Heir of Hope (Follower of the Word Book 3)

by Morgan L. Busse

  She fell to her knees, the mud squelching beneath her. Her power hadn’t triggered since Temanin. Why now?

  Daughter.

  Rowen froze. “Word?”

  He needs you.

  Something inside her broke. “Where are you? I’ve missed Your voice.”

  Her heat turned to warmth, like a caress across her soul.

  She curled her hand next to her chest, a sob making its way up her throat. I’m so lonely. And I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I’m here. The cry reached her lips, but she held it in. She couldn’t be heard. Tears mingled with the rain running down her face.

  Hurry, daughter. He needs you.

  She looked back up. What did the Word mean—Wait. The soldier in front of the fortress. Did He mean him?

  Yes.

  Already she could feel His warmth receding inside her. She raised her head. “Don’t leave me! I need you!”

  I am always with you.

  Her face scrunched up. “But I don’t always feel you or hear you.”

  The warmth withdrew, replaced with the fire of her own power. Another sob welled up inside her throat. “Please, I need you.” She dropped her head. “It’s so dark here.”

  The rain pelted down across her back and neck, soaking through her wrap. She wanted to curl up into a ball and lay down, but the mud was icy cold. Instead, she leaned against the wall. Her power continued to burn across her palm. She looked down at the metal glove. How was she supposed to help that man? She couldn’t touch him. And she didn’t even know what was wrong with him.

  Rowen pulled herself up. I will do this. Somehow

  She stepped around the wall and into the courtyard. One step. Two steps. The mud squelched beneath her boots.

  The man did not respond to her movement. Did he not see her?

  The fire moved from her chest to her palm. Her insides churned until her stomach cramped.

  She stopped in front of the man.

  He never blinked. Just like the herald.

  Her hand began to shake. I can’t do this.

  Her power surged inside again, reaching toward the man.

  Yes, I can. I have to.

  Rowen held her hand up. Light seeped between the chains and plates like sunbeams. Pinpoints of light appeared in his grey eyes. She lifted her hand higher. Heat burned across her palm. “Can—can you see me?”

  The man did not move. The only sign of life was the rise and fall of his chest.

  Rowen looked up at the sky. Rain fell across her face. I have no idea what I’m doing.

  There was no answer.

  The Word said the soldier needed her help. All right. She would do what she could.

  Rowen spread her fingers apart and placed her hand on his neck, the only exposed place she could find. He did not react to her touch. Her power pressed against the metal glove. She closed her eyes and sank deep inside herself until all she could feel was the beat of her heart and the heat across her palm.

  She pictured the light blazing from her palm, blocked by the metal glove. Then the light spread across the metal, heating it to red.

  Rowen gasped and opened her eyes, pulling her hand away. The metal looked fine. She touched it with her other hand. No heat. She placed it back on his neck and closed her eyes again.

  She pressed harder with her mind, willing the light to pass the metal barrier. Her face grew warm. She took in long, hard breaths. Come on!

  The metal grew red again inside her mind.

  Push through it.

  The metal glowed with the fiery red of a blacksmith’s apparatus. Sweat ran down her face and her arm shook.

  I can’t do this for much longe—

  Her truthsaying power burst through the metal, flowing into the man like a raging river. Someone gasped far away, but she was too deep inside her own mind to come back.

  The man’s name was Rory.

  Flashes from his life rushed across her vision, moving so fast she hardly caught a glimpse before the scene moved on. He grew up in Thyra. Trained as a soldier. Loved the baker’s daughter. Served the senate.

  His memories changed at that point, splitting into two paths. There was a tainted one, a shadow of a memory over the clearer one. One showed his service to a tall, lanky man. The other showed him kneeling before Valin.

  What in the Lands?

  The fire inside her rushed toward the shadowed memory. The memories burst into flames, burning like dry leaves until nothing remained but the clear memories.

  Stars erupted across her vision and her temples throbbed. The weight of her power pressed down on her lungs.

  Just . . . a little . . . more.

  The last of the shadow memories burned away, leaving Rory’s mind exposed to the light.

  He yelled from far away.

  Rowen dropped her hand and fell to the mud, the darkness swallowing her.

  Someone shook her shoulder. Rowen blinked and opened her eyes. Grey clouds filled her vision. A raindrop fell across her forehead, another across her cheek. Her body was encased in something cold and thick. She tried to sit up.

  “Here, let me help you.” A hand came to rest beneath her back and helped her. The mud squelched as it released her body.

  Rowen grimaced at the mud, then turned.

  Rory crouched next to her. He drew his hand away, his palm and fingers slick with muck. “What happened? Why am I at Cragsmoor? And who are you?

  “I—I don’t know. I don’t know what happened.” Rowen grabbed the side of the wall and used it to help herself up.

  “I don’t remember anything.” Rory shook his head. “Nothing. Wait—there were two men, newcomers to Thyra. Important men, from up north near the strait. Senator Regessus told me to take them around the city. I took them back to the house they were staying at, and then . . . nothing.” Rory pulled his helmet off and held it beneath his arm. His reddish hair was damp and plastered to his forehead.

  Rowen wasn’t sure what to say, or if she should say anything.

  Rory remained quiet as he looked around. The only sound was the soft patter of rain. “Where is everybody?” He turned back toward Rowen. “And who are you?”

  Rowen sagged against the wall. How did she answer that? She glanced toward the tower. They shouldn’t stay here, out where Valin or Malchus could see them from the tower windows. She pushed away and steadied herself. “I’ll tell you all I know if you come with me.”

  His forehead creased. “I don’t know. I think I’m on guard duty, but I don’t remember being assigned to Cragsmoor . . .”

  “Rory, your mind was twisted. That is why you don’t remember anything. The false memories you had, I have erased.”

  “What the—what are you talking about? And how did you know my name?”

  Rowen glanced again at the tower. “We are not safe here. They could be watching us.”

  “They? Who are they?”

  “The ones who did this to you.”

  Rory backed away from her, holding his helmet out like a shield. “Now hold on a minute—”

  “I’m leaving. Come with me or not.” Rowen started toward the gates. She had freed Rory. She could do no more for him. And she couldn’t help anyone else if she was caught. He had to choose.

  The mud squelched with each footstep until she reached the cobblestone street. Tiny rivulets of water ran between the stones. She stepped onto the street and headed south. She would need to take a couple side streets in order to avoid the tower. Hopefully she could make her way bac—

  A hand grabbed her arm.

  Rowen whirled and yanked her arm away.

  “Wait.” Rory dropped his hand. “I’m coming with you.” His gaze darted back and forth. “There is something wrong here. I want to know what is going on. You said you had answers.”

  “I d
o. But we need to go. Now.” Rowen turned and started down the street.

  Rory hurried to her side. “Could you at least tell me how you knew my name? I don’t recall ever meeting you.”

  “I’m afraid that will also have to wait.”

  She would rather tell him where—if he chose to make a scene—Valin and Malchus would not see. If either Shadonae knew she could access her power despite the metal glove . . . Rowen shivered and moved on.

  They turned down the first side street, then another. Familiar shops and homes appeared. Just one more street to go.

  “The White District?” Rory glanced at her. “Are you related to a senator?”

  “No.” She led him up to the house with the bright red door.

  Rory stopped. “This is Senator Regessus’s house. I thought you said you weren’t related to any of the senators.”

  Rowen pressed down the handle and opened the door. “I’m not. I am staying here as a guest.” The inside of the house was as chilly as the outside, minus the falling rain. She pulled the wet wrap off and hung it across the side table. Rory remained outside. She looked back. “Are you coming in?”

  “I don’t know if it would be right. I have not been invited in by the senator.”

  Rowen sighed. “And you won’t be. He is not here. No one is.”

  “But you said you were staying here as a guest.”

  “I am.”

  “Then how—?”

  “I will explain everything once you are inside.”

  Rory hesitated, then stepped through the doorway.

  “I am sorry about the chill.” Rowen walked around Rory and shut the door. “I do not have any wood to light the fireplaces.”

  Rory placed his helmet down beside her wrap. “What about the servants?”

  Rowen sighed again. “Come, follow me.” She led Rory down the hall to the back kitchen. Most likely he would be more comfortable there than in the formal dining hall.

  A tall brick fireplace took up most of the eastern wall inside the kitchen. The fire had died long ago, leaving only soot and bits of charred wood. In front of the fireplace was a long wooden table with stacks of ceramic mixing bowls and a linen cloth. Above the table hung bunches of dried herbs: rosemary, thyme, and a long braid of garlic. Only a faint scent remained of their once potent smell.

  Rain pattered softly against the side window, and the dark, dreary outside seeped into the kitchen.

  Rory came to stand beside the table. “I have a feeling I will not like what you have to say.”

  Rowen pulled over two wooden chairs and placed them at the corner of the table. “I’m not sure you would even believe me, other than you have seen for yourself how empty Thyra is.”

  “Yes.” Rory took a seat.

  Rowen sat down in the other chair.

  “Did a battle happen? Or perhaps a plague.” He rubbed the side of his face. “And why don’t I remember anything?”

  Rowen lifted her hands to place them on the table, then caught sight of her metal glove and thought otherwise. She didn’t want Rory asking about the strange contraption on her hand. “What season and year do you last remember?”

  His gaze went out of focus. “End of the High Sun, year 1282 after the High Council.”

  “It is no longer High Sun. And no longer year 1282. It is now Harvest’s End. And a year later than you remember.”

  “What?” The little bulge beneath his chin moved up and down along his throat. “That’s—that’s not possible. You can’t be right. Where did all the time go?”

  Rowen looked down at the table. “Do you remember the names of the men you were sent to escort around the city?”

  He paused. “Yes, I think so. One man’s name was Valin, the other Malchus. They were visiting diplomats from the far north.”

  So that was the cover Valin used. “Those two were not men, and they were not diplomats from the far north. At least they weren’t diplomats.” She gave a small snort. The very thought of Malchus as a diplomat. Valin, on the other hand, would definitely have woven a beautiful story with his words and lived up to the part. He could be a real gentleman at times, when he wanted to show that face.

  “So who were they? And what do they have to do with what’s happened in Thyra?”

  Rowen looked up. “Valin and Malchus are not human. They have abilities. I believe one of them tampered with your memories. You have been living in a very different world, one inside your own mind. Perhaps even obeying whoever changed your memories.” The first shadowed memory had been Rory bowing to Valin.

  Rory scratched his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Valin and Malchus are Shadonae.”

  “Shadonae?”

  He didn’t know what Shadonae were? Then maybe he didn’t know what she was either. Rowen tucked her hand beneath the table. “Powerful beings who can warp a person’s mind.”

  “And they did this to me?”

  “Yes.”

  He placed a finger on his temple. “They . . . changed my mind? Is that why I don’t remember anything?”

  “Yes.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “I don’t know.” But she had her suspicions. After all, if she could see inside someone’s soul and reflect it back, then it was possible Valin had the power to tamper with someone’s mind.

  “What happened to the rest of the people? Were their minds warped as well?”

  “No. The scribe I met said Thyra was taken over and its people rounded up.” Her heart grew heavy. “They were rounded up by Thyrian soldiers.”

  Silence filled the kitchen. “So not only were my memories tampered with, I was forced to . . .”

  “Yes.” Rowen took a deep breath. “You, and others like you were used to capture Thyra.”

  A red flush crept up his neck. “What did we do to the people we captured?”

  “Some you took to Cragsmoor and locked them up. Most were . . .” She looked away. “Most were slaughtered.”

  The room grew cold. The silence extended into minutes. She glanced back and found Rory bent over, his head in his hands. His shoulders shook.

  Rowen hesitated, then reached over with her left hand and touched his arm. “You were not in control of what you did.”

  “I killed people.” He moaned between his fingers. “I knew I might when I joined the military, but not my own people.” He shook his head. “Not my own people.”

  Rowen closed her eyes. Oh Word, I don’t know what to say. Please help him, please comfort his heart.

  His sorrow drew around her like cold water. If only she could siphon his hurt like she could with physical wounds. But the heart was beyond her. Only the Word could do that.

  Rory looked up, his face twisted and blotchy. “How do I go on? I can’t go back and undo what I’ve done.”

  Rowen shook her head. “No, you can’t. There is only way you can go: forward.”

  “And how do I do that?”

  “By living again.”

  Chapter

  15

  Valin entered the tower and found Malchus collapsed in one of the high back chairs. His eyes were shut and dark circles spread beneath his lids. His face was even paler than usual, almost corpse-like in appearance. Only his lips had color. Red, like blood.

  Malchus must have brought another shadow over from the unseen world. Lands, how much longer could he do this? As much as they were bickering lately, mainly over Rowen, he couldn’t do all this without Malchus. They were brothers in purpose. He needed him.

  Valin crossed the room and stood before Malchus.

  Malchus opened one eye. His pupil dilated, then contracted into a small sphere. “Valin.”

  He went right to the point. “Did you really need to bring another shadow over?”

  “And good afternoon to you, too.” Malchus sat up an
d pushed back his hair. His face looked thinner than it had a couple weeks ago. “Yes, I did. We are spread thin with the Mordra patrolling Kerre. We need more protection here in the city.”

  “And who do we need protection from? We haven’t seen a soul here in months. There is no one left here in Thyra, other than those locked up and those under my control.”

  Malchus went rigid. “Do not be so quick to think we’ve won. Those we did not capture or kill will eventually come back. We need to be ready. I can only tear the veil every few months. Each time it siphons my life. I can feel it. It is better to do it when I can, so when the people do come, we are ready.”

  A decanter of red wine sat on the table beside the door, along with two crystal goblets. Valin walked over to the table and picked up the decanter. “Can you control the Mordra here? It doesn’t do us any good if we can’t control the ones we already have.”

  “I can control them.”

  Valin shrugged and poured a drink for Malchus, then one for himself. “Have you heard back from any of the shadows patrolling Kerre? Have they found any refugees?”

  “A group was found up north, in a set of caves near the wetlands.”

  Valin crossed the room and handed a goblet to Malchus. “Caves, you say? Makes sense. Dark, humid places. Perfect for rats.”

  “Hopefully we can flush out more of those rats, if any other refugee groups still exist.”

  “Oh, they still exist. Of that I have no doubt.” Valin took a sip and held the cup just below his chin. He wasn’t really afraid of a resistance. After all, what could a group of badly nourished people do to the shadow-wraiths and his army of twisted soldiers? It was more the idea that there actually were still humans somewhere here in Kerre that irked him. A job unfinished.

  Malchus held his glass up. “I am a little worried about our partner in Temanin.”

  He came back from his reverie. “Oh?”

  Malchus placed the goblet on the arm of his chair. “I haven’t received a message from Velyni in over a month now. That’s not like her.”

  Valin shivered inwardly at the mention of the shadow-wraith. He didn’t trust her. The other shadows Malchus brought over were new to the Lands, newborn babes with untried legs. Velyni, however, had been in the Lands for centuries and had grown powerful on her feast of human souls. She had submitted herself to Malchus’s control because she feared he would send her back. But if she was like any of the other shadows, darkness ran deep inside her. “Do you think her position in the Tala household has been compromised?”