Aridor spoke next, relaying everything they'd learned about Elzor and his origins as well as the recent summit that ended with Viceroy Callis' ignominious withdrawal, and the dissolution of the treaty between Barju and all the other kingdoms of Elystra.
Finally, Mizar, his voice heavy with fatigue and worry, explained the troubling events he was party to, from his initial vision of destruction to his timely rescue of Vaxi to Merdeen's final prophecy.
The sun had almost set when Maeve touched the small black device attached to her arm. “Dav?”
“I'm here,” came a sleepy voice.
She sighed. “Did you seriously sleep through that proximity warning?”
A brief pause, then, “I was tired.”
Maeve rolled her eyes. “Are our guests still with you?”
“Yeah.”
“Bring 'em out. It's time.”
Another pause. “Be right there.”
Maeve tapped the square again, and it fell silent.
“That was your son?” Aridor inquired.
Maeve gave a nod and a wry smile. “Get ready for a surprise.”
Aridor laughed uneasily. “Another one? I'm not sure how much more my mind can take today.”
All eight of them watched as a metal ramp lowered from the Talon's side with a strange whirr. The end no sooner touched the ground than a pair of legs appeared, descending the ramp. A boy with a shock of long red hair emerged, striding purposefully toward Maeve. He stopped, his eyes widening when he saw her, Mizar, and Aridor.
“Hello,” he said with a faint hint of his mother's accent.
Maeve took a moment to introduce Davin to Vaxi, Sen, and Mizar. By the time she got to Aridor, she noticed the King's attention had strayed. His eyes lit up at the sight of the next man to disembark the ship. The man, fair-haired with a jagged scar on his neck, also brightened as he noticed Aridor.
“Rabin?” the King said, striding forward and grasping the man by his arms. “Great Arantha, it's really you! I thought you were dead!”
Rabin's face crinkled. “A thousand apologies, my King,” he said, staring shamefacedly at the ground. “I … I tried to inform you of my situation, but things flared out of control so quickly that I …” He took a deep breath. “Please forgive me.” Rabin's shoulders slouched, his posture resembling that of a condemned man.
“There's nothing to forgive,” Aridor said with sincerity. “If only I'd given more weight to your reports about Callis, maybe much of this calamity could have been avoided.” He grasped Rabin's arms, pulling him upright. “I'm just grateful that you're alive, old friend.”
As Vaxi watched, the light returned to Rabin's eyes. “Thank you, my King.”
“And,” Aridor gestured at Maeve, “it would seem you were instrumental in keeping the third Stone out of Elzor's clutches. Elystra may be forever in your debt for that.”
“You are too kind, my King,” Rabin said. “However, it wasn't just my actions that won the day.” He indicated another man standing at the foot of the ramp. “This is Rahne. Without his help, we would not have been able to overcome Elzor's men in the mountains.”
“It's true,” Davin said. “We owe him our lives.”
“Your Highness,” Rahne said with a polite bow. “It is an honor. Though my father had a rather … salty opinion of Agrus' rulers, he had naught but praise for you. He often expressed a desire to emigrate to Darad, but …” He gave a resigned shrug. “Such are the fantasies of poor men, especially when awash in manza cider.”
Aridor laughed. “Your father sounds like the kind of man that kingdoms are built upon. Does he await your return home?”
Rahne cast his eyes to the ground, shifting uncomfortably, then shook his head. “He journeyed to the Great Veil six days ago.”
“Oh, man,” Davin said, looking upon Rahne with sympathetic eyes. “I'm sorry, Rahne.”
“It was so stupid. He was descending that long flight of steps leading down to the docks, and he just … slipped. Broke his neck. He'd been up and down those stairs thousands of times, but …” He let out a heavy breath.
“I am saddened by your loss, Rahne,” Mizar said, encouraging a round of nods. “What was your father's name?”
Rahne met his gaze. “His name was Seelan.”
A gasp from behind Vaxi caused everyone in the circle to turn around. She saw Liana, eyes wide and with a hand clamped over her mouth. She stared intently at the young Agrusian, her breath quickening.
“Ama?” Nyla said, rushing over to her and placing a hand on Liana's arm. “Ama? Are you all right?”
Liana walked towards Rahne, brushing off Nyla's hand. Rahne, puzzled, stood his ground as the old woman approached with a somber gait.
Stopping only two paces away, Liana finally found her voice again. “Would I be right in guessing you to be nineteen years of age?”
Rahne's brows knitted. “Yes. In just a few days.”
She nodded, almost imperceptibly. “Are you from Larth, in southern Agrus?”
His jaw fell open. “How did you know that?”
Liana didn't respond. She took another step, reaching out a wrinkled hand to gently caress Rahne's cheek. He didn't flinch or pull back, continuing to stare at the Councilor as she lovingly cupped his face.
“Ama?” Nyla said again.
“Liana?” Eloni asked, also with concern. “What is it?”
Liana seemed not to be listening. She retracted her hand, and a faint smile appeared on her careworn face. “You have her eyes.”
Rahne's brow furrowed in puzzlement. “What are you …?”
She turned away, gesturing to Nyla with a sigh of contentment. “Nyla … come and meet your brother.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Sen had watched Mizar's happy introduction to Nyla with keen interest. Though his master had hidden it well, he knew Mizar's anticipation at meeting his Ixtrayu relatives beat powerfully within his chest. Ever since that fateful moment at Deegan's house when Vaxi laid bare the truth behind Mizar's—and Sen's—true origins, Sen now knew, despite his initial fears, that making the journey to this distant plateau was necessary, for both their sakes.
It should not have surprised Sen as much as it did when Rahne was revealed as Kelia's son; after all, there were probably as many sons of Ixtrayu mothers littered all over Agrus as there were in Darad. Boys—men—just like him, who had been returned to their fathers with no memory of the woman who carried them in her womb. Some of them, with innate Wielding abilities that they would never realize.
He lowered his head and closed his eyes, breathing a silent prayer to Arantha. All their paths: his, Mizar's, Rahne's, Maeve's, the Ixtrayu's … it had all led them here, to this place, at this moment in time. He felt his faith swell inside him. Only a god could have done this. Only Arantha could have brought together all these extraordinary people under such fantastical circumstances.
What Maeve had said about the “game” being played between godly beings barely registered with Sen. He always considered himself to be of keen intellect; his ability to learn and develop and grow as a healer was proof of that. However, the notion that he, that all of them, were merely pieces in a contest between immortal beings … he couldn't wrap his mind around that, no matter how hard he tried.
Best I just accept it. Whatever role I have to play in the outcome of this game will reveal itself in time.
Sen was so lost in his own thoughts that he barely heard Vaxi's request that they be excused from the rest of the discussion. The power players, especially King Aridor, Mizar, Maeve, and even Nyla, would decide what happened next. A plan would be formulated that involved moving all the other “pieces” on the board. Armies would clash, Wielders would Wield, and many men would die. Hopefully, Elzor and his sister would be defeated, the game would be won, and those who survived would figure out how to get on with their lives. As an eighteen-year-old healer, though, he had little to offer to a war council, so it was with a sense of relief that he turned and left the gathering, hi
s hand firmly locked within Vaxi's. Relief, and a growing sense of fear that clutched his heart with icy fingers.
The moment he'd both prayed for and dreaded his whole life had arrived.
Vaxi, sensing the tension that stiffened every muscle in his body, stopped them halfway up the stone ramp. “Sen?”
He turned to face her, trying to keep his heart from leaping out of his chest. He focused on Vaxi's lovely face, her soulful brown eyes, and felt his anxiety recede.
A spike of courage shot through him. He leaned forward to plant a kiss on her lips. She did not resist, returning the kiss with a tenderness he'd grown to love. Despite possessing a physical strength far superior to his and a warrior's spirit that contrasted so sharply with his solitary, studious life, it was their similarities that had brought them together.
He knew, in that moment, that he would love this girl—this huntress—for the rest of his life.
His face inches from hers as they broke the kiss, he whispered, “I will cherish, now and forever, the day Arantha brought you into my life. I am honored to call you my friend.”
“As am I,” she whispered back.
There was so much more he wanted to say, but all the words coalesced into a ball and retreated into his stomach. There, they would continue to writhe and squirm until he finally got the nerve to speak them.
“Are you ready?” Vaxi asked, turning away.
He followed her gaze up the ramp. “No,” he confessed, “but I've come too far to turn back now.”
She nodded, and they resumed their fateful stroll.
Sen couldn't help but be awestruck at the sight of the Ixtrayu village as it spread out before his eyes. Dozens of dwellings sat on both sides of the river on multiple levels, carved right into the very rock of the Plateau, interconnected by a series of stone staircases and ramps. Further down, he spied what looked like a communal gathering area. The faint smell of cooking meat wafted past his nostrils.
Trying to regain his focus, he followed Vaxi across a sturdy wooden bridge, one of several that spanned the river down the length of the Plateau. After reaching the other side, they turned right, and she led him past a row of ground-level homes. She stopped in front of one in particular, casting haunted eyes through the doorway, which was partly covered by a long, wide strip of leathery cloth.
“Vaxi?” he asked, alarmed at her sudden change of mood.
“This was … is … my home.” Her voice faltered as she stepped through the door.
Sen followed her into the dwelling. The room looked unremarkable upon first sight. A small fire-pit sat at the center of the room. Other than a few wooden shelves affixed to the walls and several wooden chairs, the room was bare. Two doorways led to what Sen assumed were bedrooms.
His face creased in painful understanding at her sudden bout of melancholy. This was where Vaxi had spent her childhood and adolescence, being tormented by her grandmother. A shudder passed through her muscular frame, as if the ghosts of her mother and grandmother had enshrouded her soul.
He shuddered as well. He imagined that if he were suddenly, magically transported back to the threshold of his father's house in Thelwyn province, he would feel the same trepidation.
Sen wanted to reach out, to comfort her, to remind her that Susarra was dead and could no longer hurt her, but something stopped him. It took him many years to put his childhood behind him, to purge the demons that nipped at his heels in his nightmares, demons all bearing his father's face. Thanks to Arantha, he'd escaped that life, and now served his king, his master, and his country in ways few ever had.
Back in Thage, Vaxi had decried her grandmother's actions, and her own failure to stand up for herself. In the brief time she spent beyond her grandmother's reach, she'd shed her fear. She would never allow her grandmother to dominate her again. However, returning home to find the source of all her pain and frustration dead seemed to have drained some of her resolve. Her desire to declare her independence, finally and publicly, would remain forever unfulfilled.
He averted his gaze, admiring the beauty of the village, as he allowed Vaxi to have her private moment. After several seconds, she exhaled, squared her shoulders, and faced him again.
“Come,” she said, beckoning him forward. “It's not far now.”
They walked in silence about twenty more paces and entered a room with a larger doorway than most of the homes.
A mixture of pleasant smells met them as they entered. Along the far wall, several kettles hung from hooks descending from the ceiling, dangling over tiny fires set in circular dishes. He took a deep whiff, trying to identify the bouquet of aromas. One kettle emitted an earthy fragrance, another smelled faintly of dirt. He also detected a third, fruity scent.
He'd visited several apothecaries in Dar, and had developed a deep admiration for those who mastered the art of herbal medicine, but this place … it smelled like—felt like—
Home.
“Vaxi?” came a voice from the other side of the room. A tall, slender girl, several years older than he, rushed forward and embraced Vaxi. “It's true! You have returned! Thank Arantha!”
After disengaging herself, the girl immediately began a cursory examination of Vaxi's face and body. The girl's manner reminded Sen of Alvus, the court physician, who often had the same look as he inspected his patients for symptoms or injuries.
“Are you well?” the girl said. “When I heard you left, I was so worried—”
“I am fine, Sershi,” Vaxi said. “I have a great deal to tell you, and the rest of the tribe, but that will have to wait. Is your mother here?”
Sershi's eyebrows raised as she looked at Sen for the first time, her head slightly atilt. He could sense the question on her lips, but she did not ask it. Instead, she replied, “Yes, she is. We've both been rather busy since the attack.” She exchanged sad glances with Vaxi.
“I understand,” Vaxi said.
“Mother?” Sershi called. Within moments, another woman appeared in the doorway to an inner room.
There she was.
He'd pictured his mother in his mind ever since he was a small boy. His thin frame, so unlike that of his father's, led him to believe that she was of slim build, and he was right. But his physique was not the only thing he'd inherited from her. They had the same oval-shaped face, high cheekbones, deep blue eyes, and dark hair.
She looked exhausted, a tiredness Sen knew all too well. She'd probably been using her healing powers non-stop since the attack. He knew from experience that prolonged Wielding took its toll on the body, especially if one didn't sleep and replenish their strength.
“Vaxi? Great Arantha!” Lyala said, stepping forward and embracing the young huntress. “I am so pleased to see you! I feared you'd never return!”
Vaxi stepped back, placing her hands on the shoulders of both Lyala and Sershi. “I am alive, thanks to some remarkable people,” she said, shooting Sen a coy glance before stepping back. “Lyala, Sershi, this is my friend Sen.”
Sen opened his mouth to speak, but he felt his throat constrict under his long-lost mother's scrutiny. The part of his brain that still worked wondered if she would recognize him.
Just like Liana a few minutes earlier, he watched as Lyala's eyes widened, and her jaw went slack. She closed the gap between them in a heartbeat, placing her hands on his cheeks and pulling his face close to her own. He felt his lip tremble as she gazed deep into his eyes.
Her breathing quickened. Her forehead wrinkled. And then it dawned on her. Recognition.
“Mother?” Sershi said, breaking the silence.
Lyala's hands slid from Sen's head down to his shoulders, then his chest, as the blood drained from her face. A tear snaked down her cheek, and the word he'd longed to hear escaped her lips. “Boy?”
He couldn't speak, try as he might. He grasped her hands in his own and nodded.
Her face scrunched up. A choked sob accompanied two more tears. She backed up, swaying on wobbly legs. He wondered if she was going to fai
nt.
Thankfully, both Vaxi and Sershi stepped forward to steady her. Lyala still hadn't taken her eyes from his face. Just barely loud enough for him to hear, she croaked, “My son.”
Sershi heard it too. Her eyes doubled in size as she, too, took in the sight of her brother. Her face froze as she clutched onto her mother.
A host of emotions vied for supremacy within Sen. Anger, resentment, bitterness, and abandonment led the charge, threatening to erupt, to demand an explanation for the hell that had been his childhood. He'd spent years nursing that anger for a faceless woman who left a helpless baby in the hands of a man who would never treat him with anything but contempt.
But the woman had a face now. A sad, wise, beautiful face. A face he could never hate. Never.
“It's me, mother,” he said, a tear escaping his own eye.
Lyala threw herself at Sen, burying her face in his shoulder. Her tears did not, would not stop, but somehow, he knew they had changed. They were not tears of guilt, or of shame, but of joy. Happiness spread to every corner of his being as he wrapped his arms around her.
“Forgive me,” her muffled voice came. “Please forgive me, my beautiful boy.”
He tightened his grip, holding her close. He realized this was a moment his mother craved as much as he. The rules of her society had demanded she give him up, but Arantha had brought them together again. That was all that mattered.
“I forgive you, mother,” he rasped, his tears now flowing unabated.
He looked up just in time to see Sershi join their group embrace. He folded an arm around his older sister, felt her curl hers around his waist, felt her head press into his other shoulder.
Family.
I have … a family.
Chapter Forty-Six
Nyla watched as King Aridor, along with Rabin, disappeared over the hill toward where the king's men were camped. Mizar and Rahne stayed behind, as did Liana. It was so hard to believe that, in the space of an hour, Nyla had been introduced to two men who shared her and her mother's blood, two men from opposite ends of the continent. Not for the first time, she wished her mother was here to share in this moment.
Queens (The Wielders of Arantha Book 2) Page 40