“What do you plan to do with these bodies?” Kutan asked when the silence following Whym’s revelation extended to the point of being uncomfortable.
“Burn them. I don’t ever want to hear them again!” The sticks jammed into the soldiers eyes had saved Whym from reliving most of the men’s memories, but their voices stood out, discordant with the rest of the Before.
“And the women?”
“We must bury them, somewhere they’ll not be disturbed.”
“Tedel?” Kutan looked back toward the building where the Faerie’s body remained.
“We’ll bury him also, but up there.” Whym pointed up the mountain, to where he knew waited an azure lake that fed the stream running through Endeling.
“Whym?” Kutan paused, looking as if he needed to ask a question, but worried it might cause trouble. “Why did you take out the woman’s eyes?”
“Arvid!” Kutan’s question jogged Whym’s memory and explained the dizziness he’d endured for the past day. “He drank the poison, but we didn’t remove his eyes.” He looked up at the expressions of concern on Stern’s and Kutan’s faces. “If the eyes aren’t removed, the visions become disorienting—a vertigo that gets worse every moment they remain. I must go back.”
Stern objected. “A half-day walk to poke out a dead man’s eyes? We shouldn’t stay here. We should go now and leave the dead.”
“Then go. I’ll do it myself.” Whym stood stiff-backed. I’m now the connection to the Before. You don’t hear their voices. You don’t see their memories. You don’t feel their desires.
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The three travelers looked back down the mountain as dusk advanced on the fourth day after the poisoning of Endeling. Smoke billowed from the charred remains of the village and melted into the pink farewell of the day. A weight had been lifted from Whym as the soldiers’ bodies burned. Though Whym had argued for burning them right away, Stern had insisted on first retrieving Arvid’s corpse and burying the women before setting the fire.
With the mule and cart, it had taken a full day to reach Arvid and return to Endeling. “A waste of time,” Stern had deemed the trip, and had grumbled his displeasure for the two days it took to bury the circle of women. Whym, unable to help with the heavy work due to the condition of his hands, had sat under a nearby tree, learning from the visions how to use the amulet and doing his best to ignore his master’s barbed comments. When it came to Tedel, though, Stern hadn’t objected to Whym’s plan to bury the body beside the lake above Endeling. The seeker’s only objection had come when Whym removed the Faerie’s eyes.
“You’re not going to say anything?” Stern asked after adding the last shovel of dirt over the grave. His expression made clear his opinion that Whym at least owed Tedel a few words.
Whym shook his head as he stared at the freshly turned soil of the unmarked grave. The blue waters of the lake were turning a dark gray as the sun faded. “No.” He’s not gone.
Kutan regarded Whym with a slight shake of his head, then spoke softly toward the mounded dirt, his “thank you” drawing an appreciative nod from their master.
“Let’s find a place to camp for the night,” Stern said after a moment of shared silence. “We won’t have light for long.”
Riverbend, Chapter 59
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The Courtesan
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We live to serve, held in thrall,
Our bodies sold, surrendered all,
Young and old, big and small,
With marks where tears no more may fall.
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—Excerpt from Verses From Beyond the Blight
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Riverbend
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“Roslin.” Artifis wrapped locks of the courtesan’s hair around the fingers of his right hand. The fire, along with the red strands, gave the blonde in her hair an orange hue. He laid his other arm across her chest, his hand rising and falling as it rested against the smooth flesh of her stomach.
“I told you not to call me that.” She elbowed him in the chest, gentle enough to be playful, but with enough force to convey her irritation. She tried to push away, but he pulled her back with a quick, rough jerk.
“Then tell me your name.” It was a game. He did want to know, though knowing would peel away another layer of mystery—the key to an abiding attraction. Would it have been that way with Roslin? Would I have felt the same had she not been forbidden? Is that why I didn’t bring her back after Father died?
She rolled over to face him with her breath thick like melting butter as it ran down his skin. “Another day.” She kissed his neck, a peck with a soft tap of her tongue, hinting of more to follow.
That was always her answer. Artifis let it go. When last he’d pressed too hard, she’d refused him for half a moon. He’d responded by withholding payment to Salazar, confident the coin, the boss, or both would break her. In the end, he’d paid the full account and apologized before she relented. She plays well. Too well.
“You know—” he squeezed her buttocks and drew her closer still—“I’ve arranged a house for you across the river—one of the finer homes in town. It’s yours if you’ll move in.” He had a fondness for the Maze and the Cache, but the trek was inconvenient. There were too many demands on his time that precluded his coming as often as he’d like.
“You’d tire of my company.” There was a sadness in her voice, as if she expected that outcome anyway. “The rejection would ruin me.”
She’s a whore—a lying whore. Artifis needed to remind himself at times to keep his feelings in check. With his days filled by the drudgery of meetings and the constant nuisance of petitioners the war engendered, he was too dependent on the release she provided. It would be easy to lose perspective wrapped in her arms.
“I must go.” With an abrupt swing of his legs, he slid off the bed to the floor, his head thrumming from the wine. The sudden movement dizzied him.
“Don’t.” She reached out to him as he stood, arm against the footboard for support. “Can’t you stay the night?” She looked like a child fearful of the dark, seeking reassurance.
Yes, too well at times. Far too well. He wanted to stay, but was too close to his goals to risk the distraction. The Council’s mine. The Fringe smolders. I’m not far from wearing a crown. Everything’s worked as the teller foretold. “Not tonight.” The dizziness subsided, and he bent to kiss her forehead. “But soon.”
She watched him leave without further protest, longing in her eyes. How does she do that? Artifis Fen believed he could lie as well as any man. When it comes to deception, though, all men are novices compared to women.
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The door clicked shut as she entered the room. Salazar, body rigid, sat on the edge of the cushioned chair, pipe smoke wreathed about his head. “What did you find out?” he asked without turning.
The room was dark but for the flicker of a small fire. The sweet aroma of scentar permeated the air, creating a tired, droopy sensation. She let her robe slide from her shoulders onto the floor, then curled against him. “So quick to business?” The flames’ light danced on her pale skin.
“What did he say?” Lord Fen’s visits always left Salazar irritable.
She wrapped her fingers behind his neck and pulled his head down toward hers, her mouth parting to receive him. As she kissed his mangled lip, a slight arch formed in her back where his hand moved to support her. “Really? Just business?”
He kissed her. He could taste Artifis Fen and smell the foulness of the man on her skin. He pulled her onto his lap, and enfolded her with his bearlike arms. His chest muffled her sobs, his shirt absorbing the tears as they fell.
She composed herself after a short cry.
“No news from Endeling. He’s concerned.”
“I’m not surprised, considering Stern’s late arrival in Colodor.” He’d warned the seeker not to go, but had known Stern would ignore the advice. He just hoped the warning would leave them cautious enough to survive the journey. If his plan worked, the Ellenrond boy would hasten the Faerie return to their homeland. “Go on.”
“The army continues to advance in the Fringe. His son’s reckless—the losses to the Shades have increased—but the tribes put up little resistance. He’s conquered as much land as his uncle in far less time, so the Council’s pleased.”
“And Volos?” He could feel her body tense at the question.
“You’ve never revealed why you treated him so poorly. Volos served the cause, what, forty turns? Then you dispatched him to the Fringe!” Salazar also saw the unspoken question in her eyes—will you do the same when you’re done with me?
He attempted to justify his actions. “Volos had grown too close—started to think of the First Lord as his true master. I couldn’t risk him intervening to help Lord Fen. Too many have sacrificed too much to take that risk. Artifis Fen will destroy the Council of Truth. Tyrus Fen will fracture the Lost Land. Our brethren will be received with open arms when they cross the Blight to restore order.”
There was a coldness in her eyes after the explanation. “Forty turns! You should have trusted Volos with your plans instead of stepping in to steal the First Lord’s ear while he was off to do your bidding.” Her eyes narrowed further. “And you could have found another way to send the Ellenrond boy to the Steward. What was done in Endeling is reprehensible—unforgivable.” She watched, unblinking, for his response. Seldom did anyone speak to the leader of the Vanguard in this way.
Salazar’s body stiffened at her criticism. He’d arranged for Volos to be sent to Endeling to set the trap. He’d not told him how to set it. “And Volos?” he asked again, tersely, displeased both that she’d learned from Artifis what had happened in Endeling and that she’d decided to throw it in his face.
She shook her head. “He doesn’t speak of the man.”
“Vademus?” The First Lord’s younger brother was the one topic where Salazar had made no headway. Despite Salazar encouraging leniency, Artifis had kept the former Commander of the Council’s forces chained and inaccessible since the day he’d sentenced him to death.
Her mouth tightened, and her body tensed at an unshared memory. “We don’t mention his brother. He grows angry…and rough, if we do.”
Salazar sighed, regretting having gone straight to business. “You’ll stay the night?” He guessed otherwise after looking into her now-puffy eyes.
She looked away, tears welling again. “I must wash.” She pursed her lips. “And some tea would be appreciated.”
Oh, I’m sorry! Tea again? He took her into his arms, unable to imagine her suffering. Tea from the bandit nettle would steal from her womb that which grew inside.
“Is it worth it?” She pushed away, stood, retrieved her robe from the floor, then draped it over her shoulders. “In the end, when this is over, how can it possibly be worth this?”
She deserves my honesty. “No. Not for you. But it is what’s needed.”
She opened the door but lingered in the doorframe before turning back. “When my part’s done, I’m ready for the marks.” She closed the door and left.
Salazar’s body drooped with her departure. She was asking for the marks of a courtesan, an ‘X’ carved on the ridges of her cheeks below her eyes. When Salazar had left the Faerie lands, brothels had begun forcing it upon the women in their employ. But he kept to the old customs. Only when hope was lost, could one take the mark. It was a vow—never to wed, never to birth, never to love—a mask to hide from the world an insufferable sorrow.
He relit his pipe and inhaled. The scentar deadened his senses, lessening the ache of his guilt. She crossed the Blight on her own accord, eager to serve her people. It’s my duty to use the tools at my disposal. He tried to comfort himself, but there were questions that gnawed at his conscience. What responsibility do I have to the tools themselves? Where’s the line between my obligation to the Faerie people, and that to the Faerie I command?
He closed his eyes and willed sleep to visit. He’d learned not to venture far down that path of questioning. The thorns were sharp and long, and could shred skin even thick as his own.
Mountain Overlooking Endeling, Chapter 60
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Truth will bind you to the way of Jah. Truth will set you free.
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—Truth (Fundamentals 1:1-2)
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Mountain
Overlooking
Endeling
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They’d burned Endeling, but had decided against risking another fire—one that might give away their location up the mountain. Yet, without fire at that elevation, the biting night winds attacked any exposed flesh with ferocity, howling as they hunted. Whym cocooned himself in the furs he’d taken from Endeling, thankful he’d brought them despite the burden of their weight.
The amulet burned against the skin of his chest. Tedel? The visions had taught him he couldn’t choose whose visions he received. He tried nonetheless. Tedel? The visions flowed. For the first time since Arvid had drunk the poisoned ale, Whym was able to communicate with the Before free from vertigo.
That night, Whym’s dreams were not his own. He fought battles; he made love. He planted; he harvested. He built; he razed. He bore children, and he watched with red-rimmed eyes as those he cared about were lowered into the ground. Though he’d called to his friend, none of the visions were Tedel’s.
“Hey? Hey, are you okay?” Whym cracked open his eyes to find Kutan anxiously shaking his shoulder.
“I’m fine,” Whym croaked, his throat parched by the dry mountain air.
“You were mumbling.” Kutan stopped shaking him, but the worried frown remained.
“Just dreams.” Whym looked out at the clear blue sky and noted the sun’s position. They’d let him sleep late. He sat up. Stern and Kutan were packed and ready to leave.
Kutan peered over his shoulder, then turned back when he located Stern in the woods opposite. “Whym,” he whispered, “you were speaking a different language.” His look was the same as he’d given when he’d known Whym was hiding what had happened to Ansel.
Whym flipped his legs over the side of the hammock, hopped out, then stretched his sore back. He placed his hand on Kutan’s shoulder, grimacing when the sharp pain reminded him of the condition of his fingers. “I really am fine. Just give me time.”
Kutan didn’t respond right away. Instead, he started folding up the furs to help pack. “Don’t take too long,” he said when the first was folded.
“Promise.” Whym took the fur from his friend and cinched it to his pack.
“And—” Kutan looked up as he was rolling the thicker fur, but seemed hesitant to say what was on his mind. He finished rolling the fur and held it out before he spoke. “I’m sorry about Tedel. I’m sorry for how I acted toward him before, and I’m sorry about what happened in Endeling.”
The amulet burned so hot Whym thought it might melt his skin. He pulled it away and folded it in his shirt. If you need to be heard that desperately, I guess I can listen. He opened his mind to the vision, and grabbed Kutan’s shoulder for support.
“Tedel says—” he paused, realizing how ridiculous the words must sound, but then continued—“to make his sacrifice worthwhile. He says you must never stop trying to learn who you are. And…he says you’re still a dunderheaded scut.”
Whym opened his eyes, expecting to be met by an expression of disbelief. Instead, Kutan was eyeing the lump in Whym’s shirt. The creases of concern had fl
attened out, and he looked up at Whym with eyebrows raised. “Don’t take too long. You promised.”
Stern approached from the trees. “You boys about ready?”
“Almost,” Kutan answered, and held out to Whym some dried meat from Endeling. The stocks they’d taken from the soldiers’ supplies had filled their packs. They wouldn’t have to worry about food for a moon, at least.
When Stern reached them, he appeared troubled. “What’s wrong?” Whym asked. “See something in the valley?”
The old seeker shook his head. “No, nothing. It’s just that…well, I really believed we’d find a clue to locate the Steward in Endeling.”
“The teller again?” Kutan snapped. “Did he predict it?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
“So now you believe in the Steward? Just because some teller whispers in your ear?”
Stern shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now. We burnt down the village and everyone’s dead. We’ll just go back to Colodor.”
“Why?” Whym stopped packing and gave Stern his full attention. “The last time you sent us there it nearly cost our lives. You owe us an explanation for what we were doing in Colodor in the first place.”
Stern looked taken aback, but this time he didn’t insist on Whym agreeing to lead before telling. “If the people are going to revolt, we need weapons. We can’t rely on looting as they did during the Reformers Rebellion. With Seph’s assistance, we’re going to arm the regions.”
“But why would we return to Colodor?” Kutan challenged. Whym had assumed Kutan knew the reason they went to Colodor, but he seemed as surprised as Whym that Stern planned to go back.
Birthrights_Revisions to the Truth Page 38