Queens (The Wielders of Arantha Book 2)

by Patrick Hodges

  Reluctant to be the brunt of Kalik's ire, Rahne kept his merych at the back of the line. When he finally emerged into the last remnants of the day's sunlight, he sighed in relief. He kicked Rokon into motion again, joining the others on top of a steep ridge overlooking a wide gully.

  Rahne gazed at the sun setting behind the mountains. It was a wondrous sight, bathing the western sky in an array of pinks and purples. For a few blissful moments, no one spoke. He'd witnessed many sunsets, of course, though they had always been backdrops for the rolling oceans off the Agrusian coast. The sight made him hark back to his childhood, and another wistful sigh escaped.

  “There it is,” Kalik said from his position three merychs down, pointing at a distant mountain that jutted well past its neighbors. “Our destination.”

  Rahne took in the contours of the distant peak, his befuddlement at their presence there reaching a new high. Unable to contain his curiosity, he asked, “Why are we going there?”

  It was an innocent question, and it became obvious from the looks he received from the Elzorath closest to him that he was the only one who hadn't been briefed on the particulars of their mission. This erased any lingering doubt he had about why he was there: it was a test.

  Kalik leveled a harsh glare at him. “According to Elzaria, there is a lake due east of that mountain,” he said. “There is something there that we must secure for Lord Elzor.”

  “I see,” Rahne replied, relieved to have gotten some information, vague as it was. “Did she also happen to envision a safe path through the mountains to reach this lake?”

  “She did. It's not an easy path to traverse, but we'll find it.”

  “How long do you think it will take for us to get there?”

  “Two days, possibly less if the merychs' strength holds out.” Kalik gestured to the dead thicket behind them. “You men, gather what firewood you can find. We'll set up camp here tonight.”

  * * *

  Since no one seemed willing to engage him in small talk, Rahne decided to eat his supper of salted meat and dried fruit away from the others, choosing a spot on the ground overlooking the now pitch-dark gully below. The carpet of lights that shone in the Above was even more wondrous a sight than the sunset, two natural marvels that he alone seemed to appreciate. He shook his head as his eyes returned to the panorama of lights, and again flashed back to his youth. Many a time had he fallen asleep on his father's boat, staring up at those lights.

  Ever since he was a small boy, Rahne had felt that there was something … extraordinary about himself. His father had always told him so. It wasn't until the age of twelve, however, that he realized just how ordinary his father was. He'd idolized the man, who always knew exactly where to cast his net depending on the time of year, the tide patterns, and the weather conditions. He'd brought back many heavy hauls when the other fishermen of Larth couldn't catch enough fish to fill the bottom of a barrel. But what his father possessed in angling skill was balanced out by a complete lack of modesty and a philandering nature. There wasn't a woman in Larth he hadn't propositioned at one time or another, and his almost supernatural charm with the ladies had gotten him in trouble more than a few times.

  Upon seeing the full scope of his father's lecherous ways, Rahne had given up any hope of finding his birth mother. All he'd been told was that someone had left him on his father's doorstep when he was little more than a newborn. He'd asked his father a thousand times, even combed Larth from one end to the other looking for a woman who bore a passing resemblance to him, but none of them claimed him as their own.

  Though they would often argue, Rahne never doubted that his father loved him. One of the last things he'd said before a tragic fall claimed his life was to not turn out like him, to escape the drudgery of a fisherman's life—not to mention Sekker's greedy machinations—and seek out a destiny far greater than he could provide.

  The only person in his life who had ever cared for him—dead. Not until he passed Elzor's audition did Rahne think this fantastical “destiny” would ever come for him. Now, however, as he stared up at the sky on a hilltop in the middle of nowhere, he realized he missed the life he'd so blithely left behind. He missed the smell of barkfish, freshly hauled from the sea. He missed the darchan games, and the carousing that went with them.

  Most of all, he missed his father.

  The sound of heavy footsteps disturbed his reverie. He looked up to see Calib standing over him, gesturing at the ground beside Rahne. “Mind if I sit?”

  Rahne gave a perfunctory nod, and Calib dropped to the ground next to him with a grunt.

  “Are you sure you should be talking to me?” Rahne asked. “No one's said more than two words to me all day. What did I do to offend Kalik's delicate sensibilities this time?”

  “Dunno,” he said, pulling his flask from his pocket, removing the top and taking a small sip. “I ain't askin' him, neither. Man's as prickly as they come.”

  Rahne eyed the fair-haired man, who he just noticed was considerably older than he'd first thought. Even in the half-light, the lines creasing Calib's face were noticeable. “Is he the one who gave you that?” Rahne pointed at Calib's neck, which bore a two-inch scar he also hadn't noticed before.

  Calib gave a throaty chortle, pointing a gloved hand at his neck. “What, this? Nah. Training accident. Dodged left when I shoulda dodged right. I was seventeen, and clumsy as a blind kova.” He harrumphed. “Sakes, that was a long time ago.”

  Rahne smirked. “How long have you been with Elzor?”

  “Two years, I think. Been through the fires with him, no lie.” Calib proffered his flask.

  Rahne took the flask, which he cautiously sipped from. “You want to tell me what we're walking—excuse me, riding headlong—into? Nobody wants to let me in on the secret.”

  A chuckle escape Calib's throat, and his voice lowered to a hushed whisper. “Can't help ya, kid. Whatever Lord Elzor told Kalik, Kalik ain't told us. I got me some ideas, though.”

  “Such as?”

  He jerked his head at the others, most of whom had drifted off to sleep on the ground. None of the ones still huddled around the campfire paid them any heed. “Twelve men, ridin' like the wind to a mountain in the middle o' blaggin' nowhere? If I didn't already know Lord Elzor held Kalik in such high regard, I'd swear we was bein' sent off to die. Since that ain't the case, there must be somethin' there 'sworth the effort.”

  “That makes sense, I guess. What else?”

  “Every man here is an experienced soldier, except you, o' course. I expect whatever it is we're lookin' for will be dangerous to acquire, or Elzor wouldn'a sent so many men. He must figure twelve is enough to overcome whatever stands between us and … whatever it is.”

  Rahne moved his eyes toward the distant mountain, now rendered invisible by the shroud of night. “Guess we'll find out.”

  “Ehhh,” Calib snorted. “S'probably nothin' more to worry about than a pack o' lyraxes.”

  Rahne had heard of these animals from various pelt merchants that occasionally passed through Larth. Large and vicious, they inhabited the mountainous regions of Elystra. Their fur was much coveted by the richer citizens of Agrus, as it was reputed to be the softest and most luxurious of any animal. He'd never seen one, having never traveled beyond the borders of Agrus before now, but what he'd heard did not make him anxious to do so. “Let's hope we're fortunate enough to avoid that fate.”

  “They only come out at night,” Calib continued, “and only in packs of three or four. We should be fine if we stick together.”

  Rahne met the older man's gaze. “Why are you telling me all this? What's in it for you?”

  All the joviality drained from Calib's face, replaced by a deadly seriousness. “Just watch yer back, Rahne. We're walkin' into the unknown, and I ain't sure I can watch it for ya.”

  Rahne nodded. “Thanks for the warning.”

  “Hrm,” Calib grunted. The cryptic smile returned, and he slapped Rahne playfully on the shoulder befo
re standing up. “C'mon, kid, let's grab some sleep. We ain't gonna do each other any good if we're dead on our feet tomorrow.” He proffered his hand, which Rahne took and felt himself hauled up.

  Rahne shook the dust from his tunic, cast one more glance at the sky, and followed Calib back to the campfire.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Kelia had let the celebration the night before go on for several hours, earning several sour looks when she'd ordered the last few revelers to retire for the night. Despite the joy of the ceremony and all it represented, there were many things to do the next day, and it wouldn't do for her people to be drowsy and listless should an attack come.

  Breathing in the cool air blowing through her bedroom window, she sat up in her bed. The grim reality of her own situation had settled over her mattress of lyrax pelts like a dark cloud as she'd tried in vain to sleep, both terrified of the recurring nightmare of her tribe's obliteration and the realization that she would have to use her Wielding to kill. That, plus the gentle whap-whap of the window shade against the wall made it impossible to relax.

  For eight centuries, they'd hidden from the world. No Ixtrayu had been forced to take an Elystran life since Soraya freed herself and the rest of her ancestors from the slavers. From the day she took over as Protectress, she'd wondered if such an event would transpire. No matter how many times she dismissed the notion, it had always remained in some dark corner of her mind.

  She was Protectress. The leader. Arantha's vessel. She had to set an example. She could not show weakness, not now. Not when so many questioned her leadership, her decision to uphold her mother's dying request. Not when death approached like a dark, destructive storm.

  Try as she might, though, she couldn't stop her thoughts from returning to Maeve. This extraordinary woman from the Above, who would risk her life to help the Ixtrayu. If, by Arantha's will, they emerged victorious, they would have Maeve to thank for it.

  Ever since her first vision of Maeve, Kelia had fantasized about her sister Wielder. Stirrings she'd not felt since her beloved Ilora's death had reemerged with the power of a sandstorm. For twelve years, she'd denied herself the pleasures of intimacy. Out of respect for her fallen lover, she'd refused to choose another companion from within the tribe.

  For twelve long years, she'd mourned Ilora, convinced herself she could never, would never pledge her heart to anyone else. But now, she'd fallen for another. A woman from the Above. A woman possessed of a warrior's spirit and a mother's heart. A woman guided to Kelia's side by Arantha herself.

  A woman so overwhelmed by discordant anger, she refused to embrace her destiny.

  Kelia buried her head in her hands.

  I am no better. If it is Arantha's will that the Ixtrayu die, then why do I fight against it? Our lives belong to her. They have always belonged to her. She will welcome us into her arms when we journey to the Great Veil, just as she has welcomed every Ixtrayu. So why can I not accept it? Why am I so desperate to live that I'm prepared to kill in our defense?

  Kelia shrugged her blanket off her body and rose, striding to her bedroom window. She moved the shade aside, peering out into the night. She felt the brisk breeze caress her face, saw the twinkling of lights in the Above and the lit torches along the path below. She heard the distant, gusting wind as it swept across the plateau, and the faint babble of the River Ix. Usually, she took comfort in the familiar. Tonight, it brought her none.

  A rustle from the doorway caught her attention, and she wondered if in her restlessness she'd woken Nyla or Liana. However, it was neither her daughter nor her aunt whose face poked through the kova-leather curtain. It was Maeve's.

  “May I come in?” the Terran woman asked, keeping her voice low.

  Kelia beckoned her inside. Though it was quite chilly outside, Maeve wore only her black pants and her tight gray top—the same clothes she'd seen Maeve exercising in. On her feet she wore not boots but the Ixtrayu moccasins Kelia had lent her.

  “Are you not cold?” Kelia asked as Maeve approached.

  “A little.”

  Kelia waved her hand, lighting four candles hanging from the ceiling in each corner of her room. Another wave, and the air within the room rose to a toasty warmness. “Can't sleep either?” she asked.

  Maeve shook her head, her purple hair flicking gently from side to side.

  “Would you like me to brew you some tea?”

  “It's not tea I need. It's answers.” Maeve took several steps forward, stopping in the center of the room. The candles flickered in their holders, casting strange shadows from every angle.

  Kelia turned from the window. “Answers to what?”

  Maeve's eyes found the floor. “When I first came to Elystra, I had a clear mission: find the energy source that turned out to be the Stone. I had no idea what I was going to do next, but everything that happened after that—the Wielding, meeting you, and now this whole 'cosmic chess game' bullshite—I feel like this whole farked-up universe is conspiring to drive me insane. I've tried to convince Davin that I've got it all under control, but the truth is I'm lying to both of us. I can't handle it anymore.”

  Kelia put her hands on Maeve's shoulders. Despite the warmth of the room, the Terran woman was trembling. “Arantha guides you. She watches over you. I've told you this over and over again. I thought you believed it. Yet still you doubt. You refuse to accept that it's your destiny. Why?”

  “Because it means I'm not in control. According to Richard, I'm a 'queen' in this goddamn game. If that's true … everything I've ever done, everything I will ever do has been predetermined. I'm a puppet on a string, doing a stupid little dance for someone else's amusement.

  “On my world, most of my race worship a godly being, but they also believe they have free will. That's how I was raised as well. Now, I find out free will is nothing but an illusion. Part of me wants to accept that, but the larger part of me just can't let go.”

  Kelia turned to face her. “Your husband obviously believed in something greater than himself. If he had not, you wouldn't be here now, helping us. And yet, you vilify him for his actions.”

  “I'm not mad at him because of his beliefs,” Maeve whispered, just loud enough to be heard. “I'm mad because of the secrets he kept. From me, from Davin, from everyone. He knew our world would be invaded. He knew I would come here, find the Stone, develop abilities,” she scoffed at this, “and he knew about this 'game' that the Eth are playing with … whoever sent the Jegg to destroy us. I'm mad because he didn't tell me about any of it.”

  She clenched her shaking hands into fists. “I was his wife! The one person he wasn't supposed to keep secrets from! He could have told me about all this, but no! He just threw me and his only son into the deep end without a clue what to do!” Her voice lowered to a tense whisper. “He should have told me …”

  Kelia kept her tone even. “And if he had told you? What would you have done about it?”

  Maeve's pupils dilated and her breath caught in her throat, coming out again in ragged pants. She cocked her head to one side, then the other, her eyes drifting aimlessly over every wall and surface of the room. Finally, a choked sob forced its way through. “I would have gone into hiding, joined a resistance, tried to find a way to fight back.”

  “Which is exactly what you did.”

  Tears coursed down Maeve's cheeks, and she squeezed her eyelids shut. “You're right.” Her head drooped and her shoulders sagged. “God, what a farking bitch I am,” she sobbed.

  Kelia drew her arms around Maeve, pulling her close. She felt Maeve return the embrace, her hands on the small of Kelia's back.

  Seconds passed. Through the thin material of her sleep-robe, Kelia felt the warmth of Maeve's body. A thrill coursed through her as Maeve's breath raised the tiny hairs on her neck.

  And then, just as quickly, Maeve dropped her hands to her sides and faced Kelia. “I need to ask you something important.”

  “Anything.”

  “Ever since we first Shared, I'
ve felt something. Inside me. I feel … drawn to you. Like a magnet. I've tried to deny it, to avoid dealing with it, but …” She trailed off.

  Kelia nodded. “What is your question?”

  “I know we're linked on some level because of the Stones,” Maeve whispered. “I just have to know … is that why I'm feeling this way? Would I be drawn to you so strongly if you hadn't Shared with me?” She looked away, and another tear dropped from her eye.

  Kelia cupped her friend's cheek. “Maeve, the Sharing allows two people to share their most vivid memories, but that's all it does. It allows the Sharers to see their lives through each other's eyes, and in that way, yes, it does create a bond. But it doesn't conjure feelings where none existed before.”

  “It doesn't?”

  “No. If two complete strangers were to Share, they would gain a better understanding of one another, but it wouldn't engender feelings of intimacy, camaraderie, or love. It's an exchange of images, of experiences. Nothing more.”

  “So these feelings are … mine?”

  Kelia cupped Maeve's other cheek with her other hand. Staring deeply into Maeve's sad, violet eyes, she said, “They are.” Kelia smiled her warmest, most contented smile, as the last of her own lingering doubts melted away. “And I share them.”

  Maeve nodded. “What do I do now?”

  “What do you want to do?” Kelia said, leaning forward.

  Maeve exhaled deeply, but did not respond.

  Kelia brushed an untamed lock of Maeve's purple hair behind her ear. “Do you desire me?”

  “It's not that simple.”

  “Do you desire me?” Kelia repeated, slightly louder.

  “What I desire doesn't matter,” Maeve quaked, words pouring out of her in a torrent. “I don't know what's going to happen. We may live through this game, we may not. I don't want to dishonor you, or myself, by starting something I can't finish. I don't –”