Souls of Aredyrah 3 - The Taking of the Dawn

by Tracy A. Akers

  The crowd rushed as one to the entrance. Reiv shouldered his way through and halted just outside the door. Before them stood a regiment of Guard on horseback, lining the entire perimeter of the courtyard. The soldiers were indeed an intimidating sight. Their armor was polished in shades of pewter trimmed in crimson, and banners in similar colors snapped in the breeze that ruffled the plumes of their helmets. The guards waited, silent and ready, their pale eyes staring through the slits of their visors. But none of their gazes met the kohl-lined eyes of the Shell Seekers staring back at them.

  Reiv pulled in a steadying breath. “Wait here. I will speak with them,” he said, and slowly stepped into the courtyard. As he approached the militia, Shell Seekers spilled out of the pavilion behind him. He stopped before a Guard that he felt certain was the Commander. Dressed in an elaborate uniform of mail and dark leathers, the man looked imposing, though not nearly as imposing as Mahon, the former Commander had been.

  “Is the King with you?” Reiv asked politely. “Or have you been sent as his representative?”

  The Commander stared past him and did not respond.

  “Are you at liberty to take a message to him, then?”

  For a moment it seemed that Reiv was again to be ignored, but then the line began to move in a motion similar to that of an awakening serpent, and from within its dark-armored realm a lone figure of white appeared.

  Whyn rode toward Reiv on a horse that was as dark as he was light. He approached in an aura of brightness, as if emerging from a shimmering mirage.

  “Gods,” Reiv whispered. A wave of nausea swept through him. Though the figure riding toward him was the person he had once called brother, the face more closely resembled that of the former Priestess. The King’s white-blond hair hung loose at his shoulders, but was braided and pulled back at the temples and twisted atop his head. Liquid gold was painted around his pale blue eyes and upon his lips and eyebrows. Even his fingernails were coated in the same glimmering shade. His tunic was white and nearly transparent, revealing peach-colored skin beneath, and his bare legs were shaven and oiled to a radiant sheen. A sword with a lion’s head at its hilt was belted at his waist, and a quiver of gold-feathered arrows was nestled next to the bow at his back.

  Whyn stopped within feet of him, staring down at Reiv as if contemplating an insect beneath his feet.

  Reiv took a startled step back. He had met the Priestess prior to her death and was well-acquainted with the nadir of her evil. Though he was aware of the sinister hold she had once had on Whyn, never had he imagined she could have dwelt so deep.

  “Whyn?” he said hesitantly.

  Whyn regarded him with a cock of his head. “I have been called such.”

  “Are you not him?” Reiv asked.

  “I am known by many names. Whyn is one.”

  Reiv licked his suddenly parched lips. “May—may I call you Whyn?”

  Whyn’s eyes flashed. “You may not.”

  “What shall I call you then?”

  Whyn lifted his chin. “You may call me Master.”

  Reiv felt his own self-control slip. How dare his brother demand servitude! He was first born; not Whyn. “I call no one Master,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Oh, but you will,” Whyn said. He slid from his horse and stood before Reiv. Reiv searched his brother’s face, but realized there was nothing of him there.

  “Let us talk of the conditions of your survival,” Whyn continued dryly.

  Reiv balled his fists at his side. “I have defeated far greater foes than you,” he said. “Seirgotha’s skin adorns the pavilion wall, just as your death fills my memories.”

  “My death?” Whyn laughed. “Do you not see me standing before you?”

  “I do not speak of the death of my brother, but that of the witch defeated by Agneis!”

  Whyn’s eyes narrowed. “A serpent sheds its skin to be reborn. Is that not what your precious Spirit Keeper told you? Perhaps you did not listen. But it does not matter, for now you stand before me, while she lies rotting in the dirt.”

  Reiv gasped. How could Whyn possibly have known what Nannaven had told him at their last parting? That had been a private conversation, or so Reiv thought. He reached for his dirk, his hand moving on impulse, but before he could touch it, Whyn whipped the Lion from its sheath and pressed it against Reiv’s throat.

  Whyn grabbed Reiv by the hair as he held the blade to his neck. “I loathe you,” he hissed. “I loathe every fiber of your being. The very beating of your heart.”

  He forced Reiv to his knees and glared at him, the intensity of his gaze so evil, Reiv’s sense of reality began to evaporate. He felt as if he were under a spell, drawn by a darkness beyond his comprehension.

  Reiv quailed as he stared into the King’s icy gaze. If only he could find a flicker of his brother beyond that hideous façade! But there was no hint of the Whyn he once knew, and that flung Reiv beyond any terror he had ever experienced, and he had experienced many.

  “Whyn,” he said, “I am your brother. Please.”

  “You repulse me,” Whyn said. He angled the blade toward Reiv’s jugular. A trickle of blood seeped beneath it, sending a bright red rivulet snaking toward Reiv’s clavicle.

  Whyn grinned. “I should love to see you drained of the one thing left to bind us.” He teased the blade deeper.

  Reiv grabbed Whyn’s hand. “Please,” he cried.

  “Say it again,” Whyn said.

  Reiv tried to gather some saliva into his mouth. “Please.”

  “Again.”

  “Please!”

  Whyn laughed, then tilted his face to the sky. He groaned as if in the throes of lust. “Gods, that I could savor this moment for eternity,” he said. He raised the sword high into the air, where it seemed to hover for a moment. Then the blade fell in a dazzling swath of motion, sweeping downward toward Reiv’s neck.

  Before Reiv knew it, he was lying prostrate on the ground. He had little memory of what had just transpired, it had happened too fast, only the brief recollection of a flashing blade and the sound of laughter ringing in his ears.

  But then he realized his head was still intact, at least he thought it was. He could taste dirt on his tongue and feel gravel beneath his skin, and the laughter…yes, he could still hear the laughter.

  He pushed himself to his knees as he moved his gaze up the looming form of his brother. The sword was still grasped in Whyn’s fist and Reiv could not seem to tear his eyes from it.

  “Did you think I would miss my mark?” Whyn asked with amusement. “I spared you only because there is more from you that I want.”

  “What more could you possibly want from me?” Reiv asked cautiously. “You took my throne, my love, everything I once held dear. What else can I give you?”

  “Your happiness.”

  “My happiness?” Reiv said, confused. But then he glanced behind him and saw the Shell Seekers now gathered outside the pavilion, and realized they were his family now, and that living amongst them had been the happiest time of his life. His focus moved to Brina, standing with the others, her arm in the firm grip of Yustes who was trying to prevent her from rushing to Reiv’s aid.

  Reiv returned his eyes to Whyn. “You want me to leave Meirla,” he said.

  “Meirla is mine, as it has been since the reign of the Red King. And yes, I want you to leave it. I want no more to hear of you, or for others to acknowledge that you ever existed. But fear not; I will think of you often. For I will own your happiness and will forever celebrate the day that you gave it to me.”

  Brina wrenched her arm free and raced to Reiv, who was still on his knees, and examined the wound on his neck. Her eyes blazed at Whyn. “You would draw your own brother’s blood?”

  “I could have drawn much more,” Whyn said. “Unfortunately, I must be satisfied with but a taste of it. Though I would prefer his death to his exile, it is not my decision to make. The gods demand the honor of that task.” He sighed. “Ah well, perhaps kn
owing he wanders in misery will have to do.”

  “If he goes, I, for one, go with him.”

  Whyn guffawed. “Do you think I care? Two traitors can starve as easily as one.” He turned to address the Shell Seekers. “Reiv is hereby exiled from Tearia,” his voice boomed across the distance. “If any of you wish to go with them, you have my blessing. But know this: Never again will you be allowed within Tearia’s borders.” He gestured his arm toward the sea. “You will be banished from these shores that you call home, from the very waters that give you sustenance. How will you feed your families? How will you survive?”

  Reiv rose shakily to his feet. “Will they survive if they stay?” he asked. “Or will you do to them what you did to the Jecta?”

  Whyn looked astonished by the question. “I did what had to be done. As for who lives and who dies, the Shell Seekers can still offer me service; the others could offer me nothing.”

  Reiv’s mind scrambled. What would happen to the Jecta who had made it to the encampment outside of Meirla? And what of the sick and injured, and those tending them? His heart thumped at the thought of Cora. Would Whyn spare her because she was Shell Seeker? And what of Torin and the girls? Would Whyn finish what he had started?

  “So the Shell Seekers will be allowed to live if they agree to serve you as before,” Reiv said, working to piece together Whyn’s meaning.

  “Of course.”

  “And the Jecta? Will you offer them the same?”

  “If they are worth the offer.”

  “And if some choose to leave with me?”

  Whyn laughed. “Then they would be fools. What do you offer them?”

  “Freedom.”

  “To do what? Starve?” Whyn shook his head. “No, Reiv, I very much doubt they will go with you. As I recall, but moments ago you begged for your life. What sort of leadership would that provide?”

  Humiliation flared to Reiv’s cheeks.

  “I see you agree,” Whyn said.

  Reiv remained silent, again assessing Whyn’s words. It seemed out of character for the King of Tearia to offer anyone a choice in the matter. After all, he could simply demand that they stay and serve him.

  “Why do you give them a choice at all?” Reiv asked. “Why such…generosity on your part?”

  “It is simply good sportsmanship, do you not think?”

  Reiv’s eyes slid to the gold-tipped feathers rising from the quiver at Whyn’s back, the very same as those removed from Torin’s shoulder. Reiv had known those belonged to Whyn, but now he could not help but wonder: Is that what Torin was—sport?

  Whyn turned and mounted his horse, then squared his shoulders as he stared down at Reiv. “Tell your people I offer them a choice. They may stay, or they may go. As for those who stay, another choice must be made: who will serve me and who will not. Only this time, I will do the choosing.”

  “But that offers them little choice at all!” Reiv said.

  “They will soon learn to be satisfied with what I give them.” Whyn lifted his chin as he made his last announcement to the crowd: “I return at dawn. If Reiv is not gone by that time, your life is forfeit. Leave with him if you wish. It is your choice. But know this: If you stay, the quality of your life will depend on your worthiness to serve me.” He steered his horse into the mass of guards that turned to follow him down the path.

  Reiv watched as the Guards’ backs grew distant. The Red King had returned—and with him the Purge. Reiv felt as if a cloud of doom had descended upon him. There was little hope of avoiding another massacre, especially of the Jecta. Even the Shell Seekers were in peril. But how could he convince them to leave?

  “Do not listen to his lies,” Brina said. “He cannot be trusted to hold his part of the bargain.”

  “He can be trusted to hold this one,” Reiv said. “Or part of it at least.”

  They suddenly found themselves surrounded by faces painted with kohl and confusion and fear.

  “What else did he say?” some questioned.

  “What are we to do?” others asked.

  “I would say a better question would be, why did Reiv bow down like that?” Lyal said as he pushed his way toward him through the crowd. “Perhaps our suspicions about you were correct.”

  Reiv lurched toward Lyal, but Brina grabbed hold of his arm and held him back. “Did you not see the blade at my throat!” Reiv snarled. “Or were you too busy watching the urine pool at your feet!”

  “Perhaps the sword at your neck was just an act,” Lyal sneered. He eyed the rest of the crowd. “I, for one, still see a head upon Reiv’s shoulders.”

  “Would you rather see it rolling in the dirt?” Reiv asked

  “Perhaps I would,” Lyal said, fingering the short sword at his waist.

  Reiv was consumed by rage. He curled his fists and attempted another lunge, but Brina held tight to one arm, while two men grabbed the other.

  “Enough!” Yustes shouted above the swell of tempers.

  Individuals stepped aside as the Elders, led by Yustes, wound their way between them and toward Reiv and Lyal. Yustes placed a calming hand on Reiv’s shoulder, ordering him with a nod of his head to relent. Reiv jerked his arms free, then worked to steady the breath seething through his teeth.

  Yustes shot Lyal a glare. “Remove your hand from the weapon,” he ordered. “There’ll be no blood spilled here today.”

  “There’ll be blood spilled here soon enough!” Lyal responded. “How do we know we can trust this—this Tearian? Did you not see him kneel before the King?”

  Voices muttered in agreement.

  “Fools, all of you,” Yustes said. “The only thing I saw was a boy facing death while the rest of you cowered near the doorway.”

  Men mumbled, realizing the truth of the Elder’s words. Only one person had dared go to Reiv’s defense, and that had been Brina.

  “Tell us, then,” Yustes said, addressing Reiv. “What does the King command?”

  “He commands that I leave,” Reiv said. “As for why…” Reiv thought back to Whyn’s cruel words and bizarre appearance, and the Lion sword sweeping toward his own neck. It all seemed so surreal. But the more he thought on it, the more he wondered: Why had Whyn simply not killed him?

  As if reading his mind, Yustes said, “Your neck was well in the path of your brother’s sword. When he pulled it back, it was as if an invisible hand had forced it from its mark. Why do you think he spared you?”

  Reiv shook his head, exceedingly grateful that he was still able to. “I do not know. He said it was up to the gods. Perhaps the entity that possesses him does not wish to challenge at least one of them again. Agneis was no ordinary foe.”

  “Agneis?”

  “It was not the collapse of the temple that killed the Priestess,” Reiv said. “It was Agneis.” He shivered at the recollection. “The Priestess was no mere woman possessed by her beliefs; she was something more—a fiend from the underworld.”

  “And now she has returned,” Yustes said.

  “You saw her too then,” Reiv said. “In my brother’s face.”

  “I do not think she seeks to hide her identity, do you? Clearly she wants her presence known.”

  “I never realized how deep her hatred ran, but seeing Whyn…”

  “Did he say anything more?” Yustes asked. “I seem to recall the word ‘worthiness’ being thrown our way.”

  Reiv hesitated, but realized the worst had not yet been said. “Yes. Whyn has initiated a Purge. It began in New Pobu two nights ago, and will continue here in the morning, unless—”

  “But we signed a treaty with him!” someone shouted. “Does that mean nothing?”

  “At the moment, little,” Reiv said. “I suspect it is the plague that has motivated the King to invalidate it. The earthquake very nearly destroyed Tearia. Now the fever is entering its borders. If Tearia is to survive, Whyn must protect its citizens. And if he hopes to rebuild the city, he will require slave labor.”

  “But why slay the Jecta?
” Yustes questioned. “Would they not have suited his needs in the rebuilding?”

  “The Jecta are weak,” Reiv said. “The fever has seen to that. They can offer Tearia little at this point, other than the threat of more illness. Thus far, the Shell Seekers have avoided the outbreak. Whyn knows this. But he now also realizes that many Jecta fled here. This could jeopardize his plan. He will purge whatever and whomever he must in order to see it done. That means the Jecta, and any Shell Seeker who holds no value to him.”

  Voices exploded, but Yustes cut them off, reminding them that the sun was already descending the sky.

  “You all heard the King,” Reiv continued. “He offers you a choice, though a poor one. Anyone wishing to leave may do so. But I know that is inconceivable to most of you, as seeking is all you have ever known. On the other hand, if you stay, the King will expect servitude and—” Reiv hesitated. “—worthiness.”

  “So,” Yustes said grimly, “he will spare some. But not all.”

  “Yes,” Reiv conceded.

  “Then we must fight back!” Lyal declared. “We must strike the Tearians down!”

  “Yes!” others cried. “We cannot sit back and do nothing!”

  “Think what you are saying!” Reiv said. “You are ill prepared to fight the Guard. And what of the Jecta? What happens to them?”

  Tensions quickly turned to the subject of the refugees and what could be done for them. The Jecta would be the first ones purged, that was clear. But was there time to relocate them, and if so, to where? Suggestions were made as to the caves in the nearby cliffs, but transporting the infirm up a precarious path would be nearly impossible. Perhaps the healthy could find refuge there, but the sick and injured would have to be brought into the village. A perimeter of spears and swords might protect Meirla for a time, but if the Jecta were brought within its borders, the Shell Seekers would be at risk of contracting the fever. And that would erode any chance they had.

  “We are running out of time,” Reiv said. “I for one know what I must do: I must leave, and soon. As hard as that will be for me, you have the more difficult choice, I think. Stay and serve, or stay and die.”

  “Or leave with us,” Brina added.