“She is capable of good,” the RiverKeeper said suddenly, as if reading Ian’s thoughts. “Her actions here may have been dishonest, but in the living world she was full of charity and giving. She dreamed of her mother often. We are lucky that she has returned.”
“How do you know all this?”
The RiverKeeper was silent for a moment, wondering if he should answer the question. He had nothing to lose, and everything to gain with the blood of the half-breed, and decided Ian could handle his words. “Because I am the man who killed the Elder. I watched him die, and I watched him reenter the Land of the Living holding a child. Three winters later I died in a snowstorm, and the Elder promised me the blood of the half-breed in return for my assistance.”
The revelation didn’t surprise him. Very little surprised him now. “So why didn’t you say something when we crossed the first time?”
“A long time has passed. I did not recognize her until the end.”
The final image of an arrow plunging into Whisper’s back flashed into his mind. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” he said, his heart sinking into his stomach. “We failed. The Raven-Eater shot her in the back just as I left. There’s no way she could survive that.”
The RiverKeeper grinned then, revealing a row of rotted teeth. “Only the living part of Kanegv, what living parts remain in the Land of the Dead, can die. Death is where her power lies.”
Chapter 35
Ian rested with his head in his hands as the RiverKeeper rowed steadily across the dark waters. Gradually, the sounds of the Army of the Dead faded, and nothing existed around them but waves and wind. Cole kept a sharp eye out while his father slept, peering into the blackness, terrified that the Raven-Eater would grab him out of nowhere and bring him back to the Fire Tower. He clutched Ian’s leg for security.
The RiverKeeper reveled in his thoughts while rowing, thinking about how he would enjoy his new life. The blood of the half-breed, the one guided by Kamama, was good for one wish, one secret desire that would be carried to Creator for granting.
His wish was for his family. He wanted to see them again, wanted to feel the warmth of his wife’s skin, wanted to watch his daughter grow up into a beautiful woman. Both the love of his life and the little girl he never got to know died during childbirth, devastating him.
But now, now was his chance to experience the life stripped from him so many years ago. He knew that the Raven-Eater’s army was advancing on the Land of the Living, bent on its destruction, but he believed in Whisper, believed in her abilities, and knew she would succeed. Even as a child there was something special about her. Eerie, yes, but mysteriously special. She had a power not even she understood, a way to connect with both the living and the spiritual world that transcended everyone’s capacity to comprehend, including the Elder. Smoke Speaker once told him that only in her death would she experience all that she was capable of, a death that could only happen when her living soul was taken from her in the Land of the Dead. Judging by Ian’s earlier words, the Raven-Eater had already unknowingly done just that.
The RiverKeeper shifted when Ian awoke with a start. Using the moment to his advantage, Cole crawled into his father’s lap and buried his head in his shoulder, silently wishing for his mother. Ian looked around, momentarily confused before his journey came rushing back to his memories. The Barren Plains, the Raven-Eater, his guide’s deception from the very beginning.
He took out Gentle Heart’s necklace and stared at the sleek black hair braided around beads, feathers, and some kind of gray material. It really was a beautiful piece, holding more magic than he would ever know or understand.
“It’s so dark,” he muttered to himself, peering up at the sky with a frown. “God, I miss the sun.”
“She is a beauty.”
Ian turned to his raft captain. “She?”
The RiverKeeper nodded. “Mother Sun,” he replied when Ian merely shrugged. “The white man has no appreciation for our great earth.”
“So teach me. Whisper told me every other friggin’ story.”
He doubted that, but continued nonetheless. “Mother Sun and Father Moon once lived side-by-side in the sky, watching over their children. Our people never knew darkness or light, only a unique combination of the sun and the moon that cast them in a perfect glow. Then one day Father Moon saw a beautiful young woman walking through the forest. She was the daughter of a chief, and was wanted by all the village men.”
Sounds like a chick flick, Ian thought, but said nothing.
“Father Moon disguised himself as a god in man’s form and met her in the woods. She fell in love with his charm and handsome face, and lay with him. Mother Sun discovered her husband’s infidelity, and warned him that there would be consequences, should it happen again.” The RiverKeeper imagined the fight as he spoke, giving Mother Sun a gorgeous, glowing face much like his wife’s. “Father Moon ignored his wife, and lay with the woman again, and so Mother Sun left. She traveled to the other side of the world, casting the people in darkness. “
“Kind of like the Land of the Dead,” Ian commented, but the RiverKeeper ignored him.
“Soon, the people began to suffer. Their crops failed, their health weakened, and their village moral declined. The threat of chaos was in every living soul’s eyes. The elders begged Father Moon to find Mother Sun and return her to the sky, and so he left on the journey. But Mother Sun was not to be fooled. She ran from her husband, and he chased her. They traveled around the world, always twelve hours apart. He chases her still, and that is why we now have the days and the nights.”
“Because the moon is chasing the sun around the sky,” Ian finished.
“Yes.”
“Huh.”
The RiverKeeper eyed his passenger. “It is interesting that your journey is through the darkness, Mr. Daivya. The dark is a symbol for deceit, infidelity, and arrogance.”
Ian couldn’t help but take slight offence of the man’s jab at his personal life. But how would he know about his consideration to take his secretary up on her offer? Or that there were problems in his marriage? Perhaps Whisper had said more than he realized during their first trip.
“Yeah, it’s interesting,” was all he would say in regards to the RiverKeeper’s comment. “And I’m looking forward to getting back into the light.”
“Tread carefully, Mr. Daivya. Now is not the time for wandering thoughts.”
With that, the boat hit shore.
Chapter 36
Whisper slowly circled the Raven-Eater, hands gripped tightly on the finely-crafted spear. It was an artistic masterpiece, that weapon, one that was made especially for her enemy with a talented hand that carved intricate figures in the thick wood. And now she was going to use it against him, just as he had done with her own arrow. The gloomy tower room, darkened with gray slime and black tar that dripped from the roof, encouraged her attack, welcomed it.
As she carefully placed one step after the next, her eyes never leaving his face, she marveled at the power swelling within her. Smoke Speaker had warned her of this power, warned her against its manipulation. Magic was tricky, with a mind of its own. Only in the Land of the Dead, he had explained, would she realize her true potential. And only in the Land of the Dead would her true nature be revealed. Whisper had little say in the makeup of her genes, so the Elder acted as an influential voice in how she used what was gifted to her body and soul.
She was constructed of equal halves of good and evil. The Elder worked for many moons to teach her to walk the Red Road, worrying that she would be corrupted in death, when he was no longer there to offer his guidance and words of wisdom. But Whisper was strong. She knew what she wanted, and how to get it. She knew the difference between good and evil, the dangers of magic. More importantly, she knew what everyone expected of her, and what she expected of herself. Ultimately, neither her grandfather nor her father could influence her souls.
And what she wanted right now was the tip of the spear pierced through
the Raven-Eater’s chest.
Gentle Heart clutched her hands together as she watched father and daughter square off. Always a shy and timid woman, she wouldn’t dare intrude on this fight, a battle that was twenty-three years in the making. It stunned her to know that not only was her daughter alive and full of power, but that she was barely younger than her own self. She couldn’t feel like a real mother knowing she wasn’t there all those years, knowing she would never be someone to look up to.
Something inside Whisper urged her forward, lifted the spear high, and struck forward with a strength unbeknownst even to her. The Raven-Eater spun sideways, dodging the strike while lashing out at the woman, but the whispers within his attacker led her into another strike, instructing her where to step, where he would step, and where he was most vulnerable. The whispers spun around them in a visible dance of sensations, bursting with each stomp, thickening with each turn of battling bodies. They guided Whisper, lifted her limbs when the Raven-Eater lashed out, pointing the weapon in the right direction. The Raven-Eater’s foot connected with her ankle, knocking her off balance, and she steadied herself with a furious shout that echoed off the grimy walls. Grunting with the effort, Whisper broke free of the magic that surrounded her mind and leapt towards the Guardian of the Dead. He struck out with an enormous fist, clipping her on the side of the head.
Whisper stumbled as the Raven-Eater crouched into a position of attack. She took but a second to banish the pain, and abandon her senses to the murmurs that pounded at her soul just as her enemy raged forth.
The spear plunged into the Raven-Eater’s chest, piercing through flesh and bone, blood spurting across the wall in an arc of black goo. Whisper nearly gasped, shocked by the connection, by how easily the blade slid through his body.
“Wound for wound, Raven-Eater,” she spat out, lifting a bloody hand to her chest and smirking when the Guardian of the Dead staggered back. Then her lips parted in surprise when he merely laughed and removed the spear, tossing it to the side. He staggered slightly, but stood tall nonetheless.
“Tell me, half-breed,” he said with his rough, terrifying voice as blood seeped from the corners of his mouth, “have you come to kill me, or to join me?”
Whisper paused, half-poised for a second attack. His question both interested and confused her.
The Raven-Eater used her hesitation to his advantage, silencing Gentle Heart’s protests by lifting a threatening hand. “You cannot kill me, half-breed, and I cannot kill you.” He pointed to the gaping wound in the center of her chest, one that had shocked him at first, but now that he knew the reason behind her survival it made sense to get her on his side. “My power and magics protect me from a second death. But you have a power even I do not know. You know my thoughts, my intentions, while I cannot read yours.”
He was right, Whisper realized. The murmured thoughts rumbling throughout her mind were his own inner voice, and the more she concentrated on them, the more she could understand their messages. And what worried her was that he was being genuine. There was no deceit running through his head, she thought as she stared at the man who gave her life, the dead soul bleeding black blood and glaring at her through eyes filled with hate. He knew he couldn’t kill her, and so rather than make her his enemy, he wanted her on his side as his partner, his apprentice. He was calculating, but not deceptive.
“Soon my army will take over the Land of the Living,” he continued, taking a brave step closer to Whisper. “All souls living and dead will be my slaves, penance for their massacre of my people, of your people. Join me, and the Land of the Living is yours to command. I will rule the Land of the Dead from the Fire Tower, and you will have your vengeance on the living world who scorns your heritage. You are, after all, my rightful heir.”
Authority and control surged through Whisper as the Raven-Eater’s words came to life in her mind. She saw what he saw, two worlds joined together by darkness, one world of dead and living souls existing beneath the hands of rulers with a craving for eternal existence. The dead walked where they pleased, the living suffered and waned beneath a constant moon. She would have the power to do with the living world as she wished, whether to let people exist in peace, as they did now, or to enslave them to her bidding.
The Raven-Eater nodded when Whisper gave him a look of approval and grinned. He reached back and produced her machete from the folds of his cloak, tossing the weapon to Whisper, then gestured for her to follow. “Come, half-breed. If it is my kingdom you desire, I shall give you your own to rule.”
“Kanegv!” Gentle Heart found her voice as the two headed out the door. “Do not do this! You are not like him! Please, I beg you, as your mother—”
“I have no mother,” Whisper interrupted harshly, barely looking over her shoulder. “I live only for myself.”
Julia stared at herself in the mirror, debating even a feeble attempt at improving her haggard appearance. Today was the day she would make plans for Cole’s burial, which meant that in less than three days her son would be six feet beneath the ground. It would be a small, quiet funeral, with select family only. She would do her best to keep the media from finding out. The last thing she was willing to deal with were the scum smearing her family’s name in the papers.
With a sigh, she tossed her unopened mascara tube onto her dresser and stepped out of her room, heading down the hall to the guest bedroom. “Are you almost ready?” she asked her mother, who was perched on the edge of the bed. Olivia didn’t answer, but instead continued staring at the floor with a look of regret and sickness on her face. “Mom? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Sweetie,” Olivia answered quietly, biting back a sob, hating herself for going along with her husband’s evil plan. “I’ll be ready in a moment.”
“Meet me downstairs.” Julia chalked up her mother’s attitude to sorrow and hurried downstairs, where her father was waiting. “Are you ready to go? We have to meet the funeral director by four.”
“Yes.” David held a hand to his stomach, sickened by what was about to happen. “But…I need to show you something first.”
“What?”
“I…I think there’s a leak in the bathroom. Let me show you.”
He took his daughter by the arm and led her to the downstairs guest bathroom. It was a small, fairly updated room with modern fixtures and an antique claw-foot tub. There were no windows, so the light was a bit harsh on the eyes. “It’s by the toilet.”
Irritated by the interruption, and by the thought of having to call a plumber, Julia lowered herself to her knees and peered behind the toilet. She touched the floor, feeling nothing but dry tile. “I don’t see anything wrong, Dad.” She straightened, surprised to see that David had stepped out of the bathroom. “What are you doing?”
“Please forgive me for this, Julia,” David said, then slammed the door and immediately locked it from the outside. He had reversed the locks while Julia slept the night before.
Stunned, Julia did nothing but stare at the closed door for a moment. Then she reached for the knob, finding it locked, and couldn’t comprehend the situation. “What are you doing?” she shouted angrily through the door. “Unlock this goddamn door!”
“I can’t,” David answered. “There are bigger things happening here, Julia. I have to help. I don’t know how I know, but I feel that this is right.”
“What are you talking about?” She slammed a palm on the heavy wooden door and rattled the handle. “Let me out! I have to meet the funeral director!”
David wiped away a tear and rubbed his wide, strong hands over his tired face. “I can’t let you do that, Julia.”
Pure shock and confusion silenced her. What was happening? Was she dreaming? Why was her father acting like this? What was he planning?
Whatever it was, he wouldn’t win. She would find a way out.
Julia yanked open the medicine cabinet, surprised to find it empty. She looked beneath the sink to see that everything had been removed. There was nothing to throw,
nothing to use as a weapon. In a fit of rage, she thrust back the shower curtain, eyes widening at the sight of a full stock of food and drinks.
Her father had stacked at least a week’s worth of dry food and beverages, along with a cooler of items. Everything from chips and cans of Coke to sandwiches and pre-cooked pasta meals met her eyes. Blankets and a pillow were set next to the food. Clearly, this was planned.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” she muttered, only able to think that her father was a part of Cole’s disappearance. Why else wouldn’t he want her to bury her son? Julia picked up a bottle of water and threw it against the wall. It clattered to the floor without damaging a thing.
“Mom!” she yelled, slamming a fist against the door. “Mom! Please! Let me out!” Her voice broke then, and she gave into the tears, slumping against the door. “Please let me out,” she whispered, sinking to the floor.
Just outside, David leaned against the wall and said a silent prayer of forgiveness. If he was wrong, and the facts were clearly against him, then his relationship with his family was over.
David couldn’t stand his daughter’s frantic shouts, her tearful pleas, but it hit Olivia the hardest. She buried her head in her hands in the upstairs guest room, silently wondering if her heart would stop beating from the stress and depression of what she was doing. She was betraying her daughter, and for what? For her husband? For a foolish legend that may or may not be true?
For whatever reason she was going along with the plan, it was too late to back out now.
Chapter 37
There was only one last bit of power left in Smoke Speaker to give Whisper more time to stop this war. If David Bard stayed true to his word, if Ian stayed true to his son, and if Whisper stayed true to her destiny, then he could offer them just enough time to win.
Up to this point, their success depended on how well Smoke Speaker had trained Whisper, and how much help he could provide along the way. Now, it was entirely up to her, and the power within her souls to walk the Red Road that her ancestors had carved with their own hands.
Beyond the Western Sun Page 26
