Sacrifice

by Cayla Kluver

  “She did once, a few days ago. Not since then. But she hasn’t eaten much, either.”

  “I see.” Bhadran pondered me for a second time, and then stood. “I cannot name her ailment definitively since she exhibits so few symptoms. However, the indifference, the sadness and lethargy, the lack of appetite…they would seem to suggest Melancholia. It afflicts young women in particular come the fall of the year. That is, cases are rare in the spring and summer. Has your daughter shown a tendency toward Melancholia in the past?”

  “No,” my mother whispered, her eyes wide and glistening. “But it’s…it’s the first fall since Baelic’s death.”

  There was a pause. “I’m sorry for your loss, Lady Lania. I should have remembered that your husband was Cannan’s brother.”

  The doctor turned again to me, and Galen placed a comforting arm around Mother’s waist.

  “What can be done to treat her?” the young man asked.

  “Bloodletting would only aggravate the problem, I’m afraid. Her humors are unbalanced—she needs more warmth and moisture. Soup, baths, lotions, hot water bottles in her bed, a fire in the hearth day and night. There is no medicinal cure I can offer. The black bile must simply run its course.”

  My mother gasped, trying not to cry. “She will recover…she will survive, won’t she?”

  “She will if she wants to.”

  “I don’t have Melancholia,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. How dare this doctor make my mother worry I might die.

  “Then what do you believe you have?” Bhadran inquired, surprised I had spoken.

  I did not have a disease, mental or physical. I was tired, and I was sad, and I was coping.

  “You should leave now. I don’t need a doctor.”

  The gathered adults looked at one another uncertainly, then Bhadran opened his mouth to say something else to me.

  “Please!” I repeated, more insistently.

  He handled my strange behavior well, stepping backward and raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.

  “Think about what I said,” he murmured to my mother, then he left the room.

  “Shaselle,” my mother breathed. “What is going on with you?”

  Galen took her arm, whispered something to her and led her to the door. I heard it close, and thought perhaps I was alone again, but boots scraped against the wooden floor. Galen came to sit in the chair beside my bed, observing me with his soft brown eyes, his demeanor an odd mixture of concern and a reprimand. Feeling uncomfortable, I started to roll away from him, away from the window, but he grasped my shoulder, holding me in place.

  “Shaselle, stop. Just stop, please.”

  I complied, though I wasn’t sure why I was obeying him.

  “Cannan sent me when Lania asked for a doctor. He had me bring Bhadran, but doesn’t believe you’re sick. He thought you might talk to me. I don’t know if you want to or not, but for starters you don’t have to explain anything to me. I know you feel responsible for what that Cokyrian found out, and that’s something you couldn’t tell your mother. But Shaselle, everyone is worried about you. And no one blames you.”

  “I blame me,” I whimpered.

  “For what? Cannan says he followed you, spied on you and died by an accident. Where is any of that your fault? Is it because you feel you shouldn’t have been looking at the weapons?” Galen hesitated, then gently pressed, “Or is it because that’s not how it happened at all?”

  I wasn’t going to cry again. But he was so close, so close to figuring it out. I couldn’t let him, and yet I wanted him to know.

  “Don’t tell,” I sobbed. “You mustn’t tell anyone, Galen.”

  “I won’t tell anyone unless absolutely necessary,” he promised, leaning close to kiss me on the cheek. “And I certainly won’t tell your mother.”

  “I told him about the weapons,” I confessed, my voice embarrassingly high-pitched. “He didn’t follow me—I was with him, by choice. He was in the house with me, and I told him, then I tried to stop him from leaving, and…and he fell.”

  “He fell? Shaselle, was he here…in your room?”

  I nodded, the words coming more easily now that I was through the worst of my admissions.

  “We climbed in through my window, and we drank some wine, and when he tried to leave, he fell.”

  Galen said nothing, but his expression shifted as quickly as the waters of the Recorah River, through shock, disappointment, sympathy, dismay.

  “Shaselle, I… My God.”

  “It was a mistake!” I wailed, writhing like someone demon possessed and shocking him to his feet. “Can’t God forgive a mistake? Why can’t he… God…”

  I collapsed, limp and lifeless on the bed, certain the only thing keeping me alive was the anguish festering in my gut. Then Galen sat on the bed beside me and pulled me into his embrace.

  “It’s not your fault,” he said again and again, holding me close. “It’s not your fault.”

  I lay quivering against him, thankful to be in his arms, though some part of me felt that even his comfort was more than I deserved.

  “There was nothing you could have done to help him, Shaselle. If you had called for Cokyrian aid, you would have put yourself in danger. Even he knew that. This is hard to accept, harder to accept than blame, in fact, but sometimes things just happen.”

  I wanted to believe him. But even if I could not, at least I was no longer alone, dragged down by a whirlpool of guilt. My head had broken the water’s surface, and I could breathe.

  After a while I quieted, and Galen released me, but he did not leave.

  “I have to tell Cannan what you’ve told me,” he said, stroking my hair. “Narian is investigating the officer’s death, and we cannot let him come to the wrong conclusion.”

  I gazed at him, fear clutching at my heart.

  “Don’t worry. Cannan won’t let anything happen to you, and Narian is reasonable—he will recognize it as an accident.”

  I nodded stiffly and closed my eyes. Galen was probably right; and if he wasn’t, I’d receive the punishment my conscience told me I deserved.

  After Galen left, I ate the soup my mother brought, then I rose from bed for the first time in a week. I went to my wardrobe, feeling woozy and frail, but I was resolved. I abandoned my nightdress, put on breeches and a shirt, pulled back my disgusting hair, then crawled shakily out onto the limb. My boots scraped against the oak tree during my descent, for I clung especially tightly to the branches and trunk. At last reaching the ground, I surveyed the place where Saadi’s body had been broken.

  When I could stand it no longer, I wiped my eyes and nose on my sleeve and headed for the barn, using the back door to access King’s private stall. The proud, vibrant animal had been fed and was restless, ready for exercise. I snatched a bit of hay from the aisle floor and held out my palm so he would let me rub his soft neck. I would always remember Papa when I looked at him. Now he would also be a way for me to remember Saadi.

  I left King and went outside to sit against the front wall of the barn, sheltered by the roof’s overhang. It was there that my mother found me. Though she was surprised to discover I was out of bed, she was also relieved that I had seemingly come back to life. No matter how acutely I hurt, I was on the mend.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN:

  NO DIPLOMAT

  ALERA

  I woke on my back with Narian’s arm draped across my waist, aware that we had slept later than usual. What
time was it? Late enough that the sun was fighting through the gaps in my drapes; late enough that someone was pounding on my parlor door.

  I jolted upright, startling Narian into wakefulness. He was on his feet before he had gotten his bearings, and he looked amusingly disoriented until he realized where he was, that he had overslept and that someone wanted to see me.

  He snatched up his weapons belt and flew to the window, giving me a nod before vanishing through the opening, crawling upward using the rope he’d left hanging. He would go over the roof and return to his own quarters to avoid being caught in mine. Once he had departed, I threw on a robe, then crossed the parlor, unsettled that whoever was in the corridor was still pounding. In my experience, unexpected visitors tended to herald trouble, and my thoughts immediately went to the investigation of Saadi’s death. I opened the door and my eyes fell on Cannan.

  “Get dressed, quickly,” he said with no overture. “We’re needed in the Central Courtyard.”

  Too alarmed to press him for an explanation, I hastily complied.

  We met Narian at the top of the Grand Staircase, and I exchanged a nervous glance with him during our descent to the first floor, for angry shouts once more penetrated the Bastion walls. The captain led us through the double oak doors and into the Central Courtyard, where a shockingly large crowd was gathered beyond the gates. We hurried down the white walk, my attention gradually shifting to a group of people standing on top of the courtyard wall—Rava and a dozen Cokyrian soldiers.

  Rava swaggered back and forth before the crowd, half of her soldiers threatening the people below with whips and drawn swords, warning against attempts to set up a ladder or otherwise try to reach them. But four women under Rava’s command stood still, each holding a cloaked and hooded charge in front of them.

  I covered my mouth in horror, not knowing what Rava was doing, but well aware of her propensity to be cruel. My eyes flashed to the guard towers at the corners of the courtyard wall, and my stomach lurched, for the ladders had been pulled into the towers. Rava turned her head as the people called out to me, her smile disquieting, for it was not friendly or welcoming. Then she was done with me, shifting her gaze to the citizenry.

  “Three nights ago saw the death of a Cokyrian soldier at Hytanican hands,” she proclaimed to grumblings among the crowd, a few gasps and a few unsympathetic shouts. “He was my brother and I have no doubt that he suffered greatly in passing. Those who should by rights answer for his murder have been too cowardly to come forward. They may never answer for their crime, but to my mind, a dog is a dog. I will show all of you miserable whelps what your brave and daring fellows accomplished.”

  “Rava,” Narian shouted. “Release those people and report to me at once.”

  “Not today, Commander,” she sneered. “When you fail to carry out your duties, they fall on me. When you are too weak to do what must be done, then the task becomes mine.”

  She turned from him to glower down at the crowd, and Narian left my side, heading back toward the Bastion. Swallowing the lump of fear in my throat, I watched as Rava stepped up to put a hand on the shoulder of the first bound Hytanican. The man jerked, and the crowd quieted, strained faces fixed as one on her.

  “Your religious book in this kingdom,” she proclaimed, “decrees ‘an eye for an eye.’” She let her words reverberate in the chill air, her hand gripping the cloak of her prey. “My brother will see no more.”

  She yanked off the man’s hood, and screams and shouts erupted from the audience. My stomach wrenched and Cannan grasped my arm to steady me, his jaw tight, for where the man’s eyes had been there were now bloody, gaping holes.

  Rava, enjoying the reaction she had elicited, strutted to the side of the second captive.

  “Your wise Bible says ‘a tooth for a tooth.’ My brother will never again savor food or conversation.”

  I knew what would come when she ripped back the hood of the second man, but could not stop myself from looking. To yet more shrieks, the man moaned, his empty mouth hanging open, thick red blood oozing from his gums.

  Desperately, I cast about, searching for Narian, wanting him to put an end to this by whatever means necessary. It wasn’t until Rava approached the third prisoner that I saw him drop down from the roof of the Bastion onto the courtyard wall where it met the building. While others struggled against Rava’s faithful servants in an effort to raise ladders, Narian was coming from behind.

  The third prisoner cringed when Rava laid a hand on his shoulder, and even from where I stood, I could see him trembling.

  “‘A hand for a hand,’ your church preaches. My brother will never hold sword nor flower again.” She pulled back this captive’s hood, then loosed the tie of the cloak about his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. Grabbing his wrists, she raised his arms to show red-stained bandages covering stumps where his hands had been, and I fought down a surge of vomit.

  “Most significantly,” Rava preached, with a smirk that sent a shiver through me, “your religion demands a life for a life. My brother’s life is over.”

  With a quick tug, Rava uncloaked the last captive, the smallest of the four, revealing not another man but a young woman. Now frantic, the crowd protested loudly, and I prayed Narian would hurry. But there was no way he could be fast enough—her people were loyal, hindering his approach, and he would not use his powers, whether they knew it or not. The last thing he wanted to be was like the Overlord.

  Rava stepped behind the girl, who was quivering and crying, and put her hands on either side of her victim’s head, preparing to snap her neck.

  “Rava,” Cannan abruptly called, stepping forward. “Let her go and I will tell you who is responsible for your brother’s death.”

  “You have already lied, claiming it was an accident. Why should I believe you now?” Her voice was a snarl, and she did not remove her hands from the quaking girl.

  “I know everything that involves my men. And I wanted to protect my son, but now I see that he will have to protect himself.”

  Narian was moving past the last Cokyrian soldier who stood between him and Rava—the loyalty of her underlings extended to getting in his way, but not to a clash of arms, for such an offense was punishable by death. I held my breath, praying Rava would be too distracted by Cannan to notice Narian’s approach.

  “So you will admit your son played a part in my brother’s death?”

  Before Cannan could answer, Narian drew his long, thin sword and extended it to touch the soft skin of Rava’s neck, and the girl crumpled to the stone of the walkway, sobbing. I was so relieved that I almost broke into sobs myself, and was thankful when Cannan supported me with an arm around my waist.

  On our side of the gate, within the courtyard, ladders were now being successfully placed, and other Cokyrians climbed up at Narian’s command, taking the offenders into custody and helping the Hytanicans to the ground.

  “Send for a doctor and find their families,” Narian ordered, then he fixed his steely eyes on Rava.

  Frighteningly nonchalant in the face of a sword at her throat, Rava said, “Is there a problem, Commander? I merely did what you couldn’t. We now know the truth about my brother’s death.” Her voice became low and menacing. “You should thank me.”

  “What we know is that Cannan will gamble his innocent son’s life to prevent the murder of others.”

  Removing his sword from her throat, Narian thrust her toward his soldiers.

 
“Take her,” he snarled, and they snatched her arms, securing them behind her back with shackles. “To the dungeon.”

  As his troops obeyed, Narian dropped his sword upon the stone wall, then walked along it to the gate, a number of gratified shouts greeting his actions. He jumped to the ground, landing on bended knee, too agitated to notice the startling support he was receiving from the Hytanicans. Without a word, he marched back into the Bastion, leaving me and the rest of our party to follow.

  * * *

  I gained respect for the Cokyrian officers in the Bastion when not one of them spoke up in Rava’s defense after she and her accomplices were thrown in the dungeon. Even they recognized the brutality of what she had done. This like-minded attitude was a great help to Narian as he went about the task of making amends with the Hytanican people, who seemed to be holding back their outrage as they waited to learn of Rava’s punishment. It was strange—Narian’s stand against one of his own had created an uneasy truce between him and the Hytanican people.

  The High Priestess had seized the royal treasures at the time of the takeover, granting Narian and me a certain sum of money to use in encouraging cooperation and lifting morale. To a large extent, this money was funding the upcoming festival, but we removed an additional sum to divide between the families Rava had wronged. Men with no hands and no eyes could not work, and a man with no teeth could not eat as he once had. It was our duty to comfort these people in the only way we could—with words and funds. I wrote condolences to each family, which were sent with the money in my name and Narian’s—Narian’s to help bridge the gap between Cokyrian and Hytanican, and mine to make sure the payments would not be rejected.

  Two of Narian’s officers were assigned to deliver the packages, and though they saw the necessity of taking this action, I was thankful when Cannan offered to accompany them. The people needed a show of unity in compassion and regret.