The nets flew through the air. One struck Naatos, the other WroOth. Electricity sparked and flowed from the nets. WroOth collapsed from his dragon form and into his state of rest. He crashed to the ground, twitching and shaking as he skidded to a stop. Naatos likewise fell. His eyes shut, he lay on the ground, convulsing.
"What happened?" Amelia stared at Naatos and WroOth's fallen forms, amazed. She remembered WroOth's warning against the Machat. A sick fear rose within her amid the relief. Given how fearsome Naatos and WroOth were, how had this group of prophets so fully and easily vanquished them? And where was AaQar? "Who are you?"
"No one for you to fear." The man stood slowly. He slipped his flute back inside his jerkin.
"And how would I know that?" This Machat did not look untrustworthy, but Amelia kept her grip on the war hammer tight. It wasn't as if it was the first time she'd been tricked.
The man laughed, spread his hands out before himself, and bowed his head. "I am Kepsalon, and I have known you for quite some time now. Indeed, I have been invested in your future just as long. I counseled against your treatment when you were Kilona, the blood-drenched daughter of Salanca. I watched over you from afar when you were Inale, the princess hidden in the hedge labyrinth. And now I am here to counsel and guide you as Amelia, the Third Nalenth and mother of the New Neyeb."
44
Kepsalon
Amelia stared at Kepsalon in silence. She couldn't process the wide range of emotions crashing inside her. It was as if her mind had split into two segments. One was concerned for WroOth and Naatos while being suspicious of Kepsalon, the other was relieved to be rescued and eager to escape with her people even if the Machat did turn out to be her enemies.
"What did you do to them? Are they—" Amelia held her head as the pounding and pressure increased. Her eyes slid shut.
Kepsalon hopped down beside her and patted her shoulder. "You're feeling disoriented. That's perfectly normal." He gave another blast on his reed flute and then called down. "Many thanks, Ayamin. It would have gone better for you if you had followed all our orders, but let us move forward with the time we have. Four of you stand guard at the archways. Watch in case any of the Talbokians have survived or escaped. The rest of you, help the Machat gather and tend the wounded."
The pounding in Amelia's head continued, the warring thoughts in conflict. Gritting her teeth, Amelia thrust them down. She could not deal with this right now. There were other more important matters, and she was going with the Machat.
Dozens and dozens of skelros flew in from outside Polfradon. Their large wings and horns glistened beneath the warm golden sunlight. They landed in the center of the courtyard, prancing around the bodies of the dead and wounded without stepping on even a hand or boot. Several of the Machat grasped the beasts by their horns and guided them to the sides of the courtyard, allowing room for the others. The Ayamin and other Machat tended to the wounded and then placed them on the backs of the skelros, securing them with thin ropes. Naatos and WroOth remained beneath the nets, motionless except for the occasional twitch.
"Come along then, Third Nalenth. We've got matters to tend to down below. It's a big day for you. Lots to learn. Lots to understand." Kepsalon wrapped a rope around her waist, then handed her a large loop. "I've already secured the other end. We're going to scale down."
The cool breeze blew against Amelia's face. She drew in a deep breath, willing back the confusion and the myriad of thoughts clawing at her brain. When she opened her eyes again, she saw Kepsalon had already started down the wall. He bounded with light movements as if unconcerned about falling.
Amelia checked the orb to make sure it was secure and tugged the rope. Kepsalon had secured it with an elaborate knot. Satisfied, she adjusted the rope around her waist, looped it through her hands, and climbed down.
The rope slid through her hands easily. This was natural. This she had done many times. The section Kepsalon had chosen was simpler than the rock wall she'd practiced on in her backyard. Still, Amelia didn't bound down like Kepsalon. She knew better. Cockiness in her case and after her luck might result in a bloody splat on the ground. Best to keep her movements steady and firm.
Down below the Machat and Ayamin continued to work efficiently. By the time Amelia and Kepsalon reached the courtyard, most of the wounded had already been sent off along with the dead Ayamin and dead Machat. The cries and hisses from within Polfradon soon ceased. The battlefield was emptying.
Amelia's elmis burned slightly from the pressure and the coarse rope. Her makeshift coverings had come off at some point, but she hadn't noticed until now. Kepsalon was already speaking with a small group of Machat in a hushed voice. But Amelia's attention snagged on WroOth and Naatos.
They remained in the nets, unconscious still. It was too hard to know precisely what she felt. But…she needed to talk.
Amelia walked alongside WroOth, her steps cautious. The fall he had taken would have broken numerous bones in a normal man's body. From the angle of his arm, he had at least broken his shoulder. Perhaps his back as well as some ribs. But there was no evidence of that. The cuts and scrapes on his face were healing, the blood vanishing as the flesh knit back together. At the moment, he looked only as if he slept. Despite his cruelty, this observation comforted Amelia. Kneeling, she adjusted his broken shoulder so that it would heal better. Then she moved the net so it did not constrict his throat but also better bound his hands.
She turned to Naatos. The slightest twinging of guilt pricked at her. A new strain of thought presented itself. More an emotion than an actual thought, pulling her closer. Her breaths shallowed. Gently, she placed her hand on his shoulder.
A groan escaped Naatos's lips. Amelia pulled back, shame flaring through her veins. But when she looked up, she saw that no one else had stopped. The Machat and Ayamin all continued with their tasks. No one was even looking at her.
Of course. Amelia breathed, trying to push the uncomfortable emotions down. She had done nothing wrong. There was no reason for any of them to pay any attention to her. They didn't know her. She wasn't Inale, the adopted princess, to them. She was a stranger.
Naatos's eyes flickered open. He seized her hand, his grip ferocious. "Don't…go." His eyes rolled back beneath his heavy lids. Amelia remained frozen, his hand over hers. That strain of a thought increased in intensity, urging her closer. Perhaps she should stay behind. He would come after her as soon as he was able to anyway, and then more people would die. Didn't it make sense for her to stay?
No. Amelia drew in a deep breath, but she didn't pull her hand away. As the breath flowed out, the sensation increased once again, even more insistent. But then it split.
With each breath, her own feelings separated while the tendril of emotion expanded and distinguished. This urge to remain and the fear that she would leave was not her own. It was Naatos's. She owed him nothing, and yet some part of her pitied him. Leaning closer, she whispered in his ear. "I have to go. Please don't kill or hurt anyone else because of this."
Kepsalon stood on the other side of Naatos. She hadn't even heard him approach. Her cheeks flushed. "I just—"
"There is no reason for you to apologize, Amelia. I understand more than you realize. But come. We must remove these two and place them with their brother before they wake. Which will be far sooner than I would like. It would be best if all of us were gone at that point. And you should come with us. Regardless of what Naatos thinks."
"How did you manage this? Is electricity their greatest vulnerability?" Amelia rose to her feet, casting one more look at Naatos. Her hand felt empty now and cold as if something was missing. She covered her elmis and cursed them silently. How much easier this would be if she had no feelings.
"Electricity works fairly well on them. For now. But knowing these three as I do, that won't be for long." Kepsalon motioned toward some of the Machat. "Take them to the room you left AaQar in. Use the sand. That will give us enough time to conclude matters here."
"And
AaQar?" Amelia asked.
"He is not harmed. None of them are seriously harmed," Kepsalon said.
The Machat picked up the Vawtrians by the shoulders, waist, and legs, three on each side, and carried them up the stairs.
"Who is this woman?" a man boomed.
Amelia turned, startled to hear another familiar voice. Vorec, one of the elder commanders of the Ayamin. He limped toward her, his jaw set. Blood and mud stained his uniform, and his eyes were bloodshot and blazing. He jabbed his finger at Amelia. "Why is she not locked up or chained? Her sympathies clearly lie with them."
Amelia parted her lips to speak, but her mouth went dry. She remembered Vorec vividly. His cold demeanor and his harshness took her back to the helplessness she had felt as a child. He was fearsome, legendary among his own warriors as one of the greatest Ayamin. And he valued nothing more than this country. "I…" she started.
"This is Amelia. She is not a traitor. Indeed, she is quite important to us." Kepsalon placed his hand on her shoulder and met Vorec's gaze.
Vorec’s glare scathed Amelia before he turned it on Kepsalon. "My men shed their blood here. They were butchered and slaughtered like animals in a pit. These monsters have massacred our people. Dozens were executed in the palace massacre before our rescue attempts. Hundreds more have died in the attacks. It does not matter whether those three are well."
Amelia's cheeks heated, her humiliation growing. "I'm not trying to justify what they've done. I know—"
"And you do not care about the innocents?" Vorec demanded. Spittle punctuated his words. "You should be executed along with these beasts."
"Elder commander," Kepsalon said, his tone firmer this time. "There will be no more death in this place. We are responsible for your rescue. Demonstrate some of the gratitude due by leaving now. There is a skelro waiting for you by the gate. You will require medical treatment yourself."
Vorec stepped back, but his gaze fell upon Amelia once more. Hatred flamed in his eyes. "You disgust me," he growled. Turning, he limped away, his boots thumping on the stones. Some of the other Ayamin gave her cold glares as well.
Amelia willed back the tears that burned her eyes. She looked at Kepsalon, surprised that he was watching her with an almost compassionate expression. "Why aren't you angry with me too?" she demanded hoarsely. "You should be. You know that I'm—"
"It's not as simple as that." Kepsalon guided her away from the Ayamin to the other end of the courtyard. "And I, more than anyone, know what you face. But come. There are things you must learn and things you must discover." He peered up into the sky. The sun had shifted in the sky, marking the time as late afternoon. "We will not be leaving with the others."
That was almost a relief. A numbness settled over Amelia. She walked with Kepsalon to two skelros that were at the far end of the southern wall among a few coils of rope and burlap sacks. A Machat woman patted her shoulder and whispered something that sounded kind while another gave her a smile.
It was odd. The hostility of the rescuing Ayamin was easier to bear than the Machat's kindness because she deserved the anger. She should not have felt one ounce of sympathy for Naatos and his brothers. But she did. Not enough to stop her from what she needed to do or to justify what they had done in her eyes, but enough to concern her.
Climbing astride the skelro, she wrapped her fingers around the reins. Kepsalon did the same on his silver beast. "Yours will follow mine," he said. "Just hold on."
Amelia nodded. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see," Kepsalon said. He then shouted out a brisk command. The two skelros raced forward and bounded into the air, their broad wings pumping up and down.
Skelros were not so swift as cloud dragons, and, had Amelia not felt so conflicted, she might have enjoyed the flight. As it was, she contemplated what had happened. An uncomfortable reality was now present. The Ayamin who had assisted in the rescue, including Vorec, saw her as a traitor. And she couldn't deny that some part of her wasn't concerned for Naatos and his brothers. WroOth had been right. She did like them. At least WroOth and AaQar a little. She despised what they were doing, but she didn't want to kill them as much as she once had.
Amelia was so deep in thought she did not notice where they were going until the skelros landed. Their polished hooves clipped and clopped on the broken stone. They were on a broken dais in the middle of a ruined city.
Frowning, Amelia recognized it at once. This was the same place AaQar had taken her earlier that day. Yet someone had obviously come here between that visit.
Two Talbokian mercenaries were tied to poles driven into the stone around the scorch marks. A large table sat on the other end of the dais. On the table were numerous objects ranging from dull knives to herbs in bowls. Small labels sat before each item.
Amelia remained on the skelro's back, her uneasiness increasing. "What's going on?"
Kepsalon dismounted and strode to the center of the dais. "If there is one thing you need right now, it is clarity. You must now choose what kind of person you will be. Understand that in this place, whatever decision you make will be valid. But each one will define you in its own way."
Amelia nodded slowly. She slid off the skelro. It sounded good, but the two men bound at the stakes suggested it wasn't all roses and sunlight. "All right. What do I do?"
"You must answer one question." Kepsalon walked between the two men and removed the burlap sacks from their heads, revealing Phelsco and Cheruch.
Amelia drew back, startled.
"What is to be done with these two?" Kepsalon asked, holding the bags in his hands. "You need not fear the curse. If you decide they deserve death, then I will be their executioner once you depart, and the curse will not be triggered. If you choose some other course, I will assist you in enforcing that as well. Tell me now what it is that you choose, and decide today the person you will be."
45
Another Way
The journey to New Istador was far rougher than Shon anticipated. Three times Matthu seized, and at each occurrence, Shon barely succeeded in administering the medicine without Matthu sliding or choking himself with the ropes.
"Come on, Matthu," Shon said, heaving his brother into place for the third time. Shon's knuckles were white from gripping his brother and the vial. Even so, the skelro kept its directed course, flying ever closer to the mountains. A few times, it bleated, especially when Matthu thrashed.
Leaving Amelia behind had been the right choice, as hard as it had been. Matthu wouldn't have survived two miles into the journey. A sick feeling rose within Shon's stomach. Would this do any good? Matthu seemed to be deteriorating quickly. Would the Machat succeed in capturing the Neyeb who was responsible for this? Shon wanted words with him when the time came. Even if the Neyeb hadn't intended to do this, Matthu had suffered. A deep fever raged in his brother now, and Matthu hadn't regained consciousness once. There wasn’t much time.
At last the skelro swooped down. It landed on a flat mountain ridge. The pale-brown and grey stones jutted all around them. Doors flew open from the mountain wall, and dozens of Machat poured out. They wore simple light-brown garments, and their hair was bound back with thick leather ties or wooden combs.
Shon slid off the skelro's back and unfastened the first of the ropes on Matthu's chest. "He's in bad shape," he called over his shoulder. "They said someone might be able to help him."
The Machat woman with a dusting of freckles on her cheeks and forehead reached him first. She set her fingers against Matthu's throat and forehead. Her expression sobered. "Take him to Zawkwor at once. Do not delay. It may already be too late."
Sweat covered Matthu, dampening his clothing and soaking his hair. His skin was pale and soaked with sweat, and the skin around his eyes and lips had reddened with fever, blisters forming. A pained moan escaped his parched lips.
Three of the Machat brought forward a stretcher.
Shon's stomach tightened. He wanted to vomit.
"Send word back to Kepsalon,"
the Machat woman said to a younger man beside her. "This is not going as it should. It has accelerated beyond the odds. This Neyeb is very strong indeed."
"What does that mean?" Shon said it louder this time. "Answer me!"
"I am sorry. Your brother should have had a full day, but…" The Machat woman cleared her throat. The other Machat lifted Matthu and placed him on the stretcher. "We have less than three hours for the Neyeb to be brought here and to reverse this before…" She dipped her head forward. "Perhaps Zawkwor will be able to help him."
"What about Amelia? She's a Neyeb. If they can't get the other one here in time, can she help him?" Shon followed behind them. Helplessness weighted his mind and pace as Matthu's ragged breathing filled his ears.
The woman hurried along beside Matthu, surrounded by Machat. "All that can be done will be done, but prepare yourself for the possibility that it will not be enough."
Amelia pulled back when she saw Cheruch and Phelsco. Fear sparked through her neck and down her shoulders, tightening her muscles as if she had been shot with electricity. She had never wanted to see either of them again.
Both were in bad condition. Both had been badly beaten. Bruises mottled their faces, and neither seemed able to speak. They looked at her with mournful regard, then dropped their gazes to the cracked stone as if ashamed or afraid.
Amelia folded her arms close, shrinking back as she glared at Kepsalon. "What is this game of yours?" she demanded. "Are you playing the same one that Naatos played?"
"No," Kepsalon said, his voice firm. "This is nothing like that. Naatos's purpose was to demonstrate your weakness. And in so doing, he spurred you into action that might have cost you your life. This is about your strength, and it is my goal to prepare you for future tasks. You fear the skills you have. You fear both that you are a monster and that you are inadequate and weak, but you are none of these things. However, you cannot succeed until you move past that. You must not hold such doubt and fear against your own heart and mind."
Identity Revealed: The Tue-Rah Chronicles Page 41