by B. K. Boes
Imrah pressed her lips together in a firm line of determination. She had to do this. She was the first to save her son. The first to take marro to render herself barren. It was clear to her now. This was her part to play in the rebellion, to experiment with the unknown. To be the first.
It was time to test the waters.
Here’s to hoping I don’t drown.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Moloch
The City of Pytar, Ergon
8th Cycle of Chenack
989 Post Schism
Moloch waited in a storage closet tucked under the giant spiral that led up through each level of the mountain. Bram was with him, and he peeked out of the closet for the hundredth time.
“The kitchen staff is gone already,” Bram said. “The baron should show his face soon.”
“Any minute now,” Moloch said. His hands were starting to sweat, and adrenaline pumped through his veins. It was so hard to wait. “Once he does, the prince should come along with his father.”
“Unless the baron was tipped off. Or the prince wasn’t able to get the king to come.” Bram peeked out again, and then quickly backed away, closing the door very quietly. He mouthed, “The baron just passed.”
Moloch and Bram waited, the seconds dragging by. If the prince didn’t follow soon with the king, their proof would be gone. Moloch had considered a secondary option of torturing the cook and forcing him to confess. But that was so much messier, not to mention the possible repercussions if his story wasn’t believed.
Finally, the door to the storage room opened. In came the prince. For a moment, Moloch thought he’d come without the king, but then his father stepped inside.
“What is the meaning of all this?” King Gonnoss said. “This is highly unusual.” He looked around the storage room. “What could you possibly have told my son for him to bring me here.”
“Your Majesty, I’ll need you to come with me. Quietly. Bram and the prince will follow, but we must be absolutely silent.”
“Why should I go sneaking around my own fortress? This is madness.” The king waved Moloch away, grunting his disbelief at the suggestion.
“The madness is that Baron Morrwin has been poisoning your son. And we’re going to prove it to you.” Moloch watched as the king blanched and looked at Prince Durand with wide eyes.
The prince nodded. “It’s true, Father.”
“You have proof?” the king said, his brow furrowed, and his voice small.
“If you come with me. Quietly.” Moloch opened the door, and the king followed, with Bram right behind. Members of the Fortress Guard had escorted the king and prince, and they now began to follow. Once they reached the final turn that led down the hall to the kitchens, Moloch turned to the king. “Choose one guard to follow. He and Bram should be able to subdue Morrwin without any trouble. But we can’t have so many people in the hall. It will draw attention.”
The king chose a tall guard with a smooth, shaved face and hard stare. The prince joined his father, their guard, Bram, and Moloch, single file down the hall. They all pressed against the wall, stepping carefully. When the doorway was only a few paces away, they could hear mumbling inside the kitchen. Moloch motioned for the king and the prince to follow him until they were pressed against the wall close enough to hear every word.
“The prince is looking… rosier than usual,” Morrwin said.
“He’s still ordering the soup,” the chef responded.
“You’ve been using the same dosages? You haven’t changed your mind, have you?” Morrwin’s words came as a threat. “That would be unfortunate, as I’d have no more use for you. Our deal would be off, and I’m sure I could find a way to bury you quietly.”
“I swear,” the chef said, nervousness lacing his tone. “I’ve been giving him the venom. Every day in his soup.”
Morrwin sighed after a long pause. “Alright. Perhaps you had a point last time. His body might be forming a tolerance. I’ve brought double the venom. Enough for a span. Let’s see how he feels after that.”
“I just want it to be done,” the chef said. “It’s too much stress.”
“Stop complaining and do your job. And when I’m king, you’ll never work another day in your life.”
Moloch watched the king as he listened, his face reddening with every word his nephew spoke. At Morrwin’s last words, King Gonnoss straightened up and stepped into the archway.
“How dare you!” he shouted.
Moloch stepped beside him just in time to see Morrwin’s face go white.
“Your Majesty!” The baron said. “I… this isn’t what it looks—”
“Guard, kill the chef, and arrest my nephew. Immediately.” King Gonnoss spoke with a cold authority. The guard was at the chef in three strides. He pulled his smaller axe, and in one stroke, the chef’s throat was cut, and he was on his knees, gurgling blood.
Morrwin placed a hand on his own throwing axe. “Uncle,” he said. “I am your nephew. I’m just trying to do what’s best for Ergon.”
“You’ve dishonored your father and me, Morrwin, not to mention this nation,” the king said. “You will pay for this. I will lock you in the darkest cell and let you die from hunger.”
Morrwin scowled and brandished his axe. “You’ll regret this! My father will never let you sentence me to death!” He eyed the remaining soldiers, and his gaze fell on Prince Durand. “You were weak before the poison, cousin. You don’t deserve to inherit the throne!” He charged at the prince, eyes wild.
Moloch stepped between Morrwin and the prince, meeting the baron’s axe with his sword.
With a crazed laugh, the baron twisted the axe’s handle as though weighing it before striking. “I’ll kill you both!” he shouted to his uncle and cousin.
Moloch prepared himself as Morrwin raised the axe, preparing to throw it.
“My father will be king,” the baron said. “And I will succeed—”
Prince Durand grabbed a throwing axe from one of the guards, stepped forward, and threw it with perfect aim. A wet thwack filled the hall as the axe buried its blade in Morrwin’s forehead. He wobbled for a moment, a look of surprise on his face. Prince Durand’s face was ashen, his grief visible, as his cousin fell lifeless to the floor.
The prince’s eyes welled with tears, but his voice was surprisingly even. “Better he die by an Ergonian axe,” he said. He turned to his father. “It is more fitting than the sword of a foreigner, or even death by hunger.”
King Gonnoss closed his eyes and sighed. “Yes, it is better this way. You did well, son.”
The prince looked as though all of his energy was depleted as he nodded to Moloch. “It was only because of you that we discovered this treason.” He looked to his father. “I have already performed an Ergonian bloodbond with Moloch,” he said. “I count him as one of our own.”
The king put a hand on Moloch’s shoulder. “As will I,” he said. “I owe you the life of my son. Regardless of what we decide to do regarding the Adikeans, I will be in your debt always.”
Regardless of what we decide to do…
Moloch held back his protest, silencing the desire to demand support of his plan in return. Instead, he let the prince describe how the plot had been discovered. As Prince Durand praised Moloch’s initiative and cunning on the way back to the spiral, the king looked at Moloch with a respect that wasn’t there before.
It gave Moloch hope that at the last dinner in four days’ time, he might have a chance at convincing the king to follow his plan. He expected to feel an overwhelming victory, but as soon as he and Bram were alone again, all Moloch felt was exhaustion.
He and Bram headed back toward their rooms. “Did you hear that? He still might not accept my plan. Regardless… ha!”
“I heard,” Bram said. “Maybe once you hand over The Acquisitor? Give him all parties responsible and maybe it will keep pushing him in your favor.”
“Ah, The Acquisitor,” Moloch sighed. “In all the excitement, he slipped
my mind.”
“I know,” Bram said. “It wasn’t my place to say. Do you want me to send for Hurran to bring the man here?”
A man like The Acquisitor could come in handy. Maybe we don’t have to give him up. Moloch looked at Bram, about to float the idea, when he realized his friend would never go along with it. It’s probably best to turn him in… but a man who can acquire enough juxquinn poison to last four months… he must be good at what he does.
“No,” Moloch said. “I don’t want to turn him in. Not yet.”
Bram furrowed his brow. “Are you sure?”
“Trust me on this, Bram, all right? I’ll tell the king when it’s best.” Moloch felt a little guilty at Bram’s trusting nod. But, it was his job to look at the big picture, to think ahead.
Bram’s a soldier, not a strategist like me.
The thought vaguely flitted across his mind that keeping someone like The Acquisitor as an asset was exactly what Lord Nibal Sarrem would have done from the beginning. Moloch buried that thought quickly.
I’m not like my father…
If I keep this man as an asset, it will be for good reason, my own reasons.
I’m not like my father.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Kaela
Hodda Nomadic Tribe
Desert of Eidolon, Erem
8th Cycle of Chenack
989 Post Schism
Kaela sat knees to chest on the edge of the sandsled in the dark. Behind her, Momma, Poppa, and baby Del slept soundly. The stars above were fading. The brother moons were faint outlines in the sky. Soon the sun would show its face and declare a new day, a day Kaela was not looking forward to.
Her tenth birthday. The day of her confirmation as a Roshleth.
Ever since she’d sat quiet through the meeting with the Elders, refusing to go along with the plan that she, Ednah, and Yado had agreed to, Kaela had dreaded this day.
How can I go through with it?
Kaela sighed, begging the stars for an answer before they faded in the coming dawn. The trouble with getting along with Roshleth Vyad and the way she felt about Orlin — those things couldn’t deter her from fulfilling her destiny, from becoming a Roshleth. She wanted to live out the rest of her days as a keeper of history and legend. One day she wanted to lead the Hodda with the wisdom she’d spent her whole life learning, with the wisdom she’d gain in the years to come.
But I betrayed my purpose. I let my selfish desires outweigh the needs of the tribe. How can I accept the responsibility to lead them when my heart can so easily be swayed?
For the first time, Kaela questioned Sava.
If she was wrong about me, about being able to handle the duties of a Roshleth, what else was she wrong about?
Behind her baby Del let out a little cry, and her mother stirred. Momma sat up and put the babe to her breast. After a cycle of recovery, she could now sit up without help. It had been a hard road with a few frightening moments, but Momma was getting better now, and Del was healthy. This was the second time she’d slept through the night without the need for pain relief.
Momma squinted in the dim light. “Kaela? How long have you been awake?” She rubbed her eyes and blinked a few times. “Dawn is just now breaking.”
“I haven’t been up too long,” Kaela said. It was a lie, but she couldn’t tell Momma or Poppa what had been on her heart. She was too ashamed.
“You haven’t been sleeping well,” she said. “Perhaps tonight you should come to bed early.”
Kaela shrugged. “Okay. If you think it’s best.”
Momma nodded, yawned, and turned her attention back to Del. Kaela was relieved her mother had the baby to take up her time and attention. It had kept her from asking too many questions about Kaela’s melancholy state.
Soft movements and low chatter began to circulate around the resting caravan of Hodda sandsleds and lean-tos. They were in the middle of the Desert of Eidolon, traveling farther west than they’d ever been. They had traded their wares made from the hair, skin, and bone of the sandbeast for merchandise the Adikeans wanted brought to their borders. The Adikean representative at Ogche had sent along several sandsleds full of goods as well. The Hodda would deliver these things to the southwestern border where Erem met Adikea.
And it was all Kaela’s fault. She had failed, and now she dreaded what would happen to the Hodda by dealing directly with the Adikeans.
Those who conspire with evil men take on their sin and, over time, become evil themselves, Sava’s voice echoed in Kaela’s mind even while she entertained doubts of Sava’s wisdom. There were a dozen stories Kaela knew that confirmed this, and yet, Kaela had kept them to herself. All to save her mother at the expense of the Hodda’s future, at the expense of her tribesmen’s souls.
I feel guilty… and yet, I don’t really regret it, Kaela thought. Is that wrong? Confusion swirled in her mind, touching everything she thought she understood.
Poppa groaned and stretched. He sat up and kissed Momma on the forehead, reaching across her to gently caress his son’s cheek. He looked up at Kaela, a smile on his face.
“Morning, little one. Today is a special day. Are you excited?” Poppa asked, his voice soft so as not to disturb the baby.
Kaela didn’t know what to say.
“A little nervous?” Poppa asked.
“I guess so.” Kaela had long been dressed and ready for the day, so she hopped off the back of the sandsled. “I’ll go get fuel for the fire.”
The Hodda caravan was stirring back to life. Kaela wasn’t the only one up and walking toward the sandbeast herd to find a few dried pieces of dung to start her fire. The sun was now peeking over the rolling desert horizon. The farther they traveled west, the looser the sand underfoot became. Kaela’s feet sank into the ground a little with every step. It was so different from the packed sandy ground of eastern Erem.
“Kaela!” Fey called as she jogged up to her.
“Hey,” Kaela said as she leaned over to put a dried piece of dung in her sack. The sandbeasts were still huddled together, just now waking. They were docile beasts, except for the young bulls, who were faster and more energetic.
“Have you heard the news about Elder Ednah?” Fey said as she came closer. “Absolutely horrible.”
Kaela furrowed her brow. She’d expected a question about her confirmation. “I haven’t heard anything.”
“She’s on her death bed.” Fey sighed and looked up at the ever-lightening sky. “Sustainer be with her.”
Kaela swallowed. Fey had a flair for the dramatic, so she couldn’t tell if she was being literal. “Are you sure? She’s not just ill?”
Fey shook her head. “I overheard Healer Raz said she might not make it another day.” Fey gasped, hand flying to her mouth. “And on your confirmation day! How terrible.”
Kaela’s heart sank. Over the last cycle, she had avoided the Elder at every turn, ashamed and unable to face her. She didn’t want to feel disappointment radiating from the woman who’d given her so much advice, so many words of encouragement. It had been Ednah who had found her and sought out her opinions after that first meeting about the Hodda’s new direction. It had been Ednah who had believed in her, believed her instincts were worthy to be considered.
Kaela had to speak to the Elder, to ask forgiveness. She pushed her sack into Fey’s hands. “Please, gather the rest for my family? Take them fuel for the fire? I need to go see the Elder.”
Fey looked down at the bag Kaela had thrust into her hands and then back up at Kaela. “Sure,” she said. “I guess I can do that.”
“Thanks.” Kaela took off, running toward where she knew Ednah would be.
She wove through the staggered line of waking families, sandsleds, and lean-tos. Soon she came to the sandsled Ednah’s grandson was responsible for. Ednah’s little lean-to was set up nearby. Inside, Ednah lay atop blankets and pillows, cheeks flushed and brow damp with sweat. Her grandson sat next to her, dabbing her forehead with a rag.
Kaela slowed as she approached, and then stopped altogether when Ednah coughed so hard it wracked her entire body. Her grandson put a cup to her lips, and she seemed to only have enough energy to take a small sip. Kaela bit her lower lip, and her eyes welled with tears.
Then Ednah spotted her, and she whispered something, her grandson leaning his ear close to her lips to understand. He looked up, eyes searching for a moment before they landed on Kaela. He waved at her and beckoned her to come over.
Every step made her legs feel heavier. She must pass into the afterlife and know the Hodda are in good hands. Tears began to fall as Kaela knew what she must do. She let down her walls, ignoring Sava’s voice in her head that told her not to. I deserve to feel what I’ve done to her.
She knelt beside Ednah, but the peace coming from the Elder wasn’t what Kaela expected. Why don’t I feel her anger?
The old woman reached for Kaela’s hand. “Go gather breakfast, Pei. I’ll be fine for a few moments, and I need to speak with Kaela.”
Her grandson rose reluctantly from her side and let them be. Kaela couldn’t help but cry freely as she took in the sunken eyes, weakness, and feverish conditions of a woman so strong in wisdom and in spirit. Though her body was failing her, Kaela felt her strength in the form of love and contentment.
But, as the Elder met Kaela’s eye, the rumbling vibration of worry beat against Kaela’s body. So, she’s not angry, just concerned for the future of the Hodda. She doesn’t deserve that.
“I’m so sorry, Elder. I’ve failed miserably,” Kaela said. She wiped her tears away with her hands. “I don’t want you to worry about the Hodda. I plan to deny my confirmation so that they might find a worthy Roshleth.”
Ednah coughed severely and took a moment to recover, the vibrations pulsing stronger. She patted Kaela’s knee. “No, my child,” she said. “That is not what I want.”
“It isn’t? I know you’re anxious,” Kaela said, careful to keep her curse hidden. That part of Sava’s wisdom she wasn’t willing to test. “I can see it in your face.”