Aerenden: The Zeiihbu Master (Ærenden)

by Kristen Taber

  Everel chuckled as Cal continued telling the story of his most recent brush with death in the dark bowels of the ground. Having recently lived it, Meaghan let her attention wander.

  The makeshift tent village housing Everel's tribe fascinated Meaghan more than any other village she had seen in Ærenden. On first glance, their set-up appeared similar to Faillen's. They separated their sleeping tents from their living quarters. They also had a few gathering tents, and a cooking tent. Built from a dark gray cloth she had never seen before, the tents appeared far from fancy, but they served their purpose well—a roof when it rained, warmth when it snowed, and privacy when needed. The light material withstood even the blade of Meaghan's sharpest knife, as Everel had shown her.

  Everel had also said the tents served secondarily to the living quarters that nature provided. For the most part, the tribe chose to cook, gather, and sleep outside, enjoying the stars overhead and the company of the mountain that sustained them.

  On the outskirts of the tent village, a dozen animals resembling smaller versions of the moerith grazed in the low grass. “Moerithine,” Faillen had told her. “Cousins of the moerith that live higher in the mountains.”

  Overall, she had to respect the life the tribe had chosen. They had nothing to tie their lives down, nothing forcing them to stay in one spot, and yet they still had each other. They were not lonely. They were free.

  The feast had finished hours ago and the sun had long since set, casting a canopy of darkness over the village. Below the canopy, lights hung from the lowest tree branches, their flickering glow reminiscent of lightning bugs dancing in a field. Meaghan would have thought the tribe had managed to harness the insects if she had not seen the magic that brought the lanterns to life. A young boy, no more than five, and his father had tied the sac-like housings for the lights out of homespun cloth and then breathed light into them. It had been touching to see the two of them working together.

  Almost as touching as watching Everel with his children. Each of the boys reminded her of her own father in some way. They resembled Ed as much as they did Everel. Each had the self-confidence her father had portrayed in the Writer's book, and each of them had a special power as unique as his ability to walk through walls. Everel's eldest boy could become invisible. The middle child could project his image elsewhere, and enjoyed showing off his power by tricking his mother into lecturing the projection. And the youngest had the power of levitation. At age six, he could only manage raising animals, but Meaghan guessed it would not take long for his power to advance. She had no doubt Everel and Matti would have their patience tested many times before the boy reached adulthood.

  Meaghan listened to the family's banter throughout dinner. Then they traded stories while taking refuge from the nighttime chill around a bonfire outside the tent village. After Matti swept the boys off to bed, other members of the tribe followed until only two people remained within hearing distance. Meaghan watched the young couple—newlyweds, she guessed, from the way they had cuddled up to each other all night—disappear into the maze of tents and turned her attention back to the conversation.

  “There'll be others,” Faillen said. “The man who fell into your trap won't be the last. Zeiihbu has become a land of death. More of my people will attempt to cross the mountains to get away from the Mardróch.”

  Everel sighed and pressed his hands together in front of him. “I was afraid of that. The Zeiihbuans were less careless with the land than the Ærenden people were during the Zeiihbu War, but I still fear we'll lose more of our resources. I doubt Garon cares about preserving the mountains.”

  “Garon only cares about his own goals,” Cal told him. “He's always considered it a lapse in Adelina's judgment that she didn't exterminate the Zeiihbuans after the war. He'll destroy the mountains if he has to in order to fix what he considers to be her mistake.”

  “I'm certain,” Everel said and stood. He put another log on the fire and stared down at it as tongues of orange and yellow sacrificed the wood to ash. “Why is it you've come up to the mountain to see me? As much as I enjoy meeting my cousin's daughter, I suspect you aren't in this area of the kingdom for a leisurely visit. Especially now that it's so dangerous for her to travel.”

  “We need your help,” Meaghan answered. “Garon holds Faillen's son captive in Zeiihbu. We're on a mission to rescue him.”

  Everel clutched his hands behind his back. “What makes this boy so special that you would risk your life to rescue him? Or is this about a pact you've made with Zeiihbu?”

  “My services and whatever I can offer of Zeiihbu belong to the Queen,” Faillen said in response. “But rescuing my son is best for all of us.” His eyes turned to Cal, and Cal's slid to Artair. Cal shook his head. “It's important to the war,” Faillen said, heeding Cal's command. “I'm afraid that's all I can say.”

  Everel narrowed his eyes. “That isn't good enough. If I'm going to help, then I need all of the information. I'm not going to risk my tribe because you say it's important. We still haven't fully replenished our population from before the Zeiihbu War.”

  “You'll lose more lives if you don't help us,” Cal informed him. “Garon isn't going to stop with the Zeiihbuans. He'll come after you next. He knows of your existence and he'll want you dead just because you remind him of Ed.”

  “He can try, but he doesn't know the mountains like we do. He won't catch us. We'll keep climbing higher.”

  “Can you keep moving indefinitely?” Cal asked. “Because that's what you'll need to do. You'll never have time to settle. You'll never have time to cook a meal or teach your children how to hunt. You'll never be able to rest, because if you do, Garon will catch you. It's not a matter of maybe. It's a matter of when.”

  “Is that not better than what you ask of me? Zeiihbu is overrun. We'll all be slaughtered.”

  “You won't,” Meaghan said. She rose to stand in front of him, then lifted her chin in defiance and anger at his accusation. “I wouldn't ask that of you. The people my father loved are all I have left for family. I wouldn't ask you to sacrifice them.”

  “You mean well, Meaghan, but you're young, and you're naïve to think we'll all survive. If we fight, we will die.”

  “Not all of you,” she said and crossed her arms in front of her. “But if you don't help us, our deaths are guaranteed. Faillen's son will make it easy for Garon to kill us all without leaving the comfort of his castle.”

  Everel's eyes widened before he controlled the reaction. “Why?” he demanded. “What aren't you telling me?”

  Meaghan glanced at Artair. He sat on the ground by the fire, pretending not to notice the conversation, just as he had pretended not to notice the look Cal had cast in his direction moments before, but she knew better. Insult at Cal's lack of trust had turned his posture stiff.

  “Artair,” she said, and he looked up at her. “What we say tonight can't be shared with anyone, not a soul, do you understand?”

  “Of course,” he answered and she sensed the honesty in his agreement. “I'll protect your secrets the same as I protect you.”

  “Meaghan—” Cal started, but quieted when she turned to glare at him.

  “Everel has the right to know,” she said. “If Artair can't be trusted, you'll be able to prove it soon enough.”

  Cal shot out a breath in frustration, but said no more. Faillen stood, and she thought he might object, but he simply put his hand on her shoulder. She understood his request and sat back down, leaving him to deliver the news.

  “Your sons are special to you,” Faillen said to Everel. “You're proud of them, not just for who they are, but for what they're capable of doing.”

  Everel nodded. “Being a father is the greatest joy of my life. But I know where you're going with this. I'm a ruler, Faillen, as you are. I could never ask those who follow me to sacrifice their lives for my sons, no matter how much I'd want to.”

  “What if one of your sons could do more harm to your people if he wasn't under your
care? What if he had a power Garon could use to destroy all the lives you protect?”

  Everel hesitated. “What power?”

  “My son is a Spellmaster.”

  Artair gasped. Everel maintained better composure, but his face blanched. “That's not possible,” he said. “He's Zeiihbuan. He can't have—”

  “His son is strong,” Élana interrupted. She moved to Faillen's side. “I saw it in Faillen's history when I met him. He tells the truth. And while I've also seen the strength of the young man's character and I have no doubt he'll hold out on doing Garon's bidding as long as he can, he's not invincible. We need to get to him soon.”

  Everel shook his head and sank down onto a log. Élana sat beside him.

  “My father made a grave mistake when the Zeiihbu War began,” she continued. “He chose not to fight. He chose not to aid Ærenden and receive aid from the Queen. In the end, that's what cost us the most. Don't make the same mistake he did.”

  “We helped after the war,” Everel said. “We helped Ed when he needed us.”

  “And his daughter needs us now. You told me you no longer wanted to fight Ærenden's wars, but you're as much a part of Ærenden as everyone else. Your Queen is as much a part of you. Have faith in her.”

  Everel took in and let out a long breath. He looked up at Faillen. “How do you intend to get into Zeiihbu? The borders are well protected by Mardróch.”

  “We'll be traveling down the river,” Faillen answered. “They're expecting Meaghan and me, but we're supposed to be alone. The rest of you will need to go a different route.”

  “No, they won't,” Meaghan told him. “They can travel the same way without Garon or Stilgan ever knowing it.”

  “How?” Cal asked.

  “I'll fill you in once I finish working out the details. For now,” she addressed Everel, “if you're willing to help us, be prepared to meet us in three days' time. Bring everyone you can spare.”

  “Do I have much of a choice?” Everel asked and knotted his fingers under his chin. “Where do you intend to meet?”

  “At the point where the river joins the mountains,” Faillen answered. “Do you know it?”

  “I do,” Everel answered and stood. He crossed to Meaghan and knelt in front of her. Taking her hand in his, he smiled. “I'll join you, but you'd better use our efforts wisely. My men won't be pleased if they trek all the way into Zeiihbu and don't get to fight.”

  Meaghan grinned. “Don't worry. There's plenty of action to be found.”

  “And plenty of Mardróch to be killed,” Cal said, slapping Everel on the back. “Welcome to the team. I promise you won't be disappointed.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  MEAGHAN TURNED onto her right side. A rock poked her in the ribs from below her blanket. She rolled away from it, then resettled again on her back, but still felt uneasy. Puffing out a breath, she flipped to her left. Her mind still hummed. Stars twinkled overhead, seeming to laugh at her discomfort.

  She rearranged the cloak covering her, and then fiddled with the amulet around her neck, tracing its silver flowers with the tips of her fingers, caressing the stone and examining it by the moonlight. Images of her mother, a woman of grace and wisdom, drifted through Meaghan's memory, as did her father's face. She wondered what it would have been like to grow up on these mountains as he had.

  When the air turned cold, she hid the necklace beneath her shirt and pulled on her ambercat gloves, sighing in pleasure as butter soft lining warmed her skin. She flipped up a cuff and ran her thumb over the fur, mesmerized as it changed color to match her skin tone, then allowed the edge to settle back down before examining the gloves by the moonlight. Their tight burgundy stitching appeared flawless, a perfect complement to the grayish-tan leather. They conformed to her hands so that they appeared almost fluid when she moved. She curled her fingers into her palms and lowered them to her sides, touched by Nick's gift today as much as she had been the day she received it.

  Closing her eyes, she chased the thought of him away as she always did, and then attempted to fall asleep one more time.

  Nothing stirred in the field that surrounded her. Even the tall patches of grass seemed to be in deep slumber. Cal, Faillen, and Artair looked like small mountains lined up in her vision, as motionless as the night. She had opted to sleep in the open, to enjoy the peace of a clear sky rather than join the tribe in their tents. As a result, the others had volunteered to keep her company. In obligation to their duties, she realized, and felt a pang of guilt for not allowing them the protection of her father's kinsmen. She had wanted the reprieve as well, but she had felt stifled from the day's activities and the thought of sleeping among a large group of people had been unbearable.

  Her psychology class instructors would have argued for an anxiety diagnosis, and she found merit in it. Discovering both her father's sister and his tribe within a twenty-four hour period had been overwhelming to say the least.

  Of course, it did not help that they would be crossing the Zeiihbu border soon and their success or failure would determine the course of the war. If she failed, too many people would die. But if she succeeded, she may have just talked the last of her father's people into greeting death openly. She hated the necessity of it, but she had no other options.

  Standing, she draped her cloak over her shoulders, and clipped it around her neck. Even in the open field, she felt claustrophobic. The idea of staying still choked her, so she placed one foot in front of the other until trees blurred beside her. Speed whipped her hair away from her shoulders and for a moment, she forgot what she needed to do and who everyone expected her to be.

  Freedom found Meaghan within the forest. All sounds faded but her own. Dried leaves and pine needles rustled beneath her feet. Her breathing came labored at first, but soon evened into a calmer rhythm. She pulled her cloak tighter and relished in the lack of voices, the absence of squabbling. She owed no explanations to anyone. She could not command armies to their doom.

  She muted her empath power to avoid sensing emotions from the nearby tribe members, and continued to run, lost under the pale moonlight. It occurred to her that her absence would alarm her friends if they awoke, and though she wanted to keep going, to run until the night swallowed her forever, she retraced her path. When she spotted the edge of the field up ahead, she stopped to gather her courage. With one long sigh, she prepared to meet her obligations once more, and then caught her breath when a twig snapped behind her.

  Tensing, she dropped her hands to her knives as she spun around, and then relaxed when she saw Artair behind her.

  “I take it you aren't using your empath power,” he said. “I've been tracking you for the better part of half an hour.”

  “No,” she admitted. “I needed to be alone.”

  “What if I were a Mardróch?” he asked. “Or a member of Garon's army? You'd be dead now.”

  She cast her eyes toward the darkness of the forest she had just left and knew he was right, but found it hard to be scared. She had heard predictions of her death so many times now that the inevitable had tumbled into a polished stone in her head, numbing her to the prospect.

  “I know it doesn't bother you,” Artair continued. “I don't know if you feel invincible or you don't care about your life, but it matters to other people.”

  “To the kingdom,” she responded, and tasted bitterness on her tongue with the word. “To the Elders, to the war.”

  “To Nick,” Artair said and placed a hand on her shoulder. She brought her eyes back to his, certain he could see the tears she pretended did not exist. “Your life does matter for those reasons, but they aren't what you should be focusing on right now. The people will mourn your loss, but they'll return to normal before long. Nick won't. He needs you.”

  She shook her head. “You don't understand.”

  “You're right, I don't. But I want to. Explain it to me. You can use your power to know that my intent is true. Your secrets are safe.”

  She brought a
hand to his wrist and closed her eyes, but did not bother to extend her power. She already knew by his actions that she could trust him. He had done nothing but protect her from the moment she had met him in battle. He had pressed her many times for details about Nick, and each time, only one emotion had partnered with those questions—curiosity. No malicious intent hid within him, no flicker of deception. His motive had been friendship, as it was now, and she realized she needed that more than the solitude she had so recently welcomed.

  “There are prophecies,” she whispered, and opened her eyes. “I'm not meant to live through this war.”

  Artair's fingers tightened on her shoulder. He pressed his lips together, and then the tension on both eased.

  “So you're welcoming your death,” he said. “You think it doesn't matter, so you've given into it.”

  “My death is necessary for us to win the war.”

  “You're a martyr then.” He cocked his head to the side, offering her a half smile. “You said there are multiple prophecies. How many?”

  “One, and a Seer's vision.”

  “I see. Do they specifically say 'Meaghan must die'?”

  “You're mocking me,” she said, and tried to step away from him, frowning when he did not release his grip. “Let me go.”

  “Not until you face this. You can't keep acting like you have been. You'll get yourself killed.”

  “Right,” she snapped. “You can't let the prophecy happen because you're a Guardian. It's your job to protect me at all costs. You can't stop a runaway train, Artair.”

  He removed his hand from her shoulder. “I have no idea what that is, but I wasn't mocking you. I was trying to make a point. Prophecies and visions are never clear. Unless they give detailed instructions, there's no way to know what they mean.”

  “So what am I supposed to do?” she demanded. “How am I supposed to know what move is right?”

  “Keep following your plan. Your instincts have been good so far. You found your father's tribe, just as you said you would. You convinced them to come with us. I don't know what's coming next, but I won't doubt you any longer. You have a knack for performing the impossible.”