Queens (The Wielders of Arantha Book 2)

by Patrick Hodges

  And if that wasn't enough, she was gorgeous. Before the invasion, a girl with that face would have every boy in whatever school she attended following her, their jaws hanging open.

  They stood, unmoving, staring, sizing each other up.

  “Uh, hi,” he finally said, giving her a friendly wave.

  Davin was suddenly struck by the irony of the situation. He'd always considered himself to be confident; as a kid back on Earth, he'd had tons of friends, both boys and girls. He was the kind of person who could talk to, and get along with, anybody. Of course, when the Jegg invaded, he immediately went into hiding with his parents and the rest of the team. He'd been ten years of age when that happened. By the time he'd grown old enough to … appreciate girls, he was living in a hidden base far beneath the sands of the Sahara Desert. The only three females he knew, and would ever see over the next five years, were Suri Patel (who was married), Kacy Weatherby (who was nice and actually quite pretty despite being covered in grease most of the time, but seemed to find his early attempts at masculinity more amusing than impressive), and his mother.

  This girl was the first teenager he'd met since becoming one himself. A native girl from a planet on the opposite end of the galaxy.

  Time to make a good first impression.

  And … nothing.

  Then it hit him: this girl, if Kelia's story about the Sojourns was true, had never left her village. Which meant he was the first boy she had ever seen. Ever.

  And … still nothing.

  Stupid brain.

  “May I come in?” she asked, as if permission to enter a room in her village was his to give. At least she was polite.

  “Um, sure,” he said, beckoning her in.

  She took several steps forward, her eyes flicking between him and Nyla's sleeping form.

  “I'm Davin,” he said, wondering if she already knew.

  “I am Sarja,” she replied.

  Fighting down his rising nerves, he extended his hand to her. She stared at it for a few moments, then moved her eyes back to his face. “Oh, um, sorry,” he said. “On my world, we greet each other by shaking hands.”

  She nodded, then reached out her hand. He took it awkwardly, shook it gently, and smiled. “It's nice to meet you, Sarja,” he said.

  “It is agreeable to meet you as well, Davin.” She smiled, and he saw her shoulder muscles loosen.

  “I didn't think anyone was allowed to just come in here,” he said. “Except for Kelia and the Council. And Runa.”

  Her eyes widened. “You've talked to my mother?”

  “Runa's your…” He stared at Sarja, and instantly saw the resemblance. Runa had been the one to carry Maeve's body to the cave where the Ixtrayu Stone lay, as he'd lacked the strength to do it himself. “Well, we haven't 'talked' so much. She was there when we arrived.” He smiled. “She might just be the strongest lady I've ever met. And the tallest.”

  She tilted her head at him again. “They don't have tall people in The Above?”

  “Oh, yes,” he said. “I even heard of one world where the inhabitants grow to fifteen feet high, but I have no idea if it's true or not.”

  “That's … interesting,” she said.

  As if she'd run out of words, she turned away and sat down on the ground next to Nyla, clasping the comatose girl's hand.

  He cast a glance at his mother, who hadn't moved, before sitting down against the wall next to Nyla's bed. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

  “I don't mind,” she said, not looking up. “Have you been in here since your mother was healed?”

  “Pretty much. Kelia said it would be best that I stay in this room for now.” He shot another glance at his mother. “It's not like I would leave even if I could. Not until my mom has recovered.”

  Sarja looked over her shoulder. “How's she doing?”

  “She's getting better. The healers think she'll be able to walk out of here in a day or two.”

  She smiled. “That is good. Many of my sisters can't wait to meet her.”

  “I'm sure.”

  “I was in this room when you … um … arrived. I've been coming here every moment I can since,” she nodded her head at Nyla, “this happened.”

  “What happened to her?”

  She sighed and met his gaze. “When the Protectress came back from the mountains, things were out of control. Councilor Susarra had sent Vaxi on Sojourn behind Kelia's back, and the entire tribe was angry because no daughter has been born here since Nyla.”

  He nodded. He'd heard a similar story from Kelia. He had no idea who Vaxi was.

  “Ny's been practicing her Wielding so hard lately,” Sarja continued. “She just wanted to help. She thought by touching the Stone, Arantha might reveal things to her that she wasn't revealing to the Protectress. But this is what happened.” He heard a choked sob beneath her words.

  His eyes narrowed as Sarja turned back to Nyla, moving several strands of hair away from the girl's face. “I'm sorry,” he said.

  “Why?” she asked, again not looking up.

  The question threw him off guard. He was about to respond when he realized that though she looked human, she technically wasn't. He had yet to hear of anything that humans and Elystrans didn't have in common, emotionally anyway, but he was the alien in this scenario.

  “I just am,” he said. “It sucks when bad things happen to good people.”

  She nodded.

  He remembered the moment he and his mother discovered they could understand the native language thanks to the telepathic-link-thingy that Kelia had formed with Maeve and, to a lesser extent, with him. He briefly wondered if the word “sucks” had an Elystran translation, but since she didn't return his statement with a quizzical look, he figured it must.

  “So, are you two best friends or something?”

  “Our whole lives,” she said with a gentle smile. “She became my Promised only two days ago.”

  “Your what?”

  “My Promised. It's a tradition we created. It means that we promise to choose each other as companions someday.”

  His eyebrows went up. “Companions? You mean, like … partners?”

  “Yes.”

  “As in, 'in love' partners?”

  “Yes.”

  Davin exhaled, and his mind flashed back to a few days ago when he and his mother had exited the ship only to find a naked Kelia bathing herself in the mountain lake next to where they had landed. Rather than cry out or cover herself up, she'd just stood there, letting them ogle her.

  Wow, the women in this tribe aren't exactly shy, are they?

  What a great start I'm off to.

  Realizing he was staring, he quickly moved his eyes to his shoes. “I'm sure she'll be okay.”

  “If Arantha wills it.”

  “May I ask you a question?” Davin asked, leaning forward.

  “Go ahead.”

  “What are people saying out there? I mean, have things settled down at all?”

  An almost comical look crossed her face. “Beings from the Above are visiting our village. One of them is male.”

  He smirked. “I'll take that as a 'no'. Do you have any idea what's going to happen to us?”

  “I do not,” she said, lovingly laying Nyla's hand across her stomach before standing. Davin stood as well. “But Kelia has informed us that you are our friends, and we are to treat you as such.”

  “Good to know.”

  Runa's imposing frame appeared in the doorway, blocking out most of the external light. “Duma? It's time for your tracking lesson.” Her eyes met Davin's, and she smiled. “Good morning, Davin.”

  “Hey,” he said, staring up at her. Damn, she's tall. Wonder if I'll ever get used to that.

  “Coming, mama.” Turning to Davin, she added, “I'll be back later. Maybe we can talk again?”

  She smiled, and Davin's heart raced at the sight.

  Calm down, Davin. This girl is off the market.

  “I'd like that. It's been a long time s
ince … since I've had someone my age to talk to.” He caught Runa's frown and wondered if he'd just screwed up royally. “Um, with your mother's permission, of course.”

  Runa gestured in the other direction, and Sarja walked past her. “I will think about it.”

  She turned to leave, but Davin halted her. “Oh, one more thing?”

  “Yes?” Runa said, clearly impatient to get on with her day.

  “Is there any chance I could leave this room long enough for a bath or something? I'm pretty sure I smell worse than a chava.” He gave his most disarming grin.

  Finally, her face loosened, and a slight smile appeared. “I'll see if I can arrange a few minutes for you to be escorted to the cistern. It probably won't be for a while.” Then she left.

  Through the doorway, he watched her depart. In the next room, Sershi did the same, then gave him a polite nod. “Do you need anything else?” the healer asked.

  He shook his head and resumed his seat next to his mother.

  He was surprised to realize his heart was still racing.

  Said heart nearly stopped when an unexpected “Dav?” jolted him out of his hormone-fueled daze.

  “Mom!” he cried. Her eyes were open, and staring intently at him. He wondered if she'd heard any—or all—of his conversation with Sarja. “How are you feeling?”

  “Much better, thanks,” she said, holding out a hand for him to grasp before hauling her into a sitting position. “How are you doing?”

  He grinned. “Well, as the only boy in a five-hundred-mile radius, I guess I can't complain. Our hosts have been nice enough, though I can't say much for the view.” He gestured to the windowless room they now occupied. “You need some water? Food?”

  “No, kiddo, what I need to do is talk to Kelia and the Council. I've had my rest, and what I have to say can't wait any longer.”

  He leaned back slightly, furrowing his brow. “Is this that horribly important thing you mentioned right after they revived you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The same thing that made you wig out and run screaming out of the ship? Before you got bit by that snake?”

  Her violet eyes became hooded, and she stared at her lap. “Yeah, Dav, it is.”

  “It's that bad?” he asked, his breath hitching.

  She nodded ominously. “There isn't a level of 'bad' in the English language to describe just how farking bad this is.”

  He gulped. “Shite.”

  She reached out with both hands this time. “Come on, kiddo, help me up.”

  Chapter Five

  Elzor glared down with revulsion at the sweaty mound of jelly quivering before him. He recognized the man's garb as that of a lawgiver, and from his size and complexion, Elzor deduced that he spent most of his leisure time eating.

  He didn't know much about the small fishing village of Larth, other than that it was the last bastion of civilization to be found before reaching the southern border of Agrus. It was a welcome sight to him, not because of its splendor, for it certainly had none of that, but because it meant he would soon be leaving this accursed country behind.

  He and the now eleven-hundred-strong Elzorath had departed the Castle Tynal two days before. Elzaria's vision had given them much more precise locations for the two mystical Stones he sought. By moving south along the coast, he and his men were able to put some extra distance between themselves and the armies of his enemies, who were surely amassing to move against him at that moment. From this point, they would turn east until the verdant fields and tall nipa trees gave way to the sands of the Praskian Desert.

  “M-M-My Lord,” the fat man stuttered, bowing at the waist as far as he could. “Forgive me, I-I-I wasn't expecting you–”

  Elzor held his hand up, cutting short the lawgiver's gibbering. “My men and I are passing through. We will be making camp here before we move out in the morning.”

  “O-of course, My Lord.” He bowed again. “Wh-whatever you need, My Lord.”

  Elzor turned to a large bearded man standing at attention behind him. “Langon, see to it.”

  General Langon bowed his head. “Yes, my liege.” He immediately strode off, barking orders at the procession of merychs to set up their camp.

  Turning back to the obese man, Elzor pointed at the well. “Is the water in there fresh?”

  “Y-Yes, My Lord.”

  “Good. Here is what I–” He paused, his eyes flicking over to the young man shackled to the field's one and only tree. Their gaze held for a moment, and Elzor's eyebrows arched. “Would you care to explain this …” He looked expectantly at the lawgiver.

  “S-Sekker, My Lord,” the man said, picking up the cue. “I-I am the duly appointed High Magistrate for all of southern Agrus.”

  Elzor didn't respond, merely using his head to gesture in the boy's direction.

  Sekker swallowed hard. “He-he's nobody, My Lord. Just a common thief. I have taken personal responsibility for supervising his punishment.”

  Elzor ambled toward the shackled youth, expecting to see fear in the young man's face. Instead he saw only anger, an emotion with which he was all too familiar. He thought briefly of his own youth, and how he'd focused his own anger into fulfilling his towering ambitions. Just look how far he'd come.

  He gestured Sekker over, glaring at him. “How long has he been chained up like this?”

  “Since last night, My Lord. I sentenced him to three days' punishment for stealing a boat that did not belong to him.”

  The boy rattled his shackles in obvious rage, and Elzor saw that the look of hatred on his face was not directed at Elzor, but at Sekker.

  How interesting.

  “Is this true?” he asked the boy.

  “That boat was mine!” he yelled, practically spitting at Sekker. “You stole it from me, you fat pile of merych dung!”

  In the face of the boy's accusation, Sekker found his full voice again. “Pay no heed to his lies, My Lord!”

  Elzor shot steely glares at both men, silencing them. “What is your name, boy?” he snapped.

  “Rahne.”

  There was a time, not so long ago, when Elzor possessed the same contempt for authority that Rahne did. Since the day he and his sister freed themselves from the Mogran mining camp as children, he vowed to rid the world of men like Sekker, jumped-up little money-grubbers given a position of power they neither earned nor deserved. “Tell me what happened, Rahne.”

  Sekker padded up to him. “My Lord –”

  Elzor jabbed a finger in his direction. “You,” he spat, halting Sekker in his tracks, “do not speak unless addressed. Forget your place again, and I will be forced to remind you.” He cast a glance at Elzaria standing nearby. At his visual cue, his sister strode forward. She smiled at Sekker, whose face turned pasty white as a tiny, crackling ball of blue energy sparked around her fingertips. To Rahne he said, “Go on.”

  Within ten seconds of hearing Rahne's story, Elzor grabbed Sekker by the front of his baggy tunic, sending daggers of fury his way. “Is what he says true?”

  The rotund man looked like he was about to soil himself. “H-h-he broke the law, My Lord. And as I am the dispenser of law in this town–”

  “Is … it … true?” He brought his face close to the quaking man, who could only nod. With a disgusted snarl, Elzor shoved the man away. “Unlock him. Now,” he commanded.

  Sekker didn't argue. He produced a key from his pocket and released Rahne from his manacles.

  Once freed, Rahne clambered stiffly to his feet, rubbing his sore, reddened wrists. “Thank you,” he said, catching Elzor's gaze. “Um, My Lord.”

  Normally, Elzor would have become irate at this rather casual acknowledgment of his title, but on this occasion, he just laughed. To Sekker he said, “You will see to it that this young man gets his boat back. Is that clear?”

  “Y-y-yes, My Lord,” he stammered, staring at the ground.

  “A fat lot of good that'll do,” Rahne grumbled.

  “Watch your tong
ue, boy,” Elzaria hissed, “or the punishment you've just endured will pale by comparison to what will happen to you next.”

  Elzor raised his hand, gesturing for Elzaria to calm herself, but he reinforced her threat. “Let me be clear on one thing, boy: I care nothing for you, your life, or your petty squabble with this man,” he indicated Sekker. “If you want to come out of this without a sword through your gut, you'll speak to me with respect, starting now.”

  Rahne dropped his hands to his sides, faced Elzor, and bowed his head. “I'm sorry, My Lord. It won't happen again.”

  Elzor nodded. “That's better. Now, explain yourself.”

  Rahne gestured at Elzor's army, who had begun setting up their camps for the night. Some erected tents, others watered the merychs, and the rest gathered wood from the line of thick trees down the road for campfires. “From the looks of things, My Lord, you've brought your entire army to Larth. I can only take that to mean you're leaving Agrus.” He pointed at Sekker. “If this braga were to obey you and give me my boat back, I promise, the moment your merychs disappear from sight, he'll just turn around and take it away again. He has the constabulary in his pocket, and I have no one. No mother, no father, no family at all. And even if he didn't, with the taxes this man's raised, everything I earn would go right into his coffers anyway.”

  Sekker, suddenly animated, strode forward until he was chest-to-chest with Rahne. “You are a peasant, boy. If you were meant for a greater purpose, you would've been born into it. Such is the way of things.”

  A triumphant smile broke out on Rahne's face as he turned to Elzor. “What was it you called Lord Elzor a few minutes ago? A pernicious whelp?”

  The blood drained from Sekker's porcine face.

  Elzor's hands clenched and unclenched, and his teeth gnashed together. “What?” It came out as a guttural whisper.

  “Oh, yes, that's what he said,” Rahne continued, still grinning. “And did you also know that Sekker here is a cousin to King Morix?”

  At this, Sekker took a ham-fisted swing at Rahne who quickly ducked underneath it and drove his own fist into the magistrate's ample gut. Sekker staggered back and doubled over, but stayed on his feet.