Souls of Aredyrah 3 - The Taking of the Dawn

by Tracy A. Akers

  “Gair!” Reiv exclaimed. He had not spent as much time with the Jecta blacksmith as his cousin Dayn had, yet he could not help but be overjoyed at the sight of him. “You are alive!”

  Gair nodded. “I am. You?”

  “I have been better.”

  Gair lifted the cart poles. “This is an ambitious undertaking, Reiv,” he said, “even for you.”

  “I had no choice. As for the rest…” He gazed back at the long line of people that would soon be following his lead. “They are either as desperate as I am, or they have placed their faith in the wrong person.”

  “Oh, I doubt that,” Gair said. He grinned and jerked the wagon into motion.

  The line of people at their backs began to move like a great waking worm, until at last it evened out and moved forward at an equalizing pace. As they reached the first rise, Reiv turned to look at Meirla one last time. But then his gaze fell upon the caravan, and a lump of realization made its way to his throat. These people had placed their future in his hands, believing he, as a Transcendor, could lead them to some sort of promised land. True, he had died and returned to tell of it. True, he’d been given visions of the past, present, and future. But what no one yet realized was that while he knew how to get them to the valley, he had not allowed himself to see what would happen once they got there.

  Back to ToC

  Chapter 19: War Play

  The encampment was deserted, and Whyn’s disappointment had quickly reached a boiling point. His spies had inspected the place but one day prior and had assured him it was well-filled with Jecta. He raked his eyes over the remains of the encampment, working to steady his temper. Perhaps he should not have given the Shell Seekers warning. That was something Whyn would do. But not her. Never her.

  A stab of pain shot through him, sending a grimace to his face.

  Did I not tell you to be swift about it! she hissed. You and your human frailties. How many more lessons must you be taught?

  “Pray few I hope,” Whyn whispered. He clutched his gut, fighting to remain upright in the saddle.

  You well know how I like to give lessons. Do not test me further, boy, or your body will soon not be worth the having.

  Whyn flinched. Yes, he knew the lessons that she taught, carried out by her command, yet meted by his own hand. She could have him press his face to the flames if she wished it, even slit his own throat if that was her desire. As it was, she’d only had him flog his back until raw, carve her name upon his flesh, and perform acts upon himself so deviant, he wondered how in the world she had ever thought them up. Each time she would heal him and soothe him, then have him repeat the act over and over again, until at last she was satisfied the lesson had been learned. Perhaps that was why Whyn had come to enjoy the suffering of others so much. It gave him the power to hurt someone other than himself.

  He glared at the encampment, realizing he should have purged it when he’d had the chance. But no, he had hesitated, and now it was nothing more than dying campfires and a few discarded tents. No blood, no torture. Just refuse and disappointment—her disappointment.

  Whyn guided his horse through the debris. He had hoped to open some veins here today, but the remaining Shell Seekers would just have to do. Surely that would appease her. He turned his eyes toward a nearby hillside and smiled. A funeral pyre could be seen, glowing with the embers of the dead. He felt a glimpse of satisfaction. But it soon ebbed.

  Whyn jerked the horse’s reins. The animal snorted and strained at the bit as he steered it toward a mound of human waste and medical debris. He stared at the pile with disgust. “Torch this,” he shouted to a nearby group of guards. He pulled a perfume-scented kerchief from the belt at his waist and pressed it to his nose.

  Several guards on horseback galloped forward, waving torches that had been greased and lit. They tossed them onto the heap. It roared into flames, sending an acrid stench into the air.

  Whyn reined his horse back. “Commander!” he barked. “Have the area searched. There might be stragglers.”

  “Yes, Lord,” the Commander called back. He snapped a brusque order, and several guards spurred their horses into the surrounding trees, swords whacking through the underbrush.

  The Commander reined his horse toward Whyn, then stopped at his side.

  What of Meirla? she hissed into Whyn’s mind.

  “Is Meirla secured?” Whyn asked the Commander.

  “It is, my lord,” the Commander replied.

  The dead? What of the dead?

  “How many dead?” Whyn asked.

  “Many. But we captured the survivors with little difficulty.”

  “Was my brother amongst them?”

  He was not.

  “No, Lord.”

  “Did they have a leader?” Whyn asked.

  “Apparently. But we have him. Shall I have him brought to you?”

  Yes…Let us teach him a lesson.

  “I look forward to meeting him,” Whyn said. “But later. I should like to see the village first.”

  The Commander shouted another order, and he and a group of guards gathered at Whyn’s side to escort him to Meirla.

  “Anything else I should know?” Whyn asked as they rode casually toward the village.

  “Only that the structures have been torched, and the survivors await your decision.”

  Whyn felt anticipation surge from his breast to his loins. But this was not lust in the usual sense. No, this was lust of a very different nature. He smiled. “Then let us go to them,” he said. “We cannot keep our lady waiting.”

  * * * *

  The surviving Shell Seekers had already been sorted by the time Whyn arrived at the village. The Guard were well-drilled in their duties. There were many ways a slave could serve a master, and their King expected organization and ease when making his selections.

  All of the captives were on their knees, roped together at the neck, their hands bound at their backs. There were four groups of them. Girls and women made up the largest, assembled according to age and physical attributes. Those with exceptional beauty would be used to please the court. The rest would be sent to serve individual Tearian masters or to join the labor force currently rebuilding the city. Some would be housed to replenish the stock, but only those with purer features would be considered for that. The aged and infirm had already been purged, their bodies tossed upon the pyres along with those who had perished in the earlier skirmish.

  Children were yanked from their parents’ arms and sent to a group of their own. Infants lay squalling upon the ground, while toddlers clung to children only slightly older than themselves. Pre-adolescents were corralled, boys and girls separated. Adult males made up yet another group. They were the most heavily guarded.

  Whyn eyed the prisoners from atop his horse, sorry now that he had not joined in the fray. It had not been much, the Guard had described it as little more than archery practice, but still, it might have been fun.

  A chair had already been brought for him. Though Whyn had no intention of lingering in the vile place, he was not one to give up his comforts. Servants had laid out a tapestry rug decorated with swirls of red, black, and gold. Upon it sat the chair, its seat draped in red velvet, its back and legs carved from the finest mahogany.

  Whyn eased out of his saddle and strolled toward the chair. The Commander followed at his back. A groom quickly gathered their horses’ reins and led them aside, while a serving girl in a nearly transparent gown brought Whyn a goblet of wine. She curtsied and stepped aside as a boy offered him an assortment of fruits, cheeses, and meats, all displayed on a highly polished platter.

  Whyn sat, then took a swallow of wine and handed the goblet to the nearest servant. He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and ran his eyes over the prisoners assembled before him.

  “This is all?” he asked.

  “Yes, Lord,” the Commander replied.

  Whyn sighed. “Very well,” he said with a flick of his hand. “The girls first.”

>   A line of adolescent girls were marched forward and made to face him. He looked them over, but with little enthusiasm. He pointed offhandedly to one with pale hair and eyes. “That one pleases me,” he said. A guard holding a bowl of dye dipped his fingers and painted a bright blue streak upon the girl’s forehead.

  Whyn moved his attention down the line. He gestured toward a raven-haired girl with a murderous expression plastered across her face. “She will serve the reconstruction effort well enough.” Again a line was painted on her forehead, but this time it was black rather than blue. Next to her a girl was painted with a streak of green, a serving girl, and beyond her one was marked with red, a breeder.

  On and on Whyn singled out girls from the line. Before long their terrified expressions came to reveal that of understanding: Those that had been painted were the lucky ones. Though their futures would not be pleasant, those that received no paint would have no futures at all.

  After those chosen were separated from those who were not, Whyn ordered the group of women brought before him. When he was finished with them, he then made selections from the group of boys. He felt uneasy at the pleasure he took in it, but he knew it was her pleasure, not his.

  At last the men were brought before him. He felt a surge of anticipation.

  Where is the leader? Him first.

  Whyn grinned. “Let us first guess who he is,” he told her. He moved his eyes down the line, resting his gaze on each man individually. Although most made no effort to disguise their contempt, he had little difficulty selecting the leader amongst them.

  “That one,” he said, nodding toward a handsome young man glowering at him with kohl-lined eyes.

  Yesssss, of course. Whyn felt her delight. Ah…but he is pretty, is he not?

  “Yes, very,” Whyn said.

  I should like to play with him.

  Whyn cringed, but made every effort to disguise his revulsion. He knew all too well what she meant; she had played with him often enough. But what she had in mind for the handsome young Shell Seeker was different. And for the first time in a long time he felt compelled to say the one word he knew would bring him more suffering. “No.”

  Her fury swept through his veins like acid. You shall pay for your disrespect, she said. But no need for the others to see you grovel. Later, after I am finished with the boy.

  Whyn gritted his teeth. “I will not do as you desire with this one.”

  She laughed, a laugh so cruel it twisted him to the core. You will, and I shall enjoy watching you do it. Now bring him to me. The Commander may choose from the rest.

  “Commander,” Whyn barked. “Escort the leader to me. You may make the selections from the rest. We are leaving.”

  Lyal was cut from the line and dragged before the King. With his hands still bound at his back he was forced to kneel. His face was shoved toward Whyn’s feet where he was made to press his lips upon them. The young man was hers now. And there was nothing Whyn could do about it.

  Back to ToC

  Part Three: Quickenings

  Chapter 20: The Writing on the Walls

  Alicine marched toward the barn, guilt gnawing at her insides. Ever since she’d learned of the Gathering, and had baited Eyan and Dayn over it, she’d felt miserable. That, along with the fight she’d had with her brother, had brought her nothing but worry. She knew she had a right to her opinion, there was always more than one side to an argument, but if she wanted to clear the air, and have the company of her brother or her cousin any time soon, she knew she would have to offer an apology.

  She set her teeth, trying to maintain some resolve. If apologies had to be made, she should probably start with Eyan. He didn’t know enough to take a stand on anything, and was probably more forgiving than Dayn.

  She yanked open the barn door and stepped inside. It was dark and stuffy, and she couldn’t imagine why Eyan would want to spend so much time there. She hadn’t seen him since dinner the evening before, he’d only popped in for a quick bite, then had left to do his chores, but by morning it was clear his bed had not been slept in. Vania assured her this was not unusual; Eyan frequently chose the solitude of the barn over the comforts of his bed. But as Alicine scrutinized the barn’s shadowy recesses, she could not help but wonder, was he up to something she’d just as soon not know about?

  She stepped in further. “Eyan? You in here?” she called. But there was no response. She glanced from side to side, but saw no sign of him, only farm tools left to be hung and a floor spotted with horse manure. Alicine twisted her mouth. Whatever Eyan was doing, it certainly wasn’t his chores.

  “Eyan?”

  She detected a slight rustling and turned her eyes to the planks above. “You might want to get yourself down here and finish your chores,” she said. “Just because your father left doesn’t mean he won’t come home early.”

  That should do it, she thought to herself. She tilted her head, certain she heard a huff followed by the scent of an extinguishing candle.

  Eyan leaned over the edge of the loft. “Ye haven’t seen him, have ye?”

  “No, I only meant—” She sighed. “Come down, will you?”

  Eyan slid down the ladder. A cloud of dust rose from his feet as they hit the ground. He turned to face her. “What d’ ye want?” he asked, but his tone sounded rather cross.

  Alicine chewed her lip, then gathered her pride. She had never cared for apologies, especially when she had to make them.

  “Listen,” she said as casually as she could, “I’m sorry I pitted you against Dayn in this whole Gathering issue. You don’t have to want to go if you don’t want to. But if you don’t, then you should at least tell your parents.”

  Eyan crossed his arms and studied the ground. “I d’know if I want to or not. I don’t really know what it means.”

  “It means you’re going to meet hundreds of people at once, and there’s going to be a lot of scrutiny.”

  His eyes turned to hers. “What scrutiny?”

  “Like…lots of questions, maybe some accusations about your eye color and why your parents kept you hidden these past nineteen years.”

  Eyan remained silent.

  “Didn’t your parents tell you what to expect? I mean, they talked to you about it, right?”

  “Mother said I’d make friends, but Father seemed worried.” Eyan creased his brow, considering it. “I’d like to have friends. I never had any real ones before, just pretend ones.”

  “Pretend ones?”

  “Aye. I make up friends, draw ‘em on parchment. But they’re not real.”

  “May I see them?” Alicine asked. She had always appreciated paintings and sketches, mainly because it was a skill she could never hope to acquire. Though she could sew a fine stitch and was well-gifted in herbology, to take a simple writing tool and recreate a tree, or a bird, or someone’s face, was simply beyond her.

  Eyan’s cheeks blushed. He dawdled for a moment, then said, “Well, I s’pose you can see some, but not all of ‘em, all right?”

  Alicine smiled. “All right, some then.”

  Eyan pointed his finger toward the loft. “They’re up there,” he said, and turned and led her to the ladder.

  Eyan took the lead up the rungs while Alicine followed. “They’re in the back,” he said over his shoulder when he had reached the top. He scrambled onto the platform and grabbed a fire stick from a nearby box. “Wait here though, aye?”

  Alicine perched near the top as Eyan disappeared to the back of the loft. She could hear him shuffling around, but the darkness denied her a clear view of what he was doing.

  He soon returned with a lit lantern. He reached for her hand and helped her navigate the last few rungs.

  With lantern in hand the back of the loft was lit in a golden glow, drawing Alicine’s eyes to a plank table covered with numerous bowls of dye powders, chalk, and liquid colors. Dozens of pictures could be seen tacked to the walls, but there were a few spaces where some appeared to have been removed.


  “Oh…my,” Alicine exclaimed. She walked slowly toward the wall, drinking in the images as she approached. Eyan followed, raising the lantern to further illuminate the gallery.

  Alicine paused, running her fingers gently over some of the pictures, leaning in to study others more closely.

  “D’ye like ‘em?” Eyan asked.

  “Yes, but…” Alicine turned to face him. “Where have you seen people like this?”

  Eyan lowered the lantern, the happy expression on his face vanishing with the light. “I know I shouldn’t be drawin’ demons. Does it make me a sinner d’ye think?”

  “No, of course not. I just wondered where you’ve seen people like this, that’s all.”

  “I found pictures of ‘em on a wall in a cavern past the brook. I know it’s wrong, but I like the way they look. Some I copied, but others I made up.”

  Alicine returned her attention to the drawings. Most were on parchment, but others were on animal skins or shavings of bleached bark. Each held the image of a different person: male, female, young and old; all were beautiful, but even more disturbing, all were blond-haired and pale-eyed.

  Alicine moved down the wall, surveying more and more portraits. Eyan held up the lantern and followed along behind her.

  Alicine halted with a sudden intake of breath. “What about him?” she asked, pointing to one image in particular. “Was he there, in the cave, too?”

  Eyan leaned in, examining the image in question. “Aye. He’s there.”

  Alicine felt dizzy as she stared at the image. Her mind could barely grasp what her eyes were seeing. There before her was a painting of a red-haired boy. And he was staring back at her with bright violet eyes.

  * * * *

  Alicine barreled through the front door, letting it slam against the wall at its back. “Dayn!” she shouted. “Come quick and see!”

  Dayn jumped from the bench and reached for the knife next to the potatoes he was about to peel.

  “What is it?” he exclaimed. His eyes darted toward the door. “Who’s here?”