Giahem's Talons

by Katharine Wibell

  Selene sighed before continuing. “By then, what was I to do but carry on? I could not have released him. What would have happened if Varren realized what I had done? I would have been imprisoned or worse. And what of my brother? He would have been disgraced, ruined. He could not return home. Not to our father, who wanted him dead.”

  When Selene’s sensual gaze looked up again, Lluava almost thought she saw the woman blinking back tears. “And I did have a true affection toward Varren. You must believe that.”

  “But you did not love him.” Lluava’s voice hardened like cold granite. “You would never have done that to him if it was real love.”

  “I was never blessed with the knowledge of love, other than that of my own brother,” admitted Selene. “Perhaps my affections toward Varren were not as pure as yours, but I did need him. I really did. He would have provided Luka and me the security that we could never have received otherwise. And I would have done right by our race if I sat as queen on the throne.”

  Slowly, Selene resumed her prior position on the chaise as Lluava took a seat across from her. “If I had known about the high priestess and what was to come, I would not have clung so hard to keep Varren to myself. If I had known that the security I had been looking for would be attained by other means, I would have never approached the king. If I had been as brave on my own as you are, I would have withstood the pressure of the Guardians and what they made me do. That is the solemn truth.”

  Lluava was not sure how to react. Selene claimed she had only acted as she had in order to survive; she had done the best she could to take care of herself and her brother. Could she actually be less villainous than Lluava thought?

  “If this is the case, what about Apex?”

  Selene’s eyes seemed to flash with an inner ferocity. “What of him? Well, I’ll tell you. I realized that with everything that has occurred, I do need a strong figure by my side. And as the rites of our rekindled culture dictate, the female chooses her mate. I should not have taken Varren away from you; I know this now. So, I have chosen Apex. He is everything I need in a man.” Suddenly her eyes grew wide. “Don’t tell me your affections have shifted to Apex. That would be so devastating for us and our future ability to work together.”

  “You have him under your spell. Release him, for he has the right to refuse your claim.”

  Lluava’s gaze seemed to be bound to Selene’s, unable to break free. Selene looked innocently at her and said, “I do not know what you are talking about.”

  The lie seemed to weigh the air down, and Lluava felt herself struggle for breath as she tried to move, speak, even blink. The oppressive silence caused her mind to spin into a panic. She felt trapped in her own body, unable to control anything but thought.

  Selene stood up, breaking eye contact. “Welcome back, Lluava,” she said. Her tone, although melodious, was laced with a subtle venom. As she let herself out of the room, Lluava instantly knew she could move once more.

  Still standing by the glass doors to the balcony, Aquila slowly turned to focus his gaze beyond the city walls, leaving Lluava to unravel all that had just occurred.

  ***

  Later, Luka came to show Aquila around the castle. When asked to come along, Lluava bowed out, claiming that she needed to get some fresh air. Actually, she wanted to lessen the chance of bumping into Maruny or Selene. Before long, she found herself outside Talos and Rosalyn’s lodgings. They welcomed her back quite happily.

  “How’s Derrick?” Lluava asked, after settling herself in the living area.

  Rosalyn replied, “It is strange. In all honesty, he should not have lived with the wounds he suffered, yet he still fights on.”

  “Have you given him all the Idun I sent you?”

  “Yes. Lluava, he was hemorrhaging so much internally, but that seemed to have stopped. His external afflictions are also showing signs of mending, but for now the healers are watching him closely. He is hovering between life and death. There is nothing the rest of us can do but wait and see.”

  “I hope he gets better soon,” said Lluava. “I have reason to believe that things are going to get worse for us.” She recounted to her friends last night’s strange episode with the high priestess. Absentmindedly munching on the biscuits Rosalyn set out, Lluava said, “I don’t know when Varren’s army will arrive, but right now Yena will not agree to ally herself with any human. And with this new threat, if these so-called monsters are released, I don’t think Varren’s men will have a chance of withstanding the Raiders without Theriomorph aid. I don’t know what to do.”

  Talos and Rosalyn solemnly looked at one another. Then Talos spoke in a hushed voice. “We have to tell you something.” He glanced over at Rosalyn, who nodded.

  “What?” Lluava asked, a little worried by her friend’s odd manner.

  “Ever since the Fall, as you call it, Rosalyn and I have been rallying supporters. Most of the Elysians who survived Yena’s purging are still faithful to the crown. There are even a few Outlanders so appalled over Cronus’s upheaval that we believe we could convince them to side with you.”

  “Me? Wait, hold on,” Lluava said. Rubbing the sides of her temples, she asked, “You have been rallying supporters for Varren this whole time?”

  “More like support for you,” Talos corrected. “There are many who want to see Varren back on the throne, but all want to follow you, for they believe you will lead our race out of these dark times. To them, you are Issaura, the savior.”

  “H…How many are with you? I mean, us.”

  “Well…” Turning toward each other, Talos and Rosalyn deliberated. Lluava could hear numbers like “ten from West End” and “the twelve from Broad Street.” Finally, Talos pronounced, “Fifteen hundred at least, and that’s not including whoever’s in Tartarus.”

  Now Lluava’s pulse began to quicken. “Are there humans alive?”

  “Did you think that the high priestess’s people slaughtered all of them? Those who begged for salvation were locked up in the dungeons. I am certain they will fight to have Elysia back.”

  Rosalyn spoke up in her soft, harmonious voice. “Talos and I have been very cautious about whom to approach and when. I have full faith that once a rebellion starts, more will rise up and join.”

  “I can’t believe this,” admitted Lluava. “The risks you both have been taking!”

  Talos smiled gently. “All worthwhile.”

  “There is more,” Rosalyn went on. “During the Fall, I needed to find a place to hide, as I was not sure what was happening, whether the Raiders had breached the capital. I could not risk being caught in my rooms.” Rosalyn crossed her arms over her belly. “I hid in the Burnt Wing, up in the tower. I found a trapdoor in the ceiling that led to another room, a vast one. Barricading myself in there, I shifted and flew up to the single, narrow window to peer out of it. The scene below was unimaginable. I was frightened and chose to stay in that room for a long while.” Her hands trembled as she held them protectively over her swelling belly. “It is in that secret place where we began to meet with your supporters.”

  “How do you get inside the castle if the former Elysians are not allowed within?”

  “Although we are not allowed to live inside those walls, we are permitted to come and go during daylight hours,” Rosalyn explained. “The high priestess wants to show her faith in the former citizens. Since that area of the castle is thought to be just ruins, we have been able to meet in peace. Not only that, Talos takes small groups there every few days to train them in combat skills.”

  Talos added, “You will need trained fighting men on your side when the time comes.”

  “Does Yamir know any of this?”

  “He knows enough to vouch that the clans will back anything you do,” acknowledged Talos. Running his fingers through his golden hair, he warned, “But, Lluava, he is against Varren taking back the kingdom.”

  “I know.”

  “Yamir has changed,” Talos pointed out grimly. “We all have. I
fear his change is not for the better. Whatever you choose to do, Lluava, be careful what you say around Yamir. Looking at it from a purely military perspective, you do not want to risk losing his support.”

  Lluava nodded and said, “I did worry that the clans would join Yena’s cause as soon as we arrived. Though I’m glad that was not the case, I wish I didn’t feel like I was using Yamir for my own ends.” Suddenly, she locked her jaw as emotions flooded through her.

  Talos, sensing some of this, said, “Nobody likes being manipulated, especially you. Sometimes one must become partly what they hate in order for the best outcome to manifest.”

  Lluava stood up and said, “Take me to the hidden room.”

  Talos smiled. “I expected you would say that. Unfortunately, I cannot take you there right now. As we told you before, every Elysian must take part in one of the mandatory educational sessions, and I am an educator. Rosalyn and I usually attend this next one. If we are both absent, it may seem suspicious. Let Rosalyn take you while I show up at the temple.”

  “Thank you, Talos,” acknowledged Lluava. “Rosalyn, when would you be ready to leave?”

  “As soon as I grab my shawl.”

  ***

  Through the heavy double doors and the foyer with rolled-up carpets went the pair, past the sheet-draped living space with its covered frames and furniture, and up, up, and up the cut stone spiral stairwell that clung to the perimeter of the tower.

  Halfway to the top, Lluava paused to peer down. The vast space still reeked of charred wood and cloth from the long-ago fire. This was as far as she had ever explored before being chased away by the Obsidian Guard for trespassing in the Burnt Wing.

  She spotted several grooves made by the throwing suns that were once aimed at her. The blades had been collected by their owner before the castle was abandoned. All the time and effort spent protecting this area had been for naught, since no Outlander cared about the quarters of Varren’s parents, where the young couple had met their end.

  “Come on.” Rosalyn’s voice trailed down from above.

  Keeping one hand in contact with the stone of the tower, Lluava climbed higher until she passed under a blackened frame where a door once must have stood. The room beyond was covered in a film of ash. Intricate smoke patterns now decorated the walls where tapestries once hung.

  Closing her eyes, Lluava envisioned the royal bedroom of the young parents. A large armoire would have been furnished, along with a pair of cushioned chairs. A magnificent four-poster bed would have been positioned so that those slumbering could awake with the rising of the sun outside the curtained, stained-glass window. Nearby, a crib would rock, close enough that the princess would have only to reach over the edge of the bed to check on her infant son.

  “Are you all right?”

  Lluava blinked, and the room was once more a blackened shell, akin to the inside of a fireplace. “Yes, I’m fine,” she lied as she looked up at the painted ceiling. The decorative design had mostly flecked off, leaving only fragments of color pockmarking the gray smudges. “Where’s the trapdoor?”

  Rosalyn shifted into her dual form. The swan flew up to the ceiling and, with a few mighty shoves, dislodged a segment of the pattern. Had Lluava not been shown where it was, she would never have discovered the door herself.

  As the beautiful waterfowl glided into the hidden room and disappeared, Lluava called after her, “How did you ever figure that out?”

  Something swung down. Lluava instinctively leaped backward. The knotted rope swung back and forth like the tail of an anxious housecat. As Lluava began hoisting herself up, Rosalyn shifted and replied, “The gods were in my favor. The door was not fully sealed, and I was able to fly up. There was no rope then.”

  “Do you think,” Lluava asked as she grabbed a higher knot, “that the Shadows…”—she inched up to the next handhold—“knew about this room?” Pausing, Lluava looked around the empty space below her. There was not a single piece of furniture upon which to climb. “Maybe that’s the real reason the Guard protected this place so carefully.”

  Seizing Rosalyn’s extended arm, Lluava clambered up into the secret chamber. Rosalyn admitted, “Possibly, though I am not sure what would be so special about this room.”

  Lluava recognized the answer to that immediately. “The Obsidian Guard had no knowledge of this place.”

  “How do you know that?” Rosalyn asked. Her voice quivered like a leveret’s with hounds on the prowl.

  “Because,” Lluava stated as she turned in a full circle, “this is the place where the Guardians used to meet.”

  They were standing on the outer edge of a circular room with only one window, narrow and tall, cut high up the wall. If the trap door were closed, the room would appear to have no doors. On the floor, a massive symbol had been painted, one that she had seen before. This was the room where she had met with the masked Guardians in secret.

  “What do you make of that?” Lluava gestured toward the image. Twelve rays emanated from a gigantic eye positioned in the dead center of the room. At the tip of each ray was a rune representing one of the twelve gods of the Theriomorph pantheon. “I don’t think Varren’s parents decorated their quarters with pagan imagery.”

  “We have no explanation,” Rosalyn admitted, “but the gods seem to be helping our cause.” She added worriedly, “There has been no sign of anyone else entering this place since I found it.”

  Realizing what must have happened, Lluava explained, “That’s because the Guardians have replaced the High Council. They no longer need to meet in secret.” Looking around once more, she added, “That’s possibly why the door was left ajar. When Yena’s people were overthrowing the Guard, whoever was hiding here probably hurried down to give aid.”

  “This would have provided the perfect cover,” Rosalyn said. “Since King Thor decreed that, out of respect for his dead son, no one could enter these quarters, a room like this would have been virtually invisible, untouched by prying eyes. With Guardians like Hyrax on the council, who knows? Maybe they influenced Thor to close this place off for their own purposes.”

  Lluava agreed, “It is a marvelous plan, though it is hard to believe that the Guardians were never discovered by the Guard. On the other hand, they seem to be far sneakier than I would like to admit. Well, I don’t think you will have much trouble continuing to meet in here. Other than the Guardians, it is doubtful that anybody else knows it exists, or even cares. And with the Shadows gone, you don’t have to worry about opposition at the entry.”

  Grimacing, Lluava thought back on her first confrontation with a Shadow and meeting Holly. Trying to get her bearings, Lluava asked, “Which way does that window face?”

  “South,” Rosalyn stated assuredly.

  “South,” Lluava repeated to herself. Somewhere south of here, Varren was gathering his army. “Rosalyn, when you meet in here, I want you and Talos to always post a lookout. If Varren’s army is sighted, I need to know immediately, no matter how far away they seem.”

  “Of course.” Rosalyn paused. “Do you miss him?”

  After musing for a moment, Lluava replied, “Of course I do, but it’s different. Now that it is certain that we can never be together—romantically, I mean—my feelings for him appear to be changing.”

  “For the better, I hope?”

  Looking down at the rune for Ullr on the floor, the image of Apex clawed its way into Lluava’s mind. “Yes. For the better.”

  This was true. Ever since Lluava had seen Apex on her balcony, old emotions had begun to resurface. Had she made the wrong choice of men? Her question went unanswered.

  Shortly afterward, the pair left the Burnt Wing and parted, for there was no need to draw attention to themselves. And Rosalyn wanted to check on Derrick and her other patients in the city. Lluava was left to mull over the concept of an uprising. This time, those she worked with would help the crown and not hurt it. At least, that is what she hoped.

  Chapter 22

  T
he Gray Time

  Days slowly melted into one another like the slushy puddles on the ground. Though refusing to get warm, spring had taken hold. Trees and other plants struggled to bear their green tidings, though many smaller species began to curl up and die. The prolonged absence of sunlight seemed to stifle new life. The chill in the air did not dissipate, nor did the thick blanket of clouds.

  Everything seemed gray. This growing sense of melancholy persisted even inside the stone walls of the castle. Onyx appeared weary of the capital and often slumped listlessly on his perch. Aquila had to work with the raven to get him to peck at any sort of table scraps. Lluava was surprised at how well Aquila handled his confinement. He rarely left her quarters, though he often stared out into the unchanging gloom of the sky.

  She, on the other hand, was free to come and go as she liked within the castle and throughout the city. A rhythm began to form in her life, something blessedly reminiscent of the times she had trained in the Southern Camps. And she had returned to deciphering old scriptures as she practiced reading runes in one of the royal libraries.

  Sometimes she would spot Hyrax coming and going with various scrolls. Lluava made it clear that she had little to say to him, so he left her in peace. However, she always took note of which rolled-up, yellowed parchments he returned; these she immediately examined.

  Although most dealt with some statistical rubbish or logs on depleting stores, occasionally she would find a scroll that pertained to the pantheon or a prophecy. Skimming over one such document, Lluava read:

  Direct communication with the Twelve is limited, for mortals are rarely able to hear, let alone decipher, the language of the Gods. This most highly blessed gift is bestowed upon the High Priestess of each Temple who, in turn, communicates only with the God or Goddess with whom she is associated.

  The High Priestess serves as the voice of her God or Goddess. She alone knows how her deity chooses to contact the mortal world. The knowledge a deity imparts to the mortal voice has a special purpose and often pertains to that deity’s attributes or sphere of influence.