torn away from his body.
He was no longer in his cell. All was darkness around him, except for a green glow emanating from somewhere to his left. He was surrounded by dark green shadows. He peered through the murky light and saw a row of thick bars. The bars looked familiar. It took him a moment to realize they were the same ones he’d seen in the corridor he’d been led down by the mercenaries. They were the bars of a heavy gate, the only things that held back the creature that had come at him from out of the dark.
Only, now, he was on the other side of the bars.
Was it a dream? Or was he really there? He touched his chest with his fingers and felt his own heart beating.
Lying in front of the barred door, faintly illuminated, was a body. Though he couldn’t see it clearly, he knew it was Daeymara’s body. A huge shadow moved off to his left. Aven froze at the sight of it. The shadowy form moved toward Daeymara.
Aven stared at the massive creature, outlined against the greenish light. Its shape was grotesque, different from any animal he’d ever seen. A long, snouted head lowered down, as if to sniff Daeymara’s hair. Aven tensed, not sure what he should do. He couldn’t be there. He had to be back in his cell. Was the creature doing this—pulling his mind into these dreams? But how? It felt real, intensely vivid.
The creature’s head snapped up, the huge mouth opening. It snatched up Daeymara, her upper body disappearing into the gaping maw. The sight infuriated Aven even as it terrified him. He felt revulsion…and guilt.
“Aven!” cried a young woman’s voice. The sound of it shook him to his core.
“Harvest?”
A form appeared in a darkened corner of the room, running toward him. He stood, but before he could go to her, the creature was upon her. Harvest’s scream pierced the room, then he heard the sound of ripping flesh.
Aven crumpled to the metal floor, Harvest’s scream echoing through his mind.
“Get up,” came Pike’s voice, drawing him from the dark nightmare that had been devouring his mind. “He wants to talk to you.”
Aven opened his eyes to a dingy light.
“Come ’ere, boy,” came a rough voice.
Aven breathed deeply. He realized he was lying on the floor in his cell, facing Daeymara’s cot. The sour smell of excrement and urine met his nose.
A shadow passed in front of the light.
He cried out in pain as something struck his side.
“Get up!” shouted Pike again.
Aven rolled over, grimacing. Pike’s foot came in for another kick, but Aven deflected the blow with his hand and kicked out, the ball of his foot slamming Pike in the knee. Pike swore, grabbing his leg.
