Identity Revealed: The Tue-Rah Chronicles

by Butler, J. M.

  WroOth chuckled. "Well, that was persuasive."

  A painful knot had formed within Amelia. "I know where Inale is, and I know where she'll be."

  "Really?" WroOth twirled the book around. "And you expect me to believe that you, a Machat, are here to tell Naatos where she is? We don't even know who you are, and you do not matter in the slightest. What do you have to say to that?" He tossed the book onto the table.

  Amelia's mind blanked. His tone was too much like when he joked with her before, even if there was venom in his gaze. She had to distance herself, get her thoughts and feelings back under control. "Be careful with those books!" she snapped, curling her fingers into her palms. The pain cut into her mind, grounding her once more.

  "Oh." WroOth picked up the book once more. Like all the others, it was gorgeous, handmade with a crafted-leather cover and elaborate binding. "You mean this book?"

  "Yes." Amelia cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders. "Now can you summon Naatos? I need to talk to him."

  WroOth let the book fall open. The pages were gilt with gold, the lettering exquisite. He turned up a page and then slowly tore it out. "Explain this to me then. I thought it was against Elonumato's will and his express guidance that my brothers and I take over the Tue-Rah and all of creation. Keeping Inale from us would seem to be a natural requirement until she is strong enough to face us. You do know what we plan to do with her."

  The tearing of the page grated on Amelia. "I'm not like other Machat. Have you ever considered perhaps that I want this to come about as smoothly as possible? Besides, I don't want Inale to be any more traumatized than she already is.” Another rip. “You figured it out. I haven't been among the Machat for a long time. I don't belong with them, and I don't agree with what they have decided. And why are you tearing up that book? Are you trying to be a…” She caught herself before she said something that would not be in line with a Machat. What was the Machat word for bastard? What if they didn't use words that Awdawms considered foul or swears?

  WroOth tore out another page and dropped it. A large bald spot had developed in the center of the book, the exposed bark binding pale-white in the sunlight. "A what?"

  "A…dulathorp." Amelia cleared her throat. That sounded sufficiently foreign.

  "A dulathorp. I'm not familiar with that word."

  "Just because you're a Para doesn't mean you know everything."

  WroOth chuckled. "So essentially you are asking me to believe that a Machat would turn her back on Elonumato to support our cause."

  "Are you suggesting you three are not right in your cause?" Amelia pressed her hands together, resisting the urge to grab the book from him. More pages fell to the floor.

  "Of course we are. That hasn't stopped the Machat from disagreeing with us."

  "Most do disagree with you, and I'm not one of them. Do you think that no Machat can go against what her people say?"

  "Generally." WroOth grinned. There was a cruel but playful glint in his eyes. "The fact is you are improbable."

  "Yes. I—" Amelia closed her eyes as WroOth tore out another page. This time the page tore jagged with a long ripping sound. "You know what. Give me that!" She seized the book from him, but he grabbed her hands, turning them over and exposing her regular fifth fingers.

  "Even more improbable!" WroOth twisted her left arm around to better look at her palm.

  Amelia tried to stifle the cry of pain. "My mother was an Awdawm!" she exclaimed.

  "Machat don't marry outside their race," WroOth said.

  "My father did." Amelia gritted her teeth. She struggled to get free, but unless she pulled one of her weapons, she couldn't defend herself without betraying who she really was. "He was carried off along with the other Machat in one of the attacks. He married my mother. I am Machat, and I am a prophet, and I know where Inale is."

  "How did you get this scorpion sting?" WroOth tapped the mark on her palm, then he lifted her hand to sniff it.

  Amelia squirmed. "Did you just smell my hand?"

  "One of the less deadly breeds, lucky you." WroOth released her and stepped back. "The more I learn about you, the more improbable you are."

  Amelia quickly added to the distance between them and smoothed out her skirt and sashes. "What? That I got stung by a scorpion? As if there are none to the south! Or that I had an Awdawm mother? Or that I'm a freethinker?"

  "That you have such incredibly dark hair and such…eyes. I can think of maybe four Machat who have dark hair." WroOth showed four fingers. There was no more malice in his voice, only a cat-like playfulness. He leaned back against the bookshelf.

  "Well, now you know a fifth," Amelia said.

  "All four turned out to be fakes."

  Her stomach sank. "Well now you know one."

  "What of your eyes?"

  "They're common enough."

  "Are they?" WroOth's smile broadened. "So you have seen eyes like yours often?"

  "Yes. Among Awdawms." What was he getting at? Amelia scowled. Nut-brown eyes with flecks of black and hints of red and gold were very common. Especially among Awdawms.

  "So you don't…" WroOth let his voice trail off. A whisper of laughter escaped him. "What is your name?"

  "Amelia."

  "An Awdawm name?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, Amelia…I want you to say something for me. Say this phrase exactly: the sun is green."

  What sort of sick game was this? Amelia resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "It isn't."

  "It doesn't have to be. I'm just asking you to say 'the sun is green.'"

  "What? You want me to lie to prove I'm not a Machat?"

  "No. I want you to repeat something I said."

  "It's not a lie if I am just repeating what you have asked me to say and I am clear I don't believe it."

  "That's right. The Machat can repeat things like that with the caveat that it is not true. So say it."

  "All right. The sun is green." What was he trying to figure out? Amelia didn't like the satisfied look that suffused WroOth's face. There was more to it than that, and she had no idea what. "Now will you listen to me?"

  "Improbable as you are, the most important thing is that a prophet is known by her words," WroOth said.

  "Then test my words!" Amelia flung her arms in the air. The sleeves flailed back on her arms, exposing the bandages over her arm where Claudius had bitten her. "This is why I wanted to speak to Naatos. He would not brush this off. Instead of analyzing me and my heritage and my appearance, he would have—"

  "He would have killed you. He's not in the best of moods at the moment. What with Inale disappearing and one assassination attempt from a faction already."

  Amelia's cheeks burned. She had never wanted to get out of a room so much in all her life. "Inale is missing, but she doesn't have to remain that way. I can tell him where to find her."

  WroOth's eyes narrowed. "Will you now? And you do this understanding what she is to become?"

  "Of course. The Machat don't lie." Caution warned Amelia against too much confidence. WroOth was testing her. She needed to be very careful at this point.

  "And will she?"

  "Will she what?"

  "Will she fulfill the plans Naatos has for her?" WroOth asked.

  "What choice does she have?"

  "She has a number of choices to make."

  Amelia wasn't entirely certain what WroOth was implying. "To a certain extent, yes. But you three are certain to let her know what choices she should make. So long as you find her before she is grown, her choice will be the choice you three make for her." Amelia cleared her throat. The heat in her cheeks cooled. As awkward as it was, this was the best transition she could make. "Naatos must go and find her at Valne's Peak. He must go alone."

  "Ah." WroOth nodded, his arms now folded. "Because Naatos was kindest to her. She understands that just as she understands he would never do anything to frighten her. He is the best with children, after all."

  This time Amelia rolle
d her eyes. It was getting easier, but now anger and frustration had replaced the pain. "That has nothing to do with it at all. He's probably the worst with children, but if things are to work out, he has to go and find her. She has to learn to trust him. Otherwise, kiss it goodbye. If he comes, then all will be as it must be."

  "Everything?" WroOth's eyebrow arched. He started to circle the room again. "What is it with you Machat and your generalities? Tell me what that means exactly."

  "I'm Machat. This is how I talk," Amelia snapped. "Get your brother to Valne's Peak to find her. Then you go stop a disturbance in Nalthume, and AaQar goes to get the kolagro in Zaloma's Altar. Do you want me to draw you a map?"

  WroOth knocked more books off the shelf. "A Machat with a temper? How unusual. Why do I not believe you're a Machat?"

  "Yes, I have a temper! Do you really think I could defy my whole race and not have a temper? It is not as if no Machat has ever had a temper! Now are you going to tell Naatos or not? If you don't want to, tell me where he is, and I will tell him."

  "I knew every Machat family, and only rarely have I looked into the eyes of a Machat and not been able to recognize a hint of the parents. I see something that is familiar. Yet no Machat that I have known."

  Amelia leaned forward, her palms pressing into the smooth wood. "Maybe so. But that was then, and this is now. You've been gone for almost four hundred years. So look closer, Para, because you are getting old and you don't know everything. Now knock the dust out of your ears and listen. Your troops missed a scouting party, and they've warned King Betom that his sister's kingdom is in peril. You'll have to stop them at Relkit's Pass. AaQar will find the kolagro, not in Polfradon, but in Zaloma's Altar at the base of the falls and under the seventh rock from the center. And as for Inale, she will be waiting at Valne's Peak. See to all these things before the noon hour, and not even Elonumato will be able to stop you."

  WroOth at last nodded. "Very well then, improbable Machat. We'll test your words." The smile still danced in his eyes. He started to leave, then stopped. "You know, when I was a young Vawtrian, I pretended to be a Neyeb once in front of the Neyeb Council. It was horrifically foolish and gloriously brazen. They knew the truth, of course. After all, they were mindreaders. Not that they had to be to see my incompetence in the charade. They were no fools, and I knew it. And at last the situation became so untenable that I had to confess or face an awful task. Confessing feels good, doesn't it?"

  Amelia met his gaze. Her unease squirmed inside her, but she didn't let it show. "I imagine it does…if one has something to confess."

  WroOth laughed. He shook his head as he unlocked and then opened the door. "Wait here. One of the guards will show you out."

  12

  The Bear

  Once the door clicked shut, Amelia did not relax. Her heart thudded painfully within her ribcage, and adrenaline tinged her mouth with a bitter flavor. He had to be onto her. That had not gone well at all. At times like this, it would have been helpful to actually be able to read minds to determine what exactly he knew and what the best course would be. Most likely WroOth wanted her to expose her identity, either for sport or confirmation. Or both. The only real proof he could get was from her…if he decided he actually needed proof.

  Shaking her head, Amelia picked up the fallen pages, stacked them, and placed them in the book. A good book doctor could fix these. The binding was made of gum, and all but one of the pages was whole. "Be careful with the books," she muttered. He'd done it to get under her skin. And it had worked. Very well.

  Footsteps sounded outside. The door opened. Amelia tensed, preparing herself for the next phase. To her surprise, Matthu stepped inside, still dressed in the black chainmail of the mercenaries.

  Matthu cleared his throat. "The Para of Reltux has commanded me to escort you to the outer courtyard of the palace. He says that you will be given a mount."

  Amelia stiffened. "Really?" Now that was strange.

  Matthu nodded. As they left the room, he lowered his voice. "How did it go?"

  "Rocky." Amelia did not look at him as she walked. She kept her expression neutral and her posture as relaxed as she could. Several soldiers milled about, tending to various tasks, but none of them were near enough to hear. "You?"

  "Eh…" Matthu moved with greater rigidity, his usual swagger tempered. "I ran into WroOth on his way to see you. Gave the salute. Didn't give the right name."

  Amelia frowned. "What did you call him?"

  "Ruth." Matthu shook his head. His cheeks were flushed, and sweat lined his face. "It…it just slipped out. I fixed it though. I think we're all right."

  "We aren't out of the woods yet." Amelia didn't want to make him panic by saying, no, they certainly weren't all right. At the very least, she wasn't. Maybe he could salvage his cover. "Stay alert." Tension tightened at the back of her neck. Though she could not see WroOth anywhere, she knew something more was happening. This was all too convenient. Her eyes sought clues, but nothing was obvious. Not yet anyway. "This doesn't feel right."

  "I know." Matthu's hand slid to the hilt of his sword.

  None of the other mercenaries gave them more than a passing glance. It wasn't until they reached the outer courtyard nearest the stables that Amelia glimpsed WroOth again. He stood at the far end of the courtyard, supervising the removal of the bodies. All was as Amelia remembered except for pairs of stakes that had been driven into the ground, shattering the tiles.

  The battered remains of the stable doors lay on the pale mosaic tiles. Inside, some of the bruins growled. The horses whinnied, and the mawnores kicked the inner walls of the stables. Several of the mercenaries struggled to lead the bruins out. Even with the muzzles and restraints, the bears snarled and growled. It was tense and dangerous work. At the very least, Amelia could concede that the Talbokians were brave.

  They tethered each of the bears between a pair of posts, but they never struck or harmed the creatures. Instead, they kept the lines taut to prevent the bruins from striking them with their massive paws. What was that all about?

  WroOth said something to the mercenaries closest to him and sauntered over. "My ignorant guard and improbable Machat," he said. He folded his arms when he reached them. "I was just wondering, do you two know each other?"

  "No." Matthu shook his head vigorously.

  Amelia shook her head, slower. That glint in WroOth's eyes worried her.

  "It must be one of those days," WroOth said. "I seem to be wrong about everything. But what does it matter? Since you don't know this woman and you are a Talbokian, I'm certain you will do as you are ordered."

  "Yes, sir," Matthu said.

  "Good." WroOth pointed toward one of the tables that had been dragged out from the Great Hall. It was loaded with various weapons. "Do you know how to shoot a bow?"

  "Yes, sir…" Matthu spoke a little more hesitantly.

  "Get yourself a bow and some of those arrows and stand right there by the table."

  Amelia's chest tightened. Was he going to have Matthu shoot her? She remained motionless, forcing herself to keep her breaths even.

  Matthu did as WroOth commanded, picking up the bow and a large arrow. The arrowhead itself was enormous, made from a brilliant polished metal with teeth along the edges. It was a bruin arrow, intended for use against bruins that were on a rabid rampage. A single shot in the right spot would drop a bruin dead.

  "Why don't you go ahead and nock it?" WroOth suggested.

  "Where should I aim?" Matthu had gone a little green now, but he remained resolute.

  "How about at that bruin?" WroOth pointed straight ahead. Before Amelia could turn, WroOth slipped his arm around her shoulders. "Now then, my improbable Machat, if you think of something you want to tell me, by all means, do. Unlike my brother, I do not find interesting interruptions annoying. Obviously you cannot stay, but I wanted to give you a gift appropriate for a Machat." He turned her to face the bruins.

  "Oh, I don't need any gifts," Amelia said.

>   "I insist." WroOth gestured toward the line of bruins now bound between the stakes. "Most of these have been set aside for Naatos's use. I'm sure you've foreseen all of that, but just in case, I won't spoil the reveal. I know he can spare one bruin for the prophet who has seen the light and accepted our wisdom. So, here you are." He stopped within three feet of one of the largest bears, the bear Matthu was aiming at. It was enormous, a scar-faced beast with one opaque eye. "I'm sure you're not afraid of it. After all, the bruins may not be overly fond of Neyeb, but you know they would never harm a Machat. It's so good you aren't a Neyeb."

  What was he talking about? Amelia frowned as she looked back at him. "Bruins don't like Neyeb?"

  "No. They really don't. I'm so glad you aren't one."

  Amelia wasn't sure that he was right about bruins liking Machat or disliking Neyeb. After all, she'd never had problems with them. She glimpsed Matthu's wide eyes and shook her head imperceptibly. This was a clever trap WroOth had constructed.

  "I saw what one bruin did to a Neyeb," WroOth said. "It was truly horrific. The blood, the pain, the screams, the agony. And once those jaws closed over her throat, there wasn't a thing any of us could do for her. And the worst part was her death could have been avoided."

  "That is tragic," Amelia said.

  "It is." WroOth looked at her fixedly. "Given how few Neyeb there are, I would hate to see it happen again."

  "So would I. If you see any Neyeb, I hope you'll warn them." Amelia smiled and stepped away from him. "Fortunately, I'm a Machat."

  It didn't take much nerve to draw close to the snarling bruin. She had recognized him at once. Halig, one of the retired bruins the Ayamin had used. And whether what WroOth said about the Neyeb and bruins was generally true, she knew it wasn't true here. Once a week, her parents had allowed her to be brought to the stables to play with the bruins, mawnores, and horses as well as learn to ride them. Under close surveillance of course and in absolute quiet, away from most everyone else. It was one of the few royal privileges she was allowed. Within the first year, all the bruins, retired and active, knew her scent. Uncle Joe had told her of Ayamin and royals who returned after years abroad only to be identified by their bruins, and Halig was one she had played with often.