The Book of Kaels Bundle (Books 2 - 4): The Wood Kael, The Metal Kael, The Fire Kael

by Wendy Wang

  “There’s no point in pouting,” Neala said. “She’s the healer. We have to do what she says.”

  “I am not pouting,” Sorrel grumbled under her breath.

  “Yes you are,” Neala chuckled. “You almost—died.” Her voice cracked on the last word and her heart squeezed. “I don’t know what I would have done. I didn’t think—”

  Sorrel reached for her hand, grabbing onto it. “I didn’t die. You can stop treating me like a glass doll.”

  Neala frowned. “Maybe we need to rethink our path home. I should’ve brought a painting with me. So stupid of me to not think of it.” Neala struck her forehead with her hand.

  “Stop that,” Sorrel scolded. She patted the edge of the bed. “Sit please. I need to show you something.”

  Neala sat down next to the girl. “We could try crossing the mountains, but then we’re in Bohr's territory.”

  “Will you stop?” Sorrel placed her hand over Neala’s. “This is not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault. I’ll be fine.” The girl’s brown eyes settled on her. “Can you hand me that pad, please?”

  Neala took the sketch pad from the table and gave it to her.

  Sorrel opened the cover, holding the drawing to her chest. Her soft voice rasped as she spoke. “When I couldn’t breathe, I saw things. It was the most intense vision I’ve ever had.”

  Neala leaned forward, her eyes on the paper. Her heart sped up. She didn’t know if she could handle more bad news. Especially about the child Y'Ana. “What happened?”

  “Many things, but mainly it was about you.”

  “Me?”

  Sorrel nodded. “I know you’re afraid of the child because of my earlier vision. But it can change. She can change. You,” Sorrel touched her hand, “can change. But only if you choose to and only if you believe it can be done.”

  “What if you’re wrong? What if she rains down a thousand years of darkness like you said before? I don’t want that to be my legacy.”

  “It won’t be.”

  “How do you know?”

  A smile crossed Sorrel’s face, lighting her tired eyes. “Because I’ve seen it.”

  “What have seen?” Neala said. “And don’t hold anything back.”

  Sorrel pulled the sketch pad from her chest and glanced down at the drawing. Her smile grew wider and she handed it to Neala. “See for yourself.”

  Neala’s fingers twitched and she bit the inside of her cheek. Her hands moved of their own accord, taking the pad and turning it over. She blinked, unsure what she was seeing at first. Her eyebrows tugged low and she pursed her lips.

  “It’s me,” Neala whispered. Her stomach wrenched and she covered her mouth, blinking back the tears threatening to fall.

  “Yes,” Sorrel said.

  “You know?” Neala touched the image of herself, a baby in her arms. The queen in the drawing stared down at the little girl with wonder and so much love. Would she ever be that woman?

  “I didn’t until I lost consciousness,” Sorrel whispered. She cleared her throat and touched her hand to the scar on her neck.

  “You’re tired. You need to stop talking now,” Neala said. Sorrel nodded. “I think we should wait a few days before attempting to go home.”

  Sorrel rolled her eyes and shook her head but a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “You just don’t want to be alone with Y'Ana.”

  “No,” Neala protested, wincing internally at the loudness of her voice. “That’s not it.”

  Sorrel snorted and tapped her hand. “I don’t believe you.”

  Neala sighed. The first meeting with the child had not gone well. She had hidden behind Cilla almost the entire time.

  Neala opened her fingers and closed them against the paper. “She doesn’t like me. She needs a family— a mother. What if I’m — what if I’m not good at it? What if I make her worse?”

  “You won’t.”

  “How do you know? Did you see that too?”

  “I didn’t have to see it,” Sorrel whispered. “You are capable of so much love which can only make her better. Not worse.”

  Neala sighed. “I pray you’re right.”

  Sorrel nodded. “I am. Don’t worry. Does the chief know about the baby?”

  “Not yet,” she shook her head. “I tried to tell him but —” She shrugged. “Things got in the way.”

  “You need to tell him as soon as we get back.”

  “I will,” Neala said. “But don’t let him know that you know. It would hurt his feelings.”

  Sorrel leaned her head against one of the pillows propping her up and her eyes blinked drowsily. “I can’t believe how tired I am.”

  “You’ve been through a lot. Your body’s just doing what it needs to recover.” Neala rose from the bed. She held up the sketch pad. “Can I take this?”

  “Of course.” Sorrel quirked an eyebrow. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking six-year-old girls like to draw. I know I did.” A grin tugged at her lips.

  “See? You’re already thinking like a mother.”

  Neala rolled her eyes. “Get some rest. I’ll be back later.”

  Sorrel smiled and closed her eyes.

  ******

  Mozelle walked across the common bath like he owned the place. He wore a white linen bath scarf wrapped around his hips and the muscles of his back and arms rippled as he swaggered to the large green bathing pool in the middle of the room. Stone archways lined the walls, leading to smaller alcoves for sitting in steam or sitting in dry heat.

  Egan leaned against one of the columns surveying the action in the room. D'Raq had explained the schedule to him. A mix of lifers, long-timers, and tarry-men were brought in shifts to use the facility, making sure the clusters of men who chose to follow the likes of D’Raq or Mozelle were spread across the shifts, to keep conspiracies to a minimum. It didn’t work as well as the prison guards would like, but for Egan it made it much easier to target Mozelle, since he had none of his seconds with him.

  Mozelle dropped his linen by the side of the pool and carefully descended the stone steps into the steaming water. He walked through the waist-deep water until he found the spot he wanted. With the jerk of his thumb and a grunt, the three men sitting on the ledge quickly moved out of Mozelle’s way. No one, it seemed, was willing to challenge the musclebound savage.

  Egan turned the sharpened disk over in his palm. It had been easy to smuggle in. The real challenge would be getting close enough to Mozelle without drawing too much attention. He had hoped to get him alone in one of the alcoves, but it didn’t look like that was going to happen now.

  Mozelle splashed himself with water and dunked his head under water. He scrubbed his long lean face with his hands before leaning back against the pool coping and stretching his arms out. His long, black hair hung in wet strings down his back and he tipped his sharp chin up, exposing his neck. Egan took a step forward.

  Not yet.

  Dammit! Was D’Raq ever going to get out of his head? Egan threw a nasty glance at D’Raq who was standing with one of the other lifers talking, not even looking in Egan’s direction.

  Just wait.

  Two guards came to collect the lifers. D'Raq’s gaze slid towards him and he nodded once before falling into line with the others. Everyone moved except Mozelle. He acted as if he had the place to himself.

  Hargett sidled up beside Egan.

  “Everything all right boss?” he asked quietly following Egan’s stare.

  “Not really, Hargett,” Egan said.

  “Anything I can help with?”

  Egan sighed. “I've got to kill Mozelle.”

  “All right. You need me to do it for you?”

  Egan shook his head, glad he could always count on Hargett.

  “No,” Egan said, “I have to do this myself.”

  Hargett’s head bobbed up and down with understanding. His eyes narrowed and he started to size up the situation. “He's not to go down easy and not just because of h
is size,” Hargett started. He tipped his head as if he were trying to figure the best way to end the man's life.

  “Go on,” Egan said.

  “He's half Bohr. They have thick hides. Hard to penetrate.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “The guards here are as gossipy as old women.”

  Egan nodded. “Anything else?”

  “Nobody likes him but everybody’s scared of him. That's how he rose to power.”

  “Hard to kill and scary is a pretty good combination for power.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Hargett said. “Their spine is incredibly hard too. And their bones heal really fast.”

  “How do you know all this, Hargett?”

  “You really want to know. Sir?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “My father was in the war against the Bohrs. It — changed him. He was different when he came home.”

  Egan understood completely what that was like. His own father had fought the Bohr and had come home an even harder and meaner son of a bitch.

  “What did he do to you?”

  “My father? Nothing. Never raised a hand to me. But we had trouble with the Bohrs raiding our village even after the war ended. I used to help him in his butcher shop. I helped my father hunt down one of the raiding parties after they kidnapped several girls. We killed every one of them. No easy task, even for an experienced fighter like my father. We took their skins and hung them as a warning to other Bohrs.”

  “Did that stop them?”

  “Yes, Sir, it did.”

  Egan thought about his own boys and how they would react if he killed and flayed one of his enemies in front of them.

  “Good.”

  “There's an artery just inside his arm above his elbow. Cut that and he'll die pretty quick.”

  “I was thinking his neck.”

  “Yeah you could cut them there too but you gotta go deep. Slice him up and it will just piss him off. Plus, there's the guards to think about.”

  Egan scanned the bath. There were no guards in here at the moment they left the prisoners to their privacy. There were four other death row inmates commiserating in the steam alcove at the back of the bath and some long-timers lingering in some of the other alcoves. He didn't know how fast the guards would come if Mozelle screamed or if any of Mozelle’s followers would try to come to his rescue.

  “I think I may need your help after all,” Egan said.

  “I'm all ears, Sir,” Hargett said.

  Thirteen

  Hargett walked along the stone ledge of the rectangular bath passing behind Mozelle. He was submerged up to his chest in the steaming green water and had stretched his arms out along the edge. Egan moved slowly along the outer ring of the pool, he positioned the blunt half of the disk against his palm and gripped it with his thumb and fingers. He had managed to get a fairly sharp edge with some of the smooth blue stones in his cell. It wouldn't split a hair but it would definitely slice through skin without much pressure.

  Egan dawdled close by, glancing at the locked double doors. If the guards returned, he would lose his opportunity and possibly his life. His heart thrummed in his chest. Hargett stepped off the stone coping and took a seat on the ledge next to half-Bohr. Mozelle opened his eyes and turned his head towards Hargett.

  “Water kind of stinks doesn't it?” Hargett ran his hands over the top of the water causing ripples to spread out in large circles.

  “What do you think you're doing?” Mozelle said in a deep gravelly voice. Egan could hear a hint of Bohr in his cadence.

  Hargett shrugged. “Just making conversation.”

  “Get out of here.”

  Hargett raised his hands in surrender. “Sorry I didn’t mean to offend you. I just saw you sitting here alone and thought you might want some company.”

  “I don’t. Now get out of here before I end you.”

  Hargett gave the signal — flexing his hands out. In one swift move Hargett took hold of Mozelle's outstretched arm twisting the man’s hand backwards leading with the thumb. Egan sprung onto Mozelle's other arm throwing almost his full weight on it pinning it to the coping.

  Mozelle tried to stand but Hargett came down hard with his elbow just above the bicep. Mozelle growled and strained against them. Lifting them both. For a second Egan thought he would end up in the water until he felt the disk sliced through skin. Blood spurted and Egan twisted Mozelle's arm. Within seconds the man's growling slurred and his eyes closed, his whole body relaxing as his blood pumped into the pool.

  Hargett let go of Mozelle's arm placing it down beside him. Egan did the same and Mozelle’s body slumped forward almost falling into the water. Egan pushed him back against the pool wall and fiddled with the brute’s body until he got it to stay in one position.

  Egan rinsed his hands and the disk, using Mozelle’s linen scarf to mop up the puddle on the coping. When he looked up a line of men — long-timers and tarry-men — stared down at him. Heat flooded his chest and face. He hardened his face and looked straight at the largest, tallest long-timer.

  “You want to be next?”

  The long-timer held up his hands, palms out and shook his head. Egan scowled and he and Hargett climbed out of the pool. Both of their linen scarves were pink with blood. They knotted their scarves and shoved them, along with Mozelle's deep into a straw hamper near the front doors of the bath. His hands trembled as he reached for a clean scarf from the stack. He wrapped it tightly around his hips, taking long slow breaths, trying to slow his heart back to a normal pace.

  When he glanced up, the other inmates were staring at him wide-eyed and wary.

  “What are we gonna do about them boss?” Hargett asked under his breath.

  “Nothing.” Egan said. “Now they know what we’re capable of.”

  “What if they snitch?”

  “They won’t.”

  “They won’t?” Hargett asked, confusion clouding his long face.

  “No, they won’t.” Egan said leading Hargett towards one of the empty steam alcoves. The men dispersed heading into the anterooms again. No one gave Mozelle another look.

  ******

  Neala heard the laughter coming from the front porch and followed it. Danny and Y'Ana both clung to one arm of the porch swing. They squealed every time Tom pushed them higher.

  “Hi there,” Neala said pushing through the screen door. “What are you all doing?”

  Tom turned around and faced her all the joy draining from his round tan face. The swing pushed forward, knocking into him and he fell to his knees. Y'Ana jumped off the swing and knelt down next to him.

  “Jerugia’s crown,” Neala said. “Are you all right? Should I get your mother?”

  Danny stopped the swing and climbed down.

  Tom brushed his palms together, wiping away the dirt. He stared at his hand for a second before balling it into a fist. “I’m fine,” he said. “Thank you.”

  Neala squatted down next to him. “Can I see your hands?”

  “I promise I’m fine,” he said gazing up at her, his wide hazel-green eyes full of apprehension.

  “Please?” Neala said. “I just want to make sure you’re all right, that’s all. Promise.” She offered up a smile and he stared at her, fixing her to the spot. Clearly he didn’t trust her. “All right, I’ll go get your mother then.”

  “No!” Tom said. His hazel eyes widened at the force of his voice and he took a step back. Red splotches appeared on his cheeks. “I mean, please don’t.” He met her gaze with trepidation. “I’m not supposed to be pushing them so high. I should have been paying more attention.”

  “I see.” Neala nodded. “You and I have a lot in common then.”

  His brows tugged together, low over his eyes. “We do?”

  “Yes. I’m something of a rule breaker myself. I’m always getting into trouble.”

  “You are? But…I thought you were queen.”

  “I am. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get in trouble.”

/>   He nodded, never taking his eyes from her, as if he was thinking over her words.

  “I’ll make you a deal, my little rule breaker friend. You promise to be more careful and I won’t tell your mother. And I’ll heal your hand.” She held out her hand. “Deal?”

  A smile stretched across his face. “Deal.”

  He laid his wounded hand in hers and she sandwiched it between her palms. She breathed in and out letting the forces of healing work through her and when she opened her hands, the wound had turned to a faded pink scar.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “So why don’t we do something that’s not quite so dangerous?” Neala said.

  “Like what?” Tom asked. Neala could see Y'Ana from the corner of her eye scrutinizing her. The child was much brighter than she first gave her credit for.

  “I was thinking maybe we could draw,” Neala said picking up the pad next to her. “Do you like to draw?”

  Tom shrugged. “I’m not very good. But Y'Ana is.”

  “Who told you you’re not very good?” Neala said.

  “My father. He thinks drawing and coloring are a waste of time.”

  “Well your father and I will just have to disagree on that. I spend a great deal of time drawing. It’s one of my favorite things to do. Especially when I’m sad, or scared, or mad about something.” Neala glanced sideways toward Y'Ana. “And you know what Tom it doesn’t matter if you’re any good or not. It only matters whether you like it or not. Whether it helps you or not. Does that make sense?”

  “I think so,” Tom said.

  “Good,” she said. “So who wants to draw with me?”

  Danny’s hand shot up first, waving madly. Tom raised his hand too. Neala shifted her gaze to Y'Ana. The child glanced towards each boy before bringing her intense stare back to Neala. Slowly the child’s hand floated into the air.

  ******

  Cilla walked closely behind Sorrel ready to catch her if she fell. Sorrel had refused anymore sleeping tea and demanded they attempt to heal her this morning. She and her mother had tried to talk Sorrel into getting at least another day of rest but the girl wouldn’t hear of it.