Lady Meira cinched up the beaded pouch and looked up. “Imre, lead the woman over to my litter.”
“Yes, milady.” Imre forced Nierne around. “This way,” he said in a gruff voice.
Nierne stumbled forward, barely able to feel her body. She had been sold. She was a slave now. The Word—her heart caught at the thought—never came. Tears filled her eyes. One, then another slowly trickled down her cheek. He had abandoned her.
Imre led Nierne to the litter. None of the litter carriers looked up. Imre grabbed one of the long braided tassels from the litter and tied Nierne’s rope to it. He gave the tassel a hard pull.
Nierne stumbled forward. She looked at him in surprise.
Imre gave her a cruel smile. “Time to go.”
Lady Meira entered the litter. On command, the four servants lifted her as one and began to walk away. Imre walked beside the litter. The rope and tassel grew taut. Nierne tripped in her hurry to keep up.
They stepped onto a dirt road that led toward the sun, which had now started its descent. Nierne stumbled along, feeling as though her insides had been pulled out of her, leaving a trail of innards along the desert road. She had given everything to reach the Eldarans, everything to find them and bring them back to Thyra. And for a while, she had thought she had succeeded. But now, instead of returning to Thyra with Rowen, she was chained to a future that held no promise of release. A future of slavery.
Something shattered inside of her. Nierne lifted her head and looked into the dying sun. Somewhere along the warm desert breeze, her faith drifted away. The line that had always connected her to the Word had snapped, leaving her bare inside. She had believed He would do the impossible. But the Word never came. He never spoke.
He had abandoned her.
11
Caleb groaned and opened his eyes. White translucent material hung above him, bunched together in a loop and flowed gently down on either side of him. Beyond the canopy was a stone ceiling. Something soft lay beneath him, giving with each move he made. A faint sweet scent hung in the air.
He groaned again and slowly sat up. He found himself in a large bed with white linens and silks spread out around him. Caleb rubbed his face and looked past the white canopy. He was in a room of some kind. Bright sunlight poured through an arch twenty feet away. He blinked against the light, his eyes adjusting to the world again.
Slowly the rest of the room came into focus. Caleb looked around. To his right stood a dark wooden chest and a full size mirror. To the left, a desk with deep red rugs spread across the stone floor. A small clay jar sat on the desk, emitting a thin wisp of light grey smoke.
Caleb frowned. He crawled across the bed to the edge and pushed away the hanging gauze. His breath caught in his throat. No, it couldn’t be…
He swerved his legs and placed his feet on the floor. He sat there and glanced around again. He knew this room, every piece of furniture, every corner. But how the sands had he ended up here?
He was in his room back on his family estate in Temanin.
Caleb ran a hand through his hair. Last he remembered, he was north, near the White City, a two to three-month trip from here. He remembered stepping out on the meadow, the woman touching him with her glowing hand, meeting the Word, and then… nothing.
Caleb stood. His legs wobbled, and he fell back on the bed. His body felt like it had been beaten repeatedly. Everything refused to work. Caleb grit his teeth and stood again. He was no weakling. His legs shook beneath him, but he took a stubborn step forward. Then another. He walked toward the balcony. Once outside, he grabbed onto the stone railing. Heat soaked through the thin tunic he wore. He closed his eyes, savoring the feel. After being in the cool north for so long, the Temanin desert sun felt wonderful on his skin.
To the east, he could see his family’s grove of olive trees. To the west, rolling hills of brown scrub brush beneath a bright blue sky. It had been years since he had last been here. He didn’t care much for the countryside. The pace and life of Azar was more to his liking.
But now the city—and the assassinations ordered by his cousin Corin—would no longer be a part of his life. Caleb lifted his hand. A strange white mark covered his palm, barely visible against the sun-kissed color of his skin, reaching almost to where his signet ring rested on his middle finger.
What the sands?
He turned his hand over, but the patch of white skin seemed to be only on the palm of his hand. He quickly checked the rest of his body, but found nothing more. Caleb stared at his palm. Was this a result of accepting the Word’s offer? Or something else?
Caleb felt his face and glanced down at his body. He still looked like a man, felt like a man. Except for this mark. And that somehow he had been transported hundreds of miles while unconscious. What had he gotten himself into?
Caleb placed both hands on the balcony’s edge and leaned forward. A hot wind swept across his face. Did he regret taking the Word’s offer? He paused. No. Not when he remembered the blood. And the guilt. And the nightmares. The path he had been heading along would have eventually led to his death, then torture by his victims in the afterlife. The Word had offered freedom from that, and forgiveness. He looked down again at his hand. Yes, It was worth it.
A question entered his mind: how was Corin going to react, once he realized Caleb would no longer assassinate for him? Caleb laughed at the thought. No more killing meant no more gold. Not that he really needed it. He had enough to live on, but not at the level of pleasure and comfort he was accustomed to. He would have to adjust.
He looked out over the olive grove. No matter. Corin couldn’t know he was back in Temanin, not when he himself didn’t even know how he had gotten here.
The door behind him opened with a soft creak. Caleb turned.
A lean old man with white tuft hair walked into the room, carrying a tray with a small ceramic bowl and cup. He looked from the bed to the balcony. He spotted Caleb, and his eyes widened. “Lord Tala, you’re finally awake!”
“Thalis.” Caleb walked back into his room, his strength slowly returning.
“I wasn’t sure if you would ever wake.” Thalis put the tray down on the desk. He turned back toward Caleb. “I had the healer come and see you, but the healer could find nothing wrong with you, other than—”
Caleb held up his hand. “Thalis, wait.”
Thalis stopped. “Yes, milord?”
“How-how did I arrive here?”
“You were brought here, milord.”
“Brought here?” Caleb walked toward the tray. A light brown liquid filled the bowl. Broth probably.
“Yes. Three weeks ago a man came carrying you.”
Caleb frowned. “A man carried me here? Three weeks ago?”
“Yes.”
But who? And how? The salty meat smell pulled his gaze down toward the bowl. “Did you get his name? The man who brought me here?” Caleb picked up the bowl just as his stomach growled.
Thalis shook his head. “No, milord. After Sinten and I carried you in, I returned to the door and found him gone.”
“What did he look like?” Caleb lifted the bowl and took a small sip.
“I’m sorry, milord. I did not take a close look. I remember he was tall and had dark hair and was probably in his mid-thirties, but nothing more.”
“I see.” Caleb swirled the bowl around, watching the bits of meat in the broth move around the bowl. Faces and names flashed through his mind, each one immediately dismissed. There was no one who could have brought him here. Hardly anyone knew where he lived. And to travel that distance in that short of time? Impossible. Unless…
Caleb stopped swirling the bowl. A frown tugged at his lips. His mind replayed his last few conscious memories: the woman, the light, the Word. His frowned deepened. He watched the liquid inside his bowl come to a stop.
Could it have been the Word? Had the Word manifested in physical form and brought him here, to his home? A shiver spread across his body. If so, then the power the Word
wielded was more than he had imagined. His fingers tightened on the bowl. He wanted to know more about the Word.
“How do you feel, milord?”
Caleb’s head jerked up. Thalis stood by the bed, his hands clasped together. Thalis looked older than the last time he had seen him, and that was saying something since Thalis had been serving the Tala family since before Caleb had been born. His hair was white now, and his skin looked shriveled.
“I feel…exhausted,” Caleb said truthfully.
“Should I call the healer again?” Thalis wrung his hands together and glanced at Caleb.
“No.” Caleb waved his hand. “I don’t think that will be necessary. A day or two of rest is all I need.”
“Are you sure, milord? You were unconscious for a very long time. And the healer discovered some kind of discoloration on your hand.”
Caleb paused. He looked again at his hand and frowned. Then he shook his head. He felt fine. More than that: He felt like a new man. He looked back at Thalis and smiled. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I really do feel fine.”
“And your hand?”
“Feels normal. I’m sure whatever this discoloration is will go away.”
Thalis relaxed. “I am glad to see you better, milord. You gave all of us servants quite a scare. We had no idea what was wrong with you.”
Caleb lifted the bowl. “Nothing is wrong with me now.” He tipped the bowl up and finished the rest of the broth in one gulp.
“That is good to hear, milord.”
Caleb put the bowl down. His stomach still growled.
Thalis gestured toward the bowl. “Would you like more food, milord? We were only able to give you broth while you were sick.”
Caleb looked over at Thalis. “Yes, that would be nice.”
Thalis bowed and turned.
Caleb held out his hand. “Thalis, wait.” Thalis turned. Caleb stumbled for words. “Thank…thank you for taking care of me.”
Thalis looked surprised. “Milord, I would do anything for the Tala family.” And Caleb knew he meant it. “I’m glad to see you better.” Thalis turned and left.
Caleb stared at the door. Until this moment, he had seen Thalis as nothing more than a servant, someone to do his bidding. But Thalis’s kindness had touched a cord deep inside him. Caleb thought back on his childhood. He had always taken for granted those who served him, barely giving them a word of thanks. No wonder Thalis had looked so surprised just now.
What a selfish man he had been.
• • •
Caleb made his way around his family’s estate, munching on a round of cheese and crusty bread. Thalis and the other servants had taken good care of his family’s home. He would need to say something to Thalis about that.
Caleb finished the last bite of cheese and turned a corner. Halfway down the hall, he stopped before a door. His mother’s room. An impulse made him push the door open. He stepped inside and found it in good order. A large bed stood in the middle of the room. Translucent gauze hung from the ceiling and draped over either side of the bed. There were no pictures on the walls, no tapestries. Only a couple of rugs on the floor, colorful, with reds, golds, and blues, each thread intricately woven into geometric patterns. Rugs from the nomadic tribes of the Great Desert.
Caleb stared at the rugs. He remembered playing on them as a child, following the patterns with his finger while his mother brushed her long dark hair.
He shook his head and spotted a wooden chest shoved up against the wall. He walked over to the chest and opened the lid. Even in life, his mother had never kept many things. Still, he might find something in the chest. He lifted a silk top and placed it on the stone floor. More articles of clothing. Some jewelry. He reached the bottom. Nothing.
Caleb placed the stuff back inside the chest and shut the lid. He moved across the room. A warm breeze fluttered in from the balcony. Caleb stopped before a floor-length mirror and looked at himself. He had his father’s dark eyes and hair. The same aristocratic nose. The same lean, muscular body.
Caleb took a step closer and looked intently at his reflection. Suddenly he realized he was looking for his mother inside his face. His eyes moved back and forth. She was there, barely. Caleb took a step back. Had his father known what Selene was? That his mother had not been human? Or maybe she had been human, after all. Maybe, after she’d turned her back on her Eldaran blood, the Word had changed her, just as He had changed him.
Caleb swept the room again, as if looking for evidence that his mother had been different. But her room was sparse, with only a slight feminine feel. He sighed and walked out of the room, taking care to shut the door behind him.
He was different now. A Son of Truth, as the Word had called him. But what did that mean?
Caleb wiped at the perspiration forming along his forehead and jaw. Why had his mother not told him about her past? Had she not realized how it would affect him? Or maybe she thought her Eldaran blood would not be passed down, since she became human. Or… Caleb stopped and looked back at the door that led to his mother’s room. Was it possible she didn’t remember her past at all? Yes, she had spoken of the Eldarans on her deathbed, but that had been it. He ran a hand along his face. In either case, he couldn’t ask her now.
Caleb followed the hall to a wide set of stairs. He descended the stairs two at a time to the bottom and headed into the library. Perhaps he would find an answer here.
The room was small, smaller than his own room upstairs. His father had never really cared for the written word. The library was the collection of a great-great uncle. Shelves lined the three walls away from the door. A window was built into the far wall, letting in light. A table and two chairs sat in the middle of the room. He turned left and stepped toward the first shelf. Leather-bound books embossed with gold ink lined the shelf. He picked up one and opened it.
The Battle of Cynebur.
No, not what he was looking for. He flung that book on the table and grabbed another. Some ballad about two lovers. Definitely not what he was looking for. It landed on the table with a thud. He continued along the shelves but found nothing that spoke of the Word or the Eldarans.
He let out a frustrated sigh and left the library. Caleb headed down the corridor. Thalis stood quietly at the end of the hall. Caleb watched the old man for a moment and wondered if Thalis had known his mother’s secret. Should he ask him? But if Thalis didn’t know, that would raise some awkward questions. So Caleb headed out into the courtyard instead.
A small fountain splashed in the middle. Tiny silver fish swam in the pool below. Deep pink dessert blossoms bloomed in the garden his mother had planted. He took a seat on the stone bench and closed his eyes. He could smell the delicate scent of the blossoms, hear the fountain splash, feel the desert heat flow across his body.
He wanted to know more about the Word and about the Eldarans. But how? His mother was gone, so any answers she would have had were gone with her. And the only Followers he had known were dead now—by his own hand.
His thoughts went back to that woman he had caught months ago while up north. The woman with red hair. She had been a scribe. He remembered her pendant with the markings of the Word engraved upon its surface.
His eyes flew open. He remembered where he had seen those markings now. His cousin Meira loved to collect knowledge, and she possessed a very comprehensive library, much larger than his own family’s. Caleb had seen those markings on one of her books. Perhaps she had more books and scrolls that could give him the information he sought.
Caleb got up and hurried inside. He found Thalis inside the library, putting away the books Caleb had carelessly thrown on the table.
Thalis looked up. “Milord.”
“Thalis, send a message to Lady Meira. Tell her I would like to see her library.”
Thalis placed the ballad back on the table. “Yes, milord. How soon would you like to leave?”
“Tell her I would like to visit as soon as possible.”
12
Nierne stood quietly in the corner of a large, spacious room, clutching the tunic she had been given. Lined up along either side of the room were sleeping pallets, ten to each side. Small wooden chests stood at the feet of each pallet, a place for the servants of Lady Meira to place what few belongings they had. Windows lined the southern wall, and already Nierne could feel the heat of the day filling the room. Dust drifted in the sunlight.
Two tables stood on either side of the far door, each with a pitcher and bowl. Women lined up to use the water for their washing needs. A couple of other women shuffled around the room, putting their nightclothes away or pulling thin, dark wool blankets across their pallets. They were all older than Nierne, with careworn faces and dull eyes.
An empty feeling filled her, and she clutched the tunic closer to her chest. Her body ached from lack of sleep. All night, her dreams had been filled with Lady Meira walking around her and examining her. She watched the gold poured out into Drake’s hand over and over again. Nierne sucked in her breath. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, but she held them back.
One of the women stopped and looked at her. Her face was the color of leather, and wrinkles formed along her mouth and dark eyes. She had hair the color of pepper, and today it was pulled back in a long braid. Her tunic looked threadbare. “You better hurry. Lady Meira does not like tardiness.”
Nierne stared at her, the tears now on the surface of her eyes. She swallowed and gave a small nod. The woman turned away and walked toward the wash tables. Nierne followed, still clutching her new tunic. Most of the women had left, leaving the table on the right open. She stepped up to the table and looked down at the water inside the bowl. It was a dirty grey.
Nierne dipped her hands into the water. Her lips trembled. She cupped the water and splashed her face, not wanting to think about the dirty water. Then she washed her neck and chest.
She stepped back and removed the soiled clothes she had arrived in last night and dumped them in the pile of clothes in the corner. She pulled her new white tunic over her head. It came down to just above her knees.
Son of Truth (Follower of the Word) Page 13