The False Martyr

by H. Nathan Wilcox

  “Is that where you’ve been going every night?” Ipid turned and looked at her.

  She smiled. “Jealous?” Her hands ran down his arms. “That is sweet. Maybe we can even use it later. How jealous can you get?”

  Ipid was not ready to go there. Four days later, with no more than the groping of teens, Eia had made it clear throughout the day that she was sufficiently recovered to resume their carnal exploration of his emotions, and he had spent the same time oscillating between desire and fear.

  “I’m not jealous,” he said though it was a lie, and Eia would know it. Yet it was an emotional, not physical, jealousy he felt. He had no fear that she was sleeping with the cripple, but knowing that they were together left him wanting something like what she had with him, something deeper than just the flirting and sex that seemed to define their time together.

  “You need not be defensive.” Eia turned his face to look into her eyes. “Naidi is like a brother. He is of my order, has always had my greatest respect, but even in the days before the Darthur he was nothing more than that.”

  “What were you saying about the city?” Ipid asked, wanting to change the subject.

  Eia smiled. “The people hate you. They hate the Darthur. They hate the rationing and work crews, but that hate has remained bottled. Though Captain Tyne is keeping a great deal from you about small acts of vandalism and sabotage, there have been almost no major events or organized protests. Even the mess with that fool, Liano, turned into nothing. Given the emotions we are reading in the city, Naidi and I are fairly certain that can only be due to someone telling them to wait, which, in turn, can only mean that Stully and Wallock are doing as you requested.”

  “You can get all that from ‘mapping’ the emotions of the city?”

  “You’d be surprised, my love. Emotion is everything that makes us human. Using it, I can very nearly read a person’s mind. Including yours,” she added with a laugh. “With something like a city, it’s more about reading the overall mood, determining what emotions are most prominent, and how they are changing.”

  “So you think the city will hold?”

  “Back to where we started. I’d guess you have a couple of weeks. It depends on Stully, but you said he’s cautious. He can’t want the Darthur to come back, so surely he’ll wait until Arin’s demands are met.”

  Ipid let out a long breath and turned to a topic of only slightly less concern. “How is Rynn doing? They got the third bridge cleared ahead of schedule, so I can only guess that he is doing well.”

  “Naidi says that he is the best of the students we have taken from this side of the mountains. He has a natural talent to use his gift, and that is why he is here. With Rynn as the face of our order and Naidi managing the flow of emotions, they have reduced the number of accidents considerably and rebuilt the trust of the workers. Overall, it seems they are having great success.”

  “That much is evident, but how is he doing?”

  “What do you mean? I just told you, he is doing very well.”

  “You told me that he is advancing in his studies and performing his duties, but how is he doing as a person? Is he happy?”

  “You saw him.” Eia nudged him with her hip. “Didn’t he seem happy? He even told you that he finally feels that he has found where he belongs. Do you deny his words?”

  “No.” Ipid could not decide what he thought. Certainly, Rynn had seemed happy, well cared for, even focused and enthusiastic, but it didn’t sit well with him. He could not imagine his son’s best friend using the powers of the Exiles, being trained as one of them, drawing on the emotions of others to create their terrible magics.

  “You do not like the thought of him joining our order.” Eia tried to sound offended but could not hide a smirk. “You think we’ll turn him into some kind of monster.”

  “No,” Ipid started, but Eia had hit the issue exactly, and there was little point in saying otherwise. “Yes, that is my concern. His parents entrusted him to me when I took him with us to Randor’s Pass. And I cannot help but feel that I have failed them . . . and him.”

  “I understand,” Eia said to Ipid’s surprise. “The boy is like a son to you, and no matter your beliefs, it is hard to let children find their own way. If I had a child and she chose to subvert her freewill and become one of your Weavers, I would be horrified. You must feel much the same way about Rynn . . . and Dasen too.”

  Ipid considered that. Hadn’t he been opposed to Dasen even joining the Church, let alone the cultish Weavers? Was this any different?

  “At the same time,” Eia continued, “the young can only flourish if we let them go. They must learn from their decision just like you and me. We honor freewill above all else. If Rynn did not want to be part of our order, we would not force him. Because we have learned from the folly of our ancestors, we would take certain actions to ensure that he did not use Hilaal’s gift, but we would not force him to remain, to be trained, or to be part of our community.”

  “And Dasen? Is the same true for him?”

  Eia sighed long and deep then turned away to look out over the city. “We have to find him before we worry about that.”

  And when you find him? Ipid thought. He was almost certain now that Dasen had escaped to Liandria – given the resources he’d deployed to finding his son, there was almost no chance that he remained in the Kingdoms – but in only a matter of weeks, the Darthur may control that country as well. Already the Empire was pledge to them, so where could Dasen possibly go? How could he keep himself from the te-am ‘eiruh? Ipid looked at Eia standing so close to him – lover, confidant, companion – and wondered why he so dreaded his son becoming like her.

  Chapter 56

  The 44th Day of Summer

  “What is the matter with you?” Garth dropped his wooden sword and stepped back. “You are distracted, are barely trying. You’re going to get hurt.”

  “I’m sorry,” Teth said through pants. She was distracted. Even as she apologized, her thoughts were on Dasen, on what Lareno was turning him into, where it would go, and how it would affect her own plans. What’s more, she had promised the Tappers that she would talk with Garth and still hadn’t found a way to do it. And the longer she waited the harder it seemed to get.

  Garth looked at her in disgust. “Stop. There is no point in this.”

  “No, Garth. I don’t want to stop. That will only make it worse. I need this to clear my head. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to get there yet.”

  “Do you want to talk?”

  Teth desperately wanted to say yes, but her eyes went to the crowd that shared the courtyard with them. Ever since Deena Esther had performed her first “miracle”, they could not go anywhere without a crowd gathering to watch and whisper. In four days, she and Dasen had gone from curiosities to the center of almost every conversation. And even though he had done nothing out of the ordinary, the brother of the Order’s chosen seemed to be almost as big a draw as the miracle-worker herself. Teth hated it, hated the attention, the scrutiny, the fact that it would make it that much harder to escape the trap that had been laid for her and Dasen.

  Yesterday, her frustration had boiled over such that she’d tried to drive the gawking, gossiping crowd off with a training sword. Garth had stopped her before she could hurt anyone but thought it better to stick to the inn today. It had only a small effect on the crowd or her mood. Despite the mid-morning sun pounding directly into the courtyard, the acrid smoke from the kitchen’s fires that seemed to be trapped between the walls, and stink from so many hot bodies crammed into such a small space, the onlookers showed no signs of dispersing. Teth fought the urge to run from them, to escape the smoke, heat, and stink and just be alone.

  “Come,” Garth grabbed her arm and lead her out of the courtyard.

  “Where are we going?”

  Garth didn’t answer. He led her into the inn and down the hall past the Tapper’s residence to what appeared to be a blank wall. He produced a key and unlocked a large
door that had been painted the same color as the walls around it. The door was concealed not secret, and Teth had been through it enough times to know what secrets it concealed, but her heart raced nonetheless.

  With a quick look back to ensure that none of their audience had followed, Garth opened the door and pushed Teth into the darkness of the inn’s storeroom. She stumbled and fell against a dwindling stack of flour sacks – the storeroom was decidedly diminished since their first visit. The door clicked shut, casting the room into darkness. There were no windows and no lamps burned. The only light was that which filtered beneath the door at Garth’s back and the great sliding one on the room’s far side. Teth sprawled against the flour sacks, recovering her balance, then braced herself for whatever the Morg had planned. Her eyes darted, muscles tightened, hands rose.

  “This is more than the crowds and silly miracles. So what is it? Is it the boy?” Garth asked, rumbling voice rising from the great shadow his form had become. He stood with his back to the door, arms crossing his chest, face and features lost to the darkness.

  Teth did not know what she had expected when Garth pulled her in here, but she supposed this should have been it. She had spent nearly two weeks in the Morg’s company, and he had never done anything to threaten her beyond knocking a sword from her hand or casting her to the ground in a wrestling move. He had been, in many ways, the ideal teacher and protector even if he never allowed that to cross into friendship.

  “He is angry with you, isn’t he? Well, he is right to be,” he continued when she failed to respond. “You treat him poorly. You cannot blame him for thinking you untrue.”

  “Untrue?” Teth mulled the word, tried to understand what it meant. When she finally realized, she could not help but laugh. “Untrue as in . . . as in . . . but that’s absurd. I mean, I would never . . . .”

  “It is not so crazy,” Garth grunted, sounding hurt. “You are a woman. I am a man."

  Teth laughed again. She had never even considered herself with Garth. When she tried to take her mind there, it became lost somewhere between his beard, size, and age without ever making it to the act. “I’m sorry,” she said eventually. “But that’s not it. He has every right to be mad at me, but he’s not.”

  “Then what is your problem?”

  Teth tried to think of a way to explain. “It’s me.” Her thoughts swirled as she tried to find a way to placate the Morg without revealing all her secrets. Finally, she gave up and blurted everything out. “I . . . I am just not sure that it can work between us. I . . . I think we have different paths, and I’m trying to move away from him so that he is not too hurt when those paths split.”

  “Then be done with it,” Garth leapt a bit too quickly. “In the Fells if a woman no longer desires a man, she does not invite him to her bed, and they find partners who suit them better. They do not carry on like this. Maybe that is why he is not angry, because he has already let you go. Now, you must do the same.”

  The words hit Teth harder than any blow the Morg could deliver with the wooden swords they used for training. And they were all the harder for the truth contained in them. Wasn’t that exactly what she wanted? Shouldn’t she be relieved that Dasen finally seemed to have accepted their separation, that he had barely spoken to her in a week, that he almost seemed to have forgotten about her? Wasn’t that what she needed to be able to let him, let everything, go when the time came? It’s what needs to happen, she told herself. You’re doing what’s best for both of you.

  “You’re right,” she said, forcing her voice to be resolute despite the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. “We both need to move on.” She took a deep breath, building herself up for the conversation she had been dreading for most of the week, for the real reason for her distraction. “But I . . . I need your help.”

  “What is it?” Garth smiled and stepped closer. His hands came toward her.

  Is he reaching for me? Teth maneuvered instinctively around the flour sacks to keep the space between them, sudden uncomfortable being close to the man she had spent countless hours wresting. “I need you to get Dasen out of the city,” she said defensively as if, even more than his help, she needed to clarify the kind of help she wanted.

  It was only after the words were out that she realized how reckless they had been. If Garth was loyal to Kian or, more likely, Lareno, they were as good as done. But even more than that, saying the words made the plan seem real. All of a sudden, she could see it all happen, could see Garth smuggling Dasen from the city, putting him on a boat, taking him away while she . . . . He can’t leave someone who’s already gone, she told herself as she came to terms, yet again, with her fate.

  Garth took a step back. The thought of her own death, once so satisfying, had paralyzed Teth so that she missed his reaction. Only too late did she look into the gloom that was his face. Did he look hurt?

  “I don’t understand,” he mumbled, seeming to have lost his stoic poise for the first time. “Dasen is needed in the city. If you want to be away from him, why don’t I take you away?”

  Teth shook her head. This was all going wrong. She was saying it wrong, was thinking about what would happen in the coming weeks rather than what needed to happen right now. “Kian and Lareno are planning to betray us to the invaders,” she blurted. “They . . . ,” she cut herself off as she realized what she’d said. She was supposed to keep it to Kian, had rehearsed this in her mind a thousand times, so why had Lareno’s name slipped out? She knew that Garth disliked Kian, but hadn’t Lareno saved him from the river? And with Morgs’ overblown senses of honor would that make him beholden to the valati? “It’s Kian really,” she tried to backtrack, but everything was muddled now. “You’ve seen how he acts. I don’t know what he’ll do if he’s in power, and I don’t want to find out. Imagine if he has Dasen’s power. We can’t be here to find out what he does if he takes control of the city.”

  “So you’re both going?” Garth sounded like he was trying to get his head around the plan and failing.

  “The Tappers are arranging for a boat to take us down the river to Onaway.” Teth was just glad the Morg hadn’t turned on her yet and couldn’t seem to stop herself from giving the entire plan away. “When the city falls, they think that Kian will have you protecting Dasen. It will be our only way to get away, so can . . . .”

  “What about you?”

  “I . . . I,” Teth built herself up to tell the lie that was required. “I . . . it will depend on what is happening, but Kian may have me somewhere else. That’s why we need you. At least one of us is likely to be with Dasen. If it’s me, I will go with you. If not, I’ll meet you at the boat.”

  Garth stared at her for a long time, an unreadable shadow in the darkness. “I will see he makes it to the boat,” he said finally in a taciturn rumble that was impossible to read.

  “Thank you,” Teth breathed, feeling like a week a pent air was rushing from her. “By the Order, thank you. I will let you know all the details when the Tappers get them finalized.”

  “That is fine,” the Morg brushed off the details. “Is this is what has been bothering you?”

  “Yes,” Teth smiled. “I think I can concentrate now.”

  “So it’s just the boy’s safety that has you concerned, not . . . .” He trailed off as if losing his words.

  “Yes,” Teth answered a bit too quickly. “I feel so much better knowing that you’ll help us when the time comes.”

  “And you’ll go with him despite . . . ?”

  “We’re joined,” Teth nearly choked on the word but somehow managed to make it seem convincing. Garth, above anyone, could not find out what she really planned to do while they were escaping the city. “I am bound to him until I die.” Again, the words nearly got stuck in her throat.

  “I see. We should get back.” Garth was gruff, distant even beyond his usual indifference. He turned and opened to door, flooding the storeroom with light.

  Teth let out a long slow sigh and followed him from
the storeroom.

  A crowd filled the hall. Every eye closed on Teth as she emerged. Garth seemed to not see them, walked toward them as if he would go over them if they failed to move. Teth had no such power. “It was just the heat,” she felt obligated to say. “I was light headed. My man took me into the storeroom to cool down.”

  The crowd grumbled and muttered as Teth made her way through them. “Your mind is not in a place for training,” Garth pulled her attention from their stares. “Run to the camp and help your sister.”

  Teth was stunned by that. Was Garth upset with her? “I . . . I don’t want to go to the camp,” she answered, falling perfectly into her role as a teenage boy. “I want to keep training.”

  “Not today,” he answered and walked away. “I will do my part when the time comes but not today.”

  Teth was left to watch him go, wondering what she could have done to upset the stoic Morg.

  #

  So how do you do it?” Dasen asked Valati Lareno. He looked at the empty burlap sacks in the back of the wagon, then to the crowd of onlookers milling at the temple’s entrance, and finally, to the soldiers standing in a cluster near the path that led to the fortress above. None of them seemed to be watching.

  “I’m surprised you haven’t asked sooner,” Valati Lareno answered as he casually reached into the wagon and shifted one of the sacks. Dasen’s eyes darted to it without his head turning. Even in the twilight gloom, he saw the hole covered by the sack. “The sacks are already full,” the valati explained while gesturing toward the temple for anyone watching – clearly offering the lady a place to wait. “The top of each hangs out of the hole, covering the false bed of the wagon. As we add food, we simply pull the bags up, allowing the false bottom to fall, and the food to rise.”

  Dasen looked to the back of the wagon. The bed had been lowered, he now realized. Another false one had been placed on top with holes cut through it for the sacks. When the wagons arrived each morning, they already held most of the food that would go to the camp hidden between the two layers. As Dasen had already known, there was no magic at play here, no miracles, just carefully planned slight-of-hand. He nodded, reassured that the ground beneath him was still firm. The only way to explain the food they’d stolen was through a miracle, so Valati Lareno had created one and the saint to go with it.