Identity Revealed: The Tue-Rah Chronicles

by Butler, J. M.

  Amelia shook her head. A fly buzzed her ear. The heat of the afternoon had increased. "The heart and mind are equally treacherous." She tried to look at Phelsco and Cheruch, but she struggled to suppress her panic. The tang of blood struck her. "What is it you really want, Kepsalon? Why are you doing this?"

  "It may help you to understand that I care about you." Kepsalon's voice softened. He went to the table on the dais and sat down at the end of it, his hands folded in his lap.

  "My future or the future of the Third Nalenth?" Amelia asked.

  "Both."

  "I don't know if that’s possible." Amelia found her voice wavering. "What is best for the Third Nalenth's destiny is not what's best for me as a person. What's best for me would be to run. But being a Third Nalenth is another matter entirely. I'm not going to make it out alive." The words settled over her, heavy.

  "Not necessarily, child. Assuming that who you are does not matter to your destiny is as false as the assumption that you have no choice. It is your responsibility, your duty, to restore the third Tue-Rah and to stop the Paras. You through your own decisions and others' decisions will result in the manner in which these prophecies come to fruition. And the first choice that you will make is to decide the fate of these two men." He motioned toward Cheruch and Phelsco. "But before you make your decision, you must look into each of their eyes."

  Amelia recoiled, glaring at him. "Why? How is this any different from when Naatos told me to kill those Talbokians?"

  "This is the beginning of your training. Turn. Face them. See them, and tell me what is to be done with them. I am yours to command. So far as anyone else needs to know, they were killed in the attack or when your husband was enacting his justice."

  "I don't care what happens here," Amelia said. "Lock them up. Let a Libyshan court decide what's supposed to happen to them."

  Kepsalon's eyes hardened. "Today you are judge, and I am either executioner, enforcer, or physician. Choose my role. Evaluate, make your choice, and own it."

  "You know what I'm going to do," Amelia snapped. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck. Everyone with few exceptions was manipulating her. "Why should I make any choice?"

  "Because of what it signifies, and because of what you fear."

  Whether her skills were improving or her own cynicism had become too powerful to ignore, Amelia understood what he meant. "It isn't what I fear. It is the truth. In a long line of close runner ups, compassion is my greatest weakness."

  Kepsalon clapped his hand against the table. It gave a loud resounding boom that belied his strength. "You will never say that again. Your compassion is no more a weakness than your mindreading or your elmis. Does it make it difficult for you to be a warlord or a blood-shedding despot? It does. Does it force you to change the tactics you assumed you would be forced to implement? It does. Do you think you can defeat your enemies when you are at such war with yourself and have no faith in the abilities and tools Elonumato has given you?"

  Amelia clenched her hands into fists. She was tired, but her hope hadn't died entirely. His words bristled her resolve. "I have faith," she said. "It's been the one thing that I haven't given up on. But given what's happened, is it any doubt that my faith is waning?"

  "Don't waste my time with the reasons your faith is waning. They are irrelevant." Kepsalon raised his head to the sun again and then back at her. "What is relevant is that we will soon be out of time. Look into their eyes and make your decision."

  "Out of time for what?" Amelia peered up at the sky as well. The wind blew from the north. She almost expected to see a dragon or an eagle, but nothing flew. Not even a sparrow. Naatos, WroOth, and AaQar could already be out searching for her. If they caught her out here, there was no defensible position.

  "For Shon and Matthu both."

  The mention of Shon's name brought a startling influx of emotions to Amelia's mind. "What…"

  "While they were in Polfradon, a Neyeb mind latched onto theirs. Shon was immune to the results because of his age. He is past the point of vulnerability. But Matthu, he is still quite young. Not even twenty years of age. He has hours before death takes him."

  "Then what are we doing here?" Amelia demanded. "Do whatever you want with these men and let's go." She ran back to the skelro and hopped on its back. She nudged it forward, clicking her tongue. But the skelro only twisted its head and let out a lazy bleat.

  "You don't know the way to New Istador, Amelia. And I will not take you until you have made this choice. As cruel as it may seem, it is necessary. You must do this. Now."

  Amelia glared at him in silence, searching for another option. She didn't want to deal with these two men. She didn't want to be here anymore. Mindreading was far too intimate, painful, and uncomfortable.

  But Kepsalon did not yield. "It will not take long for you to determine what is the proper response. The longer you delay, the less time we have to save Matthu."

  Amelia slid off the skelro and strode back up to the dais. "I'm starting to understand why WroOth doesn't like you."

  Facing Phelsco and Cheruch, she set her hands on her hips, grinding her elmis against her hips, and stared at the men. It would be more humiliating to start off with ferocity and dissolve into emotional mush. But to her surprise, the anger did not leave entirely.

  Despite the fact that she saw the wounds Naatos presumably had inflicted, she felt that Cheruch and Phelsco deserved them. What they had done to her was reprehensible. She stared into their swollen and bloodshot eyes and sealed what she felt in her heart so that she could remember what she saw.

  Slowly at first, then quicker, the images came. As before, they were muted but clear. She saw people laughing at jokes, friends hugging, children playing, men and women dancing around a blue-and-green-flamed fire.

  Why could final thoughts and memories not be of the worst and most abysmal things that they had done? Was there some manner of mindreading that was intentionally pulling out these good memories rather than their regrets and crimes?

  With each sight of a child or some tender act, the anger lessened. It left her feeling defeated and marginalized as it drew her further and further in. The images and feelings blurred together in a steady stream of humanity.

  But simply because these men were not wholly evil did not excuse what they had done to her and most likely to others. Amelia turned her gaze, blinking away the tears. They would most likely attempt to do the same to someone else.

  That thought brought a clarity. There was indeed a decision to make, and these emotions were not overpowering. They did not control her though she felt them deeply. True justice recognized the humanity, the whole of the person. Recognizing this did not destroy justice or the need for it.

  She turned to the table to examine it. Scattered across the coarse wood were numerous items. She paced along it. Several of the items' uses were apparent from the daggers to the awls to the double-bladed axes and the lethal poisons clearly marked with black inked skulls and crossbones.

  She resisted the idea of a death sentence, though it might have been what they deserved. They had been unsuccessful with her, and Naatos had beaten them severely. Three of their companions had died, and they were essentially exiled from their people. From the bloodstains on their clothing and the low whimpering moans, they were both in exceptional pain. There were no prisons or rehabilitation centers to determine if they could be restored in some way. But was there something else? And what if they returned to their violent ways? What if there were others whom they had done this to and against whom they had succeeded?

  She stopped at a small container with polished stones in varying sizes and colors. Some were thin and flat, while others were round or oblong. They looked as if they had been carved from stones similar to her pendant. Beside this container sat two bowls with colorful dried herbs. When she picked them up, they dissolved between her fingertips, staining her skin purple, blue, and pink. For a moment, a strange sensation of confusion flowed back over her like an echo of he
r own emotions, only stronger. Part of her recognized it, and some quiet part of her mind insisted this was the solution she needed.

  "Kepsalon," she said. "What's this?"

  "This?" Kepsalon picked up the dish. The herbs shuffled about within the narrow-mouthed bowl. "Malevin. It's a component in delayed incantations. It's part of what your mother used when making you a blood child. You see, the condition that creates the curse is spoken into the herbs. The herbs absorb it. You then put the stones in, and the stone absorbs the herbs with the delayed incantation. The recipient then swallows the smaller stone or whatever it is that is used to create the infusion. Thus, if the terms of the incantation are met, the curse or the blessing is released."

  A spark of hope rose within Amelia's chest. It was indeed the solution. "So…I could make it so that they die or go through unbearable pain if they ever rape or attempt to rape someone again?"

  Kepsalon gave a mild nod. "You can." He paused as a small silver pigeon swooped from the sky and landed on his shoulder. A thin piece of parchment was attached to its white leg. Setting the bowl down, Kepsalon scooped up the bird and removed the message.

  Amelia glanced back into the sky. The sun was heavy, a darkening vermilion. "Tell me how to make this happen then."

  "Not now." Kepsalon twirled the piece of parchment into a ball and thrust it into his pocket. "We have no more time. You chose well, Amelia. Each possibility would have taken you on a different path, but this is the one I would have chosen for you if I could. Should these men be cared for? Bandaged and fed?"

  "Yes," Amelia said. She looked back at them. "This isn't because you deserve to live," she said. "You both deserve death. Remember that you were shown mercy this day. Make the most of your lives. But if either of you do to anyone what you tried to do to me, you will die."

  Both men avoided looking at her, but Kepsalon appeared pleased, the light in his eyes far softer now. "You must go now. Matthu needs you. The skelro will take you there. I must stay here and see to it that these men receive their punishment. So long as they do not trigger the curse, they will live long and productive lives. Assuming, of course, Naatos does not find them."

  Amelia breathed with relief. She hurried to the skelro, the grass crunching beneath her feet. "How do I get to New Istador?"

  "The skelro knows the way." Kepsalon followed her. As she climbed astride it, he whispered a command in the creature's ear. "I will see you soon, Neyeb."

  Amelia barely managed to bid him goodbye before the skelro charged forward and leaped into the air. She gripped the beast's horns tightly. As glad as she was to have succeeded with the two Talbokians, her thoughts were now focused on Matthu.

  She leaned forward, peering over the skelro's head. They flew at a great clip, passing over the spires. In the distance, she could see the palace. It faded from sight as the skelro flew up over another cluster of mountains and continued on.

  The air chilled as the sun slipped beneath the horizon. Fireflies dotted the landscape, tiny orbs of green-gold light. The stars appeared in the sky as indigo darkness swallowed up the land. With the aid of the silver-white moon, Amelia could make out the vague forms of forests and mountains. She shivered in the cold night air whipping about her.

  Wherever this New Istador was, she saw no sign of it. Worry rose within her. How much farther was it?

  All at once, the skelro banked down. Amelia restrained a gasp. They landed on a smooth stretch of stone. The rocks grated beneath her feet as she slid off. "Hello?" she called out. "Is anyone here?"

  A door sprang open from within the mountainside as warm torchlight flowed out. A slender Machat woman ran to her. "Hurry," she said. "Zawkwor has done what he could, but you must hurry. It may be too late."

  "Where is Matthu?" Amelia ran to the woman and let her guide her inside. "He's getting worse?"

  "There are minutes left. You must calm yourself and focus, or there will be nothing that we can do for him." The Machat woman hurried along, leading her into a low-roofed chasm. They trotted down carved torch-lit halls. Within moments, they entered a long room with a fire in the center. In the far corner was a wood and cloth cot. Amelia's heart caught in her throat.

  Shon knelt on the floor next to the cot, staring, his hands clasped beneath his chin. Matthu lay in the cot, covered in sweat, and his skin had become fiery red and welted except for odd white patches.

  Shon looked up as they entered. Relief filled his eyes. "Amelia." He stood, his gaze flickering to the Machat woman. "There's time, Nialan?"

  "Go." She pointed to the door. "If the Neyeb is to save him, she must not be distracted."

  Shon nodded. He brushed his hand over Amelia’s. Warm pinpricks of desire spread through her at his touch. "Please," he said softly. "This can't be how he ends."

  "I'll do all I can." The words sounded hollow to her. As soon as the door closed behind Shon, she turned on Nialan. "What do I do? I don't know how to heal anyone, but if you tell me what to do, I will do everything I can to save him." A heaviness filled the room, crushing in on her. But what made it all the more disturbing was that there was something familiar in the sensation.

  "Come here." Nialan crouched by the side of the bed and adjusted her long brown skirts. She folded her wrinkled hands over Matthu's as if in prayer. Matthu's labored breaths were so soft, and yet each rasp cut through Amelia's heart. Kneeling alongside the Machat woman, Amelia braced herself. She had just passed Kepsalon's test. She would save Matthu too. Somehow.

  "Place your hands over his eyes," Nialan said.

  Amelia did as she was told. His skin was cold and clammy despite his appearance. As soon as her elmis touched his cheeks, distant sensations of confusion and hope swept around her. They were like far-off shouts, as if Matthu was wandering darkened halls, confused but not afraid.

  "Now, prepare yourself." Nialan leaned closer. "There is no time to explain all of this, but you must know who did this."

  "Is that important right now?" Amelia demanded.

  "Yes." Nialan's light-brown eyes held Amelia's fast. Deep wrinkles gouged her cheeks and forehead, making her appear sorrowful. "You must understand so that you can respond when you enter his mind to save him. The Neyeb who did this was frightened and desperate for her life." She slid her fingers over Amelia's, her polished nails pressing into her skin. "She is not evil. It was not even a conscious choice. It was only instinct, a subconscious attempt to reach someone who could help her. And in so doing, she projected her own fear at what she faced and created something very dangerous in this young Awdawm's mind."

  A sick feeling rose in Amelia's stomach. The answer already pressed in on her. Her mouth went dry as she forced the question out. "Who did it?" she whispered.

  Nialan met her gaze, her expression somber. "You did, Amelia."

  46

  Cursed

  Naatos's body throbbed and ached, pulsing from the massive electrical charge in the nets. He sat up slowly. The net clung to him, but he pushed it aside. It collapsed to the ground with a dull thud, releasing a scent of charred rope and heat. They were in Naatos's bedchamber, the door barred and the window open.

  AaQar and WroOth were on either side of him, both in a similar state of discomfort and waking.

  "Howling moons of Ecekom, where did they learn to channel electricity like that?" WroOth rubbed his head. "And where were you?" He shot AaQar an accusatory glare.

  AaQar returned the glare with baleful silence and stood. He put his hand to the small of his back, grimacing. His movements were stiff as he paced around the room.

  Naatos kicked the net aside. "What does it matter? They're gone now." Massaging his arm, he glanced scornfully at the offending weapon. Without needing to search for her, he knew Amelia was gone. They had taken her. Even if she had listened to him, the Machat would not have allowed her to remain.

  Something glinted on the bed. A glass painting lay on top of the coarse-woven blankets. A single glance at the images made his blood chill.

  This paintin
g was obviously a Machat painting. While they used many artistic mediums to convey their prophecies, their more important ones were inscribed into glass with techniques known only to them. The result was a vivid piece of artwork that often showed a series of events. The one constant was that intensity of color indicated the likelihood of an event's occurrence. And this one seemed to speak of certainties.

  The painting depicted three women. The first woman was Rasha, consumed in flames, her face upturned and a blade in her hands. Blood gushed from a wound to her chest. The second was Mara, dying from venom, a massive stinger embedded in her chest. She lay on the ground, struggling to hold herself up. The third woman was Amelia, collapsed in a pool of blood, a long narrow dagger fallen from her right hand and a spear by her side.

  AaQar and WroOth fell silent as they too saw the painting. A heaviness descended upon them all.

  When Naatos picked it up, the colors became all the more vivid. Rasha burning in flames was strange. If she was dead, they had never known how she died. Naatos doubted she was gone, though AaQar vacillated in his beliefs. But both he and WroOth had mentioned a wish to consign her to the flames. Mara, on the other hand…the painting depicted how she had died accurately. As for Amelia…

  Naatos struggled even to look. Unexpected emotion tangled within him, burning the backs of his eyes and knotting his breaths. Blood flowed from her elmis, and even though it was a painting, the deep agony of her death was apparent.

  "You three really are cursed, you know," a soft, oddly familiar, voice said from the windowsill.

  Naatos turned sharply. A Machat man crouched on the stone ledge. There was something familiar in that gaunt face and those sharp eyes. Naatos wasn't sure where he had seen him before, but the immediate dislike that seared his impression warned it had not been a good parting.