Identity Revealed: The Tue-Rah Chronicles

by Butler, J. M.

  Before any of the three could move toward him, the Machat held up his hands. "You will not touch me. Not if you want to see the Neyeb again. We have her now, Naatos, and if you do not listen to my words, she will die."

  "At least you admit that you will kill her this time." WroOth spat on the floor.

  "No." The Machat spoke as if saddened. "I have never wished anything but good upon you. And we are protecting her."

  "If your purpose is to protect Amelia, then bring her back." Naatos was startled at the Machat's words. The Machat should have been focused on the restoration of the Tue-Rah. It made little sense for him to lie about wishing only good upon them, and it was not what he expected.

  "You are the one who will destroy her if you are not stopped," the Machat said. "This is a delicate time of transformation for her. You must allow her to return to you."

  Naatos scoffed, as did his brothers. That was ridiculous. It was uncommon for a Vawtrian to delay consummating his marriage more than a day or two after locking. Prolonged waiting periods would increase his own pain and detract from his abilities to heal and shift. Already he had seen that. Waiting was out of the question.

  The Machat angled his head as if speaking to an unreasonable child. "Though you have bonded to her and she has softened marginally toward you, she cannot and will not love you at this time."

  "Her Awdawm is dead," Naatos said. "Her heart will no longer be burdened by foolish feelings for him. There is room for me now." He recalled how sweet those kisses were and how easy she was to hold. If it hadn't been for her mindreading kicking in, it might have gone very differently.

  The Machat shrugged. "That is true. Most Neyeb, when they lose the first focus of their affection, eagerly seek a replacement. They struggle to be alone after they have tasted eros. But therein lies the problem. Amelia is not an ordinary Neyeb. She has spent her entire life suppressing and repressing her emotions. What she feels, what she wants. All of it is irrelevant to her mind. Being with Shon is the first true desire she has had in a long time."

  Those words grated on Naatos. She should have felt that way about him. Indeed, she should have started seeking him from the moment she reached Libysha as an adult. She had been of age. The connection between them should have been irresistible. But it hadn't. "If this Awdawm is dead, what difference does it make?" he asked scornfully.

  "Is he dead?" The Machat lifted his arms as if this was a legitimate question. "If so, then good for you. But if not, you must not kill him. If Shon dies after this point, Amelia will be condemned to death. His death by yours or your brothers' hands commits her to a path from which she will not turn back. A path that will lead ultimately to her death. A death which not even you will be able to save her from."

  "I am strong enough to save her from any death," Naatos said.

  "Why are you here?" AaQar asked. His voice was so quiet it could have been missed. "You Machat have been acting decidedly uncharacteristic."

  "I am here to warn you about the curse and—"

  "The blood curse cannot be removed," Naatos said. Even if it could be, he had no desire to remove it now. It had come at a high and horrible price. Amelia had not even been his first choice for a viskaro. But the decision had been made. Not only would he gain the skills of a Neyeb beyond what he had acquired, but he would father a new race. Besides, there were vows to keep.

  "That is not the curse I am referring to. You three have long suspected but have never been able to prove that you have a powerful enemy. And it is not us." The Machat straightened so that he stood in the windowsill. "Stop your quest for the Tue-Rah as well as your plans of conquest, and we are your friends and allies once again. You have another enemy, an enemy who seeks personal vengeance as well as power. And this enemy seeks to enact the darikov against you. Or do you think it is a coincidence that your wives and children have all been taken?" He pointed at the painting.

  Naatos exchanged glances with his brothers. He read the suspicion and horror in their eyes. The same suspicion and horror growing now within him. The darikov was one of the greatest forms of humiliation for a Vawtrian family to suffer. They had discussed in private the possibility that perhaps there was something greater at work, but none of their enemies had such consistent control or opportunity.

  "Yes," the Machat said. "Your foe is shrouded. Hidden. One by one, your wives and children have been taken or destroyed. If you carry on this path, you will be forced to live out the rest of your days with none of your line to succeed you. You will know that all you have accomplished will fail with your own deaths, which will most certainly come. And now you have chosen and locked with your wife, Naatos. You have no idea how much this pleases your enemy. How much your enemy hoped that this would be the case. Eliminating Amelia will be easiest of all because of the blood curse."

  "Then she needs to be here," AaQar said. His tone was surprisingly firm and even. "She is vulnerable, but—"

  "It is not just that she is vulnerable. It is that she is dangerous. She has come dangerously close to killing, and the anger inside her has grown for some time. But like so much else, she pushes it down and denies its importance. What was done to her as an infant, as a child, has scarred her. There are serious repercussions, ones that have not yet been addressed or fully uncovered. But she is not helpless. There is much that she may yet do. I have attempted to provoke her to anger already. I put her friend's life in greater danger to provoke it. I gave her absolute freedom to execute two men who had done her great harm. But she did not break. Sooner or later she will though. She must. And if it comes at the wrong time or the wrong manner, all hope is lost."

  "Then bring her here! What is so hard for you to understand?" WroOth shouted. Rage burned in his voice.

  The Machat didn't even flinch.

  AaQar took the painting from Naatos and sank onto the bench. He stared at it in silence. Slowly he lifted his hand and placed it beneath Rasha's face. Tears glistened in his eyes.

  "My brother is right." Naatos struggled to keep his voice even. "She is my wife. The Neyeb Council gave her to me because of what she was. I understand what she was put through and what she may become. None of her kind wanted her, but I do. If she is not with me, then terrible things will happen."

  "You were denied in your first twelve requests for a Neyeb wife, Naatos," the Machat said. "Do you remember why?"

  The rage expanded within Naatos's chest. "It was a matter of politics."

  "Your mind is a harsh place, Naatos. There were Neyeb who recoiled from your presence, even when you were their protector and they called you friend. The connection that you and she will share is dangerous in its own way. You know that what you did with her here in Polfradon was wrong. You tricked her into becoming more intimate with you, and so now your mind is tugging ever more at hers. She will break, Naatos. It is necessary for growth, but it cannot be here, and it cannot be with you. Give her eight weeks."

  The Machat did not lie. At least not generally. But they did leave some things out. Despite all their failings and his own dislike of them, even Naatos accepted that reality. He studied the old prophet, his jaw clenched. His instincts warned that this was not a compelling cause that justified a law. "You expect me to give you eight weeks to indoctrinate her?"

  "You fear that she will hate you more?" The Machat chuckled dryly. "Do you think that all of us combined could do more to lower your character in her eyes?"

  AaQar did not look up from the painting. "Do you swear that if he honors the time requested that she will be given to him?"

  "There is only one way to guarantee Amelia's return to you and her acceptance of you." The Machat pointed toward the wardrobe. His voice grew softer and sadder. "How much better for all of us would it be if you would accept it."

  Naatos looked to the wardrobe, surprised to see yet another of the glass paintings. This one was much paler than the other, as if painted with weak watercolors. He and Amelia embraced in the picture. She wore a stunning yellow gown, her arms twined around
his neck, standing on the tips of her feet to reach him. His arms were wrapped around as they kissed one another in blissful abandon. Naatos wanted her now more than anything. He could imagine the softness of her lips and the eager moans slipping from her as she pressed herself tight to him.

  "Give up the Tue-Rah and the Para bands, and she will come to you. She will give herself to you completely. I cannot promise that it will be easy, or that this is where you will be at the end of the eight weeks, but I can promise you that you will reach the foretold point in this image if you do all this and give her the eight weeks."

  "This is painted with watercolors," WroOth said. "If this was the only way, it would be painted with oils and pressed between two sheets of glass or etched and painted directly into the glass."

  "This is the only certain way. Other paths may lead to this point," the Machat said. He stammered for a moment as if startled at the observation but swiftly recovered himself.

  "I will not wait eight weeks," Naatos said. "I cannot."

  "You would suffer, but you would not die. No Vawtrian has died from this. And given all that has happened, perhaps some suffering on your part would not be the worst thing to happen. But give her this time, do as I have instructed, and I will plead your case to her. Do not pursue the matter further." With that, the Machat leaped backwards and disappeared.

  Naatos dashed to the window, but when he looked out, he saw no sign of the Machat nor of any flying beast. All was still upon the bloodstained courtyard and in the darkening sky.

  WroOth ran up beside him and peered out as well. He punched his fist against the wall. "Curse these Machat!"

  Naatos shook his head. The Machat had developed even more since their encounters approximately four hundred years ago. They had been involved significantly in Naatos and his brothers' capture and imprisonment. And apparently the minor skirmishes that they had had with the Machat since their return had avoided revealing their true strength.

  "Eight weeks…" AaQar cradled the first painting in his hands. "Eight weeks and a total abandonment of all that we have set ourselves to. Along with an enemy we have yet to identify. This has been a difficult day." He cast his gaze toward Naatos, his expression dour. "And you won't heed anything he said other than to acknowledge the darikov is to be enacted against us."

  "The Machat cannot be trusted," WroOth said. "They do not even honor their word as they would pretend."

  "Then we will follow through with your plan." Naatos looked back once more at the second glass painting. He refused to even consider that he had to choose between the Tue-Rah and Amelia. "We find the Machat's hidden city and eliminate them."

  47

  The Unwitting Creation

  "No…" Amelia choked on the words. "I wouldn't hurt Matthu. I don't even know how to do this!"

  "It was not your fault entirely and certainly not your desire." Nialan squeezed her hand as if that somehow made it better. "Your Neyeb betrothal necklace. You gave a piece to Matthu and a piece to Shon. It's carved from the psychic stones like the ones you saw in Istador. When those stones are fashioned into jewelry or worn, they absorb the imprint of the individuals who wear them, allowing psychic or telepathic connections, if you will. Your necklace in particular was intended to better facilitate communication between a Neyeb and a non Neyeb, particularly in the early stages of the connection starting after the twenty-fourth year. When you gave the pieces to Shon and Matthu, you unintentionally created a conduit between them and your mind. And when Naatos threw you to the spiders, you reached out in desperation for help. In reality, your mind was trying to reach your betrothed. To force yourself to tell him who you were. To, in a sense, overwhelm your own conscious decision to keep that knowledge secret."

  "To ask him to help me." The words were bitter. Amelia couldn't believe this. Matthu’s suffering was clear from the weakness of his breath to the blistering and reddening of the skin around his eyes and mouth.

  "Yes." Nialan gave a slight nod. "The by-product of that transfer can be deadly among the young. You must go in there and remove the manifestation of your cry. Once you are inside his mind, you will have more time. His connection to you will be a lifeline, but you must hurry."

  "How do I do that?"

  "I only know the first part. You'll have to determine the rest when you are inside his mind. But open his eyes. Stare directly into the pupils. Focus intently and keep your own breaths light. Search for him in his thoughts, and your instincts will take you the rest of the way." Nialan rose. "I will leave you to your task. May Elonumato grant you success, Amelia."

  Amelia bowed her head as the door closed behind the Machat woman. It hurt. Deep within her chest. The pain increased with each breath along with the guilt. Unintentionally she had become what she had feared and in a horrid unexpected way. She was a monster. She had nearly killed Matthu, and now she had to save him.

  Leaning forward, she placed her hands on the side of Matthu's face and pressed his eyelids back. "Please forgive me, Matthu," she whispered. His eyes were bloodshot, and the pupils were so dilated they almost filled the iris. Another spasm of guilt broke through Amelia, but she choked it down along with the tears and anger as she looked deep into his eyes. "Elonumato, help me."

  For a few seconds, she stared into Matthu's pupils. They were a deep and almost endless black. But then, all at once, the entire world blinked out.

  Darkness encompassed her, and then came a low and gentle light. It did not seem to come from a particular source. It merely existed.

  Amelia looked around, surprised at the stillness and what had happened. She floated in the blackness. And then a series of tapestries dropped before her. They were bound in sienna wool, each one moving in harmony with the next. Though there was no floor that she could see, Amelia landed.

  These tapestries were similar to the ones she had seen when she had passed out under the spider venom. Except for the color of the yarn that bound them together.

  "Amelia!" Matthu's voice sounded behind her.

  Whirling about, Amelia saw Matthu slipping through the tapestries. Her heart leaped with joy and hope. He appeared completely fine, a great grin on his face, his left hand on his belt, and his right hand in his pocket. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "I didn't think I'd get any visitors."

  There were no traces of suffering, confusion, or pain on his face. What did he even know? "Matthu…" Amelia stepped closer. "Do you know where you are?"

  "I thought I was dreaming. I don't know. It was dark. Then all these tapestries, and you showed up. Is everything all right?"

  "It's…" Amelia's throat choked with tears. "Matthu, I accidentally put something in your mind. I don't really understand how, but I did it. And I am so sorry. You're very sick, and I'm going to do everything I can to help you."

  "You did this?" Both of Matthu's eyebrows arched. "Huh…" He scratched his head. "I don't know how I feel about that."

  "I understand if you’re angry, but I promise I will do everything I can. Do you feel any pain? Is there any place in here where those thoughts I sent might have manifested? We have to remove them."

  Matthu continued to scratch his head, his hand sliding lower. Three worry creases lined his forehead. "I keep feeling like there's a spider on the back of my head for hours…did you send a spider into my head?"

  "I don't know." Tapestries slid by. It was possible that whatever this was would come to her. There were thousands, perhaps millions of memories in Matthu's mind. "If I blindfolded you and asked you to point me in a direction, any direction, that doesn't feel right, which way would that be?"

  Matthu pointed to the left. "I don't want to go there. That's probably where the bad thought is hiding."

  "Then let's go." Amelia moved in that direction. She had no weapons and no knowledge, but something had to present itself as they walked. They slid between the tapestries and began walking down a path that was approximately wide enough for three people. The tapestries continued to move alongside them.

 
; Matthu seized her by the arm. "Look!" He pointed at the tapestry ahead and to her right. "That's when Joseph brought you to the palace for the first time."

  They didn't have time, but Amelia couldn't stop herself from looking. The central courtyard of the palace appeared as she remembered. Opalescent stones glowed under the sunlight, the flowers and ivies blooming in all their vibrant glory. She could faintly smell the fresh roses and even the eastern honeysuckle of early spring.

  A small crowd stood there, fanned out from King Theol and Queen Alita. Josiah, little more than a toddler, was at his father's side, tugging his blue and gold embroidered tunic. Alita had her arm looped through Theol's, the image of composure. Theol likewise appeared as calm as usual, a peaceful and regal smile upon his face. Linufe, Shon, and Matthu were a short distance back. Though Amelia could not hear anything, she saw the heralds and the crowd move away as Joseph strode into the courtyard.

  Amelia's heart warmed and ached at the sight. He looked so young, his hair dark and full. His expression was somber as always, but there were not so many lines in his cheeks or along his eyes. He wore faded military fatigues, and he carried a small bundle in his arms. He hadn't known when he brought her to the palace that he would eventually give up his life to care for her. Perhaps he might even have resisted the idea if he’d known, but he had served faithfully.

  Amelia struggled to tear her gaze away. She had heard this story so many times, but to see it herself was tempting. However, Matthu's life was on the line, and she knew what Uncle Joe would say if he had been there.

  "Matthu." She took hold of his arm. "There isn't time."

  "Look at how young I am. Look at how little you are!" Matthu laughed. The sound grated on Amelia's ears, a little too loud. "You know we were really convinced Joseph was the Third Nalenth. But then it turned out to be you. Look, look!"

  Amelia avoided turning her head. "Matthu, we need to go."

  "But…" Matthu's voice wavered. "All right."