Aerenden: The Zeiihbu Master (Ærenden)

by Kristen Taber

  “No?” Cal snorted in disbelief. “He's been nothing but trouble. I get a bad feeling off him, like there's something he's hiding.”

  Which was a valid assessment, Meaghan realized, but chose not to divulge Artair's secret. She crossed her arms over her chest instead and concentrated on their traveling companions as they thread their way through the thick rows of trees lining the mountainside. Élana led them, using a heavy limb as a walking stick to aid her over fallen trees. Artair came second, and Faillen completed their small line. He held his bow in one hand, and a rabbit in the other, and Meaghan knew a side venture of hunting had delayed them. The bulging sack Artair held in his hands suggested they had found good success in the endeavor.

  “What? No response?” Cal asked, irritation lacing his voice. “Or are you siding with him over me?”

  “You know better,” she said and drew her eyes to his. “I just think you're overreacting. I'm sure he has secrets, as we all do. And I'm just as sure they have nothing to do with us.”

  “I doubt that,” Cal retorted. “But even if we can't trust him, at least we'll get some use out of him. His power will be a lot more helpful if we get in trouble than Eudor's may have been. That is if I don't kill him first.”

  “Right,” Meaghan muttered and rolled her eyes, but refrained from speaking again. Élana had said it would take a full day of walking to reach Ed's people. Since the tribe's foray to the top of the mountain, they had moved an additional four times. Most recently, they had settled by a lake Élana said would provide them with enough fish for the summer and probably the winter following. Meaghan scanned the horizon and the trees standing black against a red and gold sky. It would not be long before they reached their destination. Meeting her father's tribe and convincing them to take up his old cause would be a challenge. Meaghan did not feel one hundred percent confident she could manage it, but she chased the nerves from her stomach and the thought from her head. She had to succeed. Caide's life depended on it.

  She turned her attention from the sky in time to watch Faillen halt in front of the boulder. His gaze trailed from her to Cal in a silent question he had asked several times throughout the course of the day. She shook her head and he grinned. It had been her decision to defy the Elder, to insist Artair come when Eudor had also volunteered. And it was her punishment to deal with Cal while everyone hung back and avoided the foul temperament exuding from him like a stench. She could not blame them for not wanting to deal with him, but she thought Faillen enjoyed her suffering far too much.

  She stood and narrowed her eyes at him in a warning he did not seem to take seriously. Her goal today had been to get to know her aunt and learn more about the Writer's book. Faillen had already agreed to distract Artair so the younger Guardian would not find out about the book, but Cal's complaining had set her plan back. She hoped the alienation he had caused would not carry over into tomorrow.

  Élana and Artair approached and Cal turned and leapt off the other side of the boulder, landing hard on the ground before charging up the hillside at a quickened pace.

  “He's not any better?” Artair asked.

  Meaghan shrugged and jumped down from the boulder, landing with a soft thud in the dried grass below it. “He's not cursing at me anymore.”

  “I wish I knew what I did to upset him so much,” Artair said. “Talis questioned him as much as I did, yet Cal doesn't consider him a curse over this trip like he does me.”

  “It's not you,” Élana answered before Meaghan had the chance. “You've reminded him of something else, something that happened a long time ago.”

  “What?”

  Élana brought her focus back to him. “It's not my story to tell.”

  “Then who can tell me about it? I need to know.”

  “Why?” Élana asked and cocked her head to the side, curiosity dancing a smile over her face. “You have nothing to worry about. If he distrusted you so much, he would have sent you home or arrested you. He must have his doubts about his suspicions.”

  “Yet he still suspects me of something,” Artair said and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I want him to trust me.”

  “Why?” Élana repeated. “He may be an Elder, but he won't abuse that authority. He'll be fair to you if you do a good job on this mission, no matter what his opinion is of you as a person. Ed always spoke fondly of him, and I doubt that would have been the case if Cal had been—” Her eyes grew wide. “Oh, I see.”

  “See what?” Faillen asked. “What are we missing?”

  “You care what Cal thinks because he means a lot to her,” Élana continued. “I'm sorry. I didn't realize. I've never been able to control that power well enough to command it. It comes when it wants and shows me what it pleases.”

  “What are you talking about?” Faillen prompted, crossing his arms when she did not respond. “Are you going to answer any of my questions or should I worry about you being a spy?”

  Élana chuckled. “I suppose I'm a spy in a way, but not in the way you mean. You have nothing to worry about. I know your secrets as well as I know everyone else's, but they're safe. I won't speak of them.”

  “Then how do you know them?” Faillen asked. “I have a hard time believing your Writing power showed you my secrets any more than it showed you Cal's or Artair's.”

  “As you should,” she agreed. “A Writer's power doesn't work that way. I'm not just a Writer, though. I'm also a Historian.”

  “A what?” Faillen asked, dropping his arms. Before she could answer, Artair bulldozed the question with excitement.

  “You're kidding,” he said, slipping his hands out of his pockets. “I thought that power had gone extinct. Can you see everything? What about the beginning of Ærenden? What about when the world was created? Can you see that far back?”

  Élana laughed. “As I said, I have little control over it. It doesn't visit me often, and when it does, I'm never sure what triggers it.”

  “That's a shame,” Artair said, disappointment blanketing his face.

  “I wouldn't say so. It led me to the village we live in now. That's an interesting story. I can tell that one.”

  “I'd like to hear it.”

  “After you two explain what you're talking about,” Faillen said. “If Artair has a secret he wants to keep, that's fine, but tell us how you know it. What's a Historian?”

  “A Historian's someone who can see into history,” she answered. “I imagine it's a lot like a Seer's power, only I see the past instead of the future.”

  “The powers may be related,” Meaghan said. “Nick told me that Vivian couldn't control her power either. It came when it wanted and showed her only what it wanted her to see. Sometimes it was triggered when she touched objects or people.”

  “That sounds about right,” Élana agreed with a nod. “And sometimes it shows me things I don't want to see. I saw my brother's death continuously until I wrote it in the,” she hesitated, casting a glance in Artair's direction, and Meaghan realized she had learned that he did not know about the book. “Until I wrote it down,” she finally said. “The history needed to be told.”

  “I see,” Meaghan whispered, understanding. The book contained the story of her father's death. She would have to read it someday. The thought brought tears to her eyes and she began walking toward Cal's distant form. Her sorrow eased as Élana drew up alongside her.

  “When you write, can you infuse your words with the Historian power?” Meaghan asked.

  “You mean like giving my words the power to make stories show when they're needed?” Élana asked. Meaghan nodded and Élana shook her head. “No, but that's an interesting theory. I'm afraid I'm not able to infuse anything with my words but what you see, hear and feel.”

  “Oh,” Meaghan said, but said no more as she waited for the opportunity to speak about the book more directly. Faillen took the cue and asked Artair questions about his electrical orb power, slowing his pace as the conversation built. Soon both women felt comfortable enough to ta
lk using hushed voices.

  “Who knows about the book?” Élana asked Meaghan.

  “Among our group, Cal and Faillen,” she answered, “and possibly Malaki. He has the ability to hear things from afar and listens when he isn't supposed to, but he doesn't seem to share the knowledge he gathers.”

  “That's good,” Élana responded, and knitted her hands together in front of her. “There's information in there that shouldn't get around. Not everything is sensitive, but my brother was a private person. He wouldn't appreciate his history becoming known to all.”

  “I'll keep it to myself,” Meaghan promised.

  “I'm glad you have it so you can know him the way I did,” Élana said. She paused, allowing silence to stretch between them as the rhythm of Faillen and Artair's conversation kept them company from behind. “He loved you, you know,” she said after a few minutes. “When he wrote to me about you, there was so much joy in his words. He loved being a father.”

  Meaghan nodded and kept her eyes fixed ahead. Cal continued to chase his frustration up the hill.

  “He never wanted to leave you,” Élana continued. “He thought of you at the end.”

  Tears formed in Meaghan's eyes, but she refused to let them spill over. “You said you saw it,” she choked past her lips. “You could hear his thoughts too?”

  “I could,” Élana told her. “When people tell me their stories, my writing power allows me to see and feel what they experienced, and I can read their minds. When I visit the past, my power still works in the same way. Although I wished it didn't when I saw that day. He was afraid. He thought of you and Adelina and what he would miss.” Her voice broke. She had less success than Meaghan at controlling her tears and trails of them streaked down her cheeks. She lifted her hands to wipe them away. “You both made him the happiest he had ever been, and he remembered that when his life left him.”

  Meaghan pressed a hand to her heart. She had to maintain control and she had to maintain focus. She felt safe with Élana, comforted to be in the presence of her aunt, but she was no safer now than she had been on the journey here. And Talis's absence reminded her of that more than anything else.

  “How did you do it?” she asked. Her voice refused to leave her throat as more than a whisper, so she coughed to revive it. “How did you make the book hide the stories? And why? If I need the stories, wouldn't it make more sense to let me see them all at once?”

  “Perhaps,” Élana said and lifted her hand to Meaghan's back. The comforting gesture had been a favorite of Vivian's while Meaghan was growing up and out of that habit, Meaghan lifted her own arm to Élana's waist.

  “Vivian wanted to protect you from having to deal with the emotional strain of reading them all at once,” Élana continued. “The book is in control of delivering the stories when you need them. She gave me an invisibility spell for that purpose, one she said she'd read on a post. I never understood that part, but she gave it to me, so I used it.”

  “The spell was designed for Writer's stories?”

  “I don't know its original purpose, but I do know it works on more than just stories. I've tried it on other things since. I tried small objects first, and then moved up to larger ones. I even made a horse disappear for a time. I was a bit worried, since I couldn't exactly ride an invisible horse home, but he showed up for me when I needed him.”

  Meaghan laughed, and then grew serious again. “What happens if I never need some of the stories you wrote?” she asked. “Will I ever be able to read them?”

  “Of course,” Élana said and squeezed Meaghan's shoulder before letting her go. “Vivian also gave me the counterspell. When you're ready, I'll recite it so the book reveals all of the stories. You'll want it for your children, after all.”

  “Thank you.”

  Élana stopped and lifted a hand to Meaghan's cheek. “It's the least I can do for you, and it's the least I could do for my brother. You've seen the story that led you here, so you know what he meant to me. You know how much he influenced my life. He was an incredible man. I think you'll prove to have the best of him when this is through.” She pressed a kiss to Meaghan's forehead and then turned and gestured for Faillen and Artair to catch up. “I thought you wanted to hear the history of my village,” she said. “How do you plan on doing that from back there?”

  Artair grinned as the two men drew up alongside Meaghan and Élana. “So you saw the village in a vision?” he asked.

  “In several. I saw its history over the course of a few days. Garon's Spellmaster lived there.”

  “Is that so?” Artair asked. “We learned about him in school, although the stories Guardians tell about him are far more interesting. They say he killed people for vengeance, and designed the spell that brought the Mardróch.”

  “That's all true,” Meaghan told him. “He nearly killed my father's entire tribe.”

  “He did,” Élana confirmed when Artair looked at her. “He killed half the tribe because we stole food from him. The only reason anyone survived is because Ed went to Adelina for help.”

  “And wed her.” Artair grinned. “They taught us about that in school, too. Who else lived in the Spellmaster's village?”

  “His relatives for the most part, as well as a few close friends. He kept the village's population small on purpose. He trusted few people and with good reason. He made a lot of enemies.”

  “Including the Elders,” Artair said. “They wanted to bring him to trial, but they could never find him.”

  Élana nodded. “I know. He received word of their intent to arrest him, so he designed a new protection spell. Even after his death, the spell remains active. It weakens sensing powers for miles outside the gorge, and within it, magic won't work.”

  “So we discovered,” Meaghan said. “How did you know what words would lift the spell?”

  “I heard it in a vision. The Spellmaster spoke it to the person who revealed his location to Garon. He thought he could trust the person, since they had the same mother, but he misjudged Garon's ability to sway those who are hungry for power.”

  “So his own brother betrayed him?” Faillen asked.

  “His younger sister, Astasia,” Élana clarified. “Have you ever wondered why you never see female Mardróch?”

  Meaghan had not, but now that Élana had mentioned it, she realized every Mardróch she had fought had been male.

  “I did,” Artair answered. “But I always assumed Garon chose not to convert female Guardians.”

  “Quite the contrary,” Élana said. “He prizes them. Male Guardians develop the ability to throw lightning when they're turned into Mardróch, as you know. But women gain a different ability. They're able to blow things up.”

  “Things?” Meaghan echoed, and then felt sick with the implication. “Please tell me you don't mean—”

  “People,” Élana finished for her. “Yes, unfortunately. Because of their special power, female Mardróch guard the castle. For her reward, the Spellmaster's sister became the head of Garon's special guard.”

  “She was a Guardian,” Artair realized, then frowned. “How is that possible? The Spellmaster wasn't one.”

  “They had different fathers,” she told him. “Hers was a former Guardian banished for murder. He'd escaped the Barren and lived in the mountains when he met their mother.”

  “That's terrible,” Meaghan said. “I realize the Spellmaster needed to pay for his crimes, but he didn't deserve his sister's betrayal, nor the death I'm sure Garon gave him.”

  “Most would agree with you,” Élana responded, “but after the crimes I saw the Spellmaster commit, I believe he received the justice he deserved. His protection spell worked for a long time, keeping him safe while he tortured others. Although some believe Garon forced him to create the Mardróch spell, I know better. He accepted the commission because Garon promised him the role of advisor, a promise he never intended to keep. He couldn't risk the Spellmaster creating a counterspell.”

  “So he set out to kill
the Spellmaster,” Faillen said, “but met resistance by the Spellmaster's protection spell.”

  “Exactly. Once Garon found him, the village was abandoned. Since no one else knew about it, I thought it would be a safe place to establish a new life. I wasn't certain I would be able to root myself to one place, but one day Darvin wandered down the gorge and I realized it wouldn't be so hard with him.”

  “Darvin?” Artair asked. “Is he the one who invited us into the village last night?”

  “He is,” Élana answered. “He's my husband.”

  Artair's brows knit together as he watched Élana, and Meaghan realized he recognized the name from somewhere else. From the rumors about the only Guardian in existence who had asked the Elders to strip him of his Guardian powers. “Did you see his past when you met him?” Artair asked. “Do you know why he did it?”

  Élana smiled, a stiff gesture born from warning, rather than humor. “As your secrets are sacred to me, so are his.”

  She turned from him and gestured toward Cal who trekked up the mountain again. “He's too far ahead,” she said. “We should catch up.”

  Meaghan agreed. Cal looked more like a toy soldier moving among an army of tree-shaped giants than a human being. They quickened their pace, but took no more than a dozen steps before Élana froze. Meaghan stopped in response, signaling for Faillen and Artair to do the same.

  “Something's wrong,” Élana said and her eyes snapped to the trees. “No,” she whispered, her voice laced with panic. “It can't be.”

  Meaghan followed Élana's gaze. The tree line appeared to shimmer up ahead. Before she could ask what it meant, Élana ran toward Cal.

  “Don't move,” she yelled. “Cal, stop!”

  Élana cried out for him again, but the effort came too late. One minute Cal bulldozed a path in front of them. The next, he had vanished.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “WHERE DID he go?” Artair demanded as the rest of the group caught up to Élana. She stood frozen in place, staring at the ground, and said nothing.

  “Tell us what happened,” Artair insisted. When she still did not speak, he gripped her shoulders and shook her. “Élana!”