The Remedy (Eyes of E'veria)

by Serena Chase

  I didn’t think it hurt to remind him of the role Julien’s sister had already played in the quest for the Remedy. Besides, it seemed only right that she be the one to present them to the King since she was the one who had found them.

  Erielle had spent the previous day closeted with Edru, Dyfnel, and the translated scrolls, studying their riddles. She had a sharp mind to match her adventurous spirit and I hoped she had obtained a fresh bit of insight that would convince my father that she was, indeed, an integral part of our success.

  My father nodded. “Very well.”

  From the first time I’d read the scrolls for myself on Tirandov Isle I had been convinced that, though she was never mentioned within them, Erielle’s presence within our group was necessary. I could not easily explain the surety by which I had come to this conclusion, but I knew it came from a place beyond me, yet within me. It was almost as if The First himself had whispered the command in my ear and fixed it in my heart. Even though a part of me abhorred the thought of exposing my young friend to the dangers the scrolls promised us, I was sure—deeply, entirely sure—that Erielle’s unique value to our group would be revealed at a critical point in the quest.

  Erielle smoothed her hands across the shiny page, sealed with a thin coat of wax to protect the ink, and began.

  “Nine marks stand guard to guide the way. Three tasks upon the Ryn will prey. Death stalks the path with fierce desire and a counsel of four will strike the pyre.” She looked up. “What follows seems to be a mix of information about the Cobelds and their curses, a description of the nine marks and three tasks, and . . .” she paused to scowl at the page before her, “quite a riddled lot of mess.” She sighed, lightly cleared her throat, and continued.

  “More than men, but less than same for lust of power and need of fame, Cobeld’s minions of one mind must feed their beard from cursed shrine. One dip, one drink, one curse, return. Whisker used and curse is spurned. But put in skins, wine of disease disperses death, and chaos breeds. They carry with them just enough to feed their maledictive tuft. The single limit to their curse, divided beard may grow its purse.”

  Risson gave a resounding hrrumph and said, “What the Cobelds did not discover on their own, the Dwonsil warrior’s cunning has claimed. Dividing their cursed beards among the weapons of Dwons has increased the revenue of their curses manyfold. And I don’t even know where they’re finding all these clansmen warriors to do their bidding.”

  My father’s look was grave. “While we were not paying Dwons the attention that might have thwarted the revolt, the clans of Dwons grew.”

  I sensed that when my father said “we” he spoke of several generations of Ryns.

  “The dividing of the beards has widened the breadth of each individual curse,” he continued. “But we should be thankful that one Cobeld on its own is incapable of more than one curse at a time.” He nodded at Erielle. “Please go on.”

  “Hasten Ryn to mountain’s base where Scoundrel Ally shows his face. Weary not his strange replies, he’ll serve you well when shown the fire. Knows he the path to enter in, though he’ll not follow chosen Ryn.”

  “Your Majesty,” Risson spoke up again, “do you know anyone who might fit the description of a ‘Scoundrel Ally’?”

  “Hmm.” My father leaned back in his chair and rubbed his beard. Suddenly, he laughed. “Cazien de Pollis would certainly meet that mark.”

  Erielle’s golden head shot up. “Who?”

  “The Seahorse pirate,” Julien said. “You remember him, don’t you?”

  “You should.” My father chuckled. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on Cazien’s face when you tackled him to Meredith’s deck and held his own knife to his throat!”

  Erielle’s cheeks bloomed, but she didn’t look up. “I seem to recall something like that. But I was just a little girl.”

  “How old were you?” I asked.

  Again, she shrugged. “Eleven? Twelve? I don’t know.”

  “So it wasn’t all that long ago,” Gerrias teased, poking her ribs with his elbow. At that she did lift her face, if only to glare at her brother.

  “You disarmed a Seahorse captain?” Risson’s voice held an air of both shock and admiration. “And threatened him with his own weapon? Why?”

  “He wasn’t a captain yet.”

  Ah, so she did remember.

  “He drew a picture of her,” Julien said, “but he wouldn’t let her see it.”

  My father leaned forward. “Something about the eyes being wrong, wasn’t it? He wanted to do them over.”

  The eyes. He must have drawn her with green eyes.

  But if green had been wrong then, why would he think they would have changed now? He’d been as surprised as if it were completely normal for a person’s eyes to suddenly change hue.

  My father looked at me and I realized he’d heard my thought, or at least enough of it to want to address my confusion. “Her eyes could yet change color, I suppose,” he said. “Julien’s eyes weren’t green until he was knighted.”

  My mouth dropped open and I looked at Julien. “They weren’t?”

  He shook his head. I couldn’t imagine him with eyes any other color than the brilliant emerald green that sang across my dreams.

  “Neither were mine,” Gerrias said. “We were both born with eyes about the same color as Erielle’s. But with our first official utterance of the Knight’s Oath, they turned.”

  “Gladiel was the same,” my father added. “It is a family trait common to all knights of that line, but one I’ve not seen outside the family of the Regent of Mynissbyr. Since there hasn’t been a female born to the family since Lady Anya herself, I suppose it hasn’t been tested on a girl.”

  “That’s right.” I blinked. “You’re the first girl in two hundred years.”

  “I am.” Erielle’s still-blue eyes sparkled. “Perhaps we should test it, Your Majesty. Were I to be knighted—”

  Three male voices—her brothers’ and my father’s—spoke as one, “No.”

  Her brow creased. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them. Clearly, she had voiced this request before.

  “Well, then.” She let out a quick but heavy breath. “Although I’m sure I enjoy being made sport of,” she said in dry voice, “I really don’t think this conversation is doing anything to help us locate the Remedy. Unless, Your Majesty,” she said, turning to my father, “you think Cazien de Pollis is the Scoundrel Ally in the scrolls?”

  After thinking about it for a moment he shook his head. “No, I don’t imagine that he is. I don’t believe Cazien would ever willingly travel as far inland as Mount Shireya.”

  But he traveled as far inland as Brune Falls. I thought back to his admission to hiding the scrolls. Is Shireya any farther from the sea? When I met Julien’s eyes, I knew he was wondering the same thing. Neither of us voiced our question. And when my father said, “No, it must be someone else,” and urged Erielle to continue reading, I put the question in the back of my mind.

  “Cell doors broken by the light, stairwell down to dark of night. Should the fish skill not be known, do not continue past the throne. Take a breath but don’t expel. Brace for descent, ride the swell. Drip with caution cold as fear, beware a danger ever-near.”

  My father held his hand up and Erielle paused. “Do you swim, Rynnaia?”

  “Yes, Father. Rowlen taught me.”

  “And the rest of you?” Everyone affirmed they could swim. “Good.” He looked at Erielle. “Go on.”

  “The Ryn must travel deaf and blind, unsheathe the swords as arrows fly. Through night-drenched caverns of silence dimmed, casting spears from halo’s rim, the fire returns from foreign lair to call down defense, unimpaired.”

  Erielle looked up, but although my father’s frown had creased further, he did not motion for her to stop. She took a breath.

  “A dive through water strangely warm. A lone voice chorus takes its form and Isle stone no hand has mined illumes the path to
long-sought brine.”

  “I’m no Storyteller,” Kinley interrupted, grating his fingers back and forth over his hair, “but is anyone else bothered by the random style of phrasing in this poet’s rhyme?”

  “I wondered who would first note its irregularity,” Dyfnel said with a smile. “I should have known it would be the knight from Veetri.” He turned his gaze to the King. “Our best guess is that even its construction, as irregular as it is, was purposefully done and but another riddle to decipher.”

  “It is bothersome to the ear,” said the King. “Well met, Kinley. But as Dyfnel said, as far as we know, even that annoyance could be another clue.”

  When all eyes turned again to Erielle, she looked back to her scroll.

  “A pool which teems illuminate precedes living precipitate. The Remedy rests through shadowed door within the Sacred Mountain’s core. Only one may take the rise, with mane of fire and sky-jeweled eyes.”

  “Only one may take the rise?” my father asked. “It speaks of Rynnaia having to climb something?”

  “Perhaps,” Edru offered.

  My father ran a heavy hand from his forehead down to his chin. I empathized. My reaction had been similarly fatigued the first time I read the scrolls.

  When he waved his hand for Erielle to continue, she hesitated. I met her gaze. Having already memorized the scrolls while I was on Tirandov Isle, I knew why she had stopped.

  “Go on, Erielle,” I said, watching my father as she began to read.

  “No sword or dagger at her side, The First alone will serve as guide. Ryn Naia’s past on future bears and memory serves to foil the snare. For Ryn alone must foe engage and settle in eternal cage.”

  “Alone?” My father bolted upright. “You’ll face the enemy . . . alone?”

  “According to this, yes.”

  My father’s eyes slid shut. I reached for his hand. The First will be my guide, I said to his mind. He promised to be with me.

  He opened his eyes and gave me a single nod as he squeezed my hand.

  Erielle’s voice was a bit huskier when she moved to the next section. “Shale of flour from the loaf, in water dropped, a moment soaked. A pinch is all for healing’s start, but time alone completes the art. Ingested by Cobeld accursed, a gift of healing from The First.”

  “The Remedy, Your Majesty.” Dyfnel smiled. “And directions how to administer it.”

  The King nodded wordlessly, but hope for my mother flashed across the worry that had consumed his thoughts since Erielle had begun to read.

  “Lock the foe where lies no floor. A gift released when the way is sure.” Erielle paused to scowl at the odd stanza break. “The best door of the former three, north and out it will you lead. A trusty thief waits for to serve. Withdraw the Healer and the Cur. War rages on Shireya’s step, but Ryn must onward with her quest.”

  “Stop. Go back to the Healer and the Cur,” Gerrias said.

  Erielle repeated the lines again.

  “Well, the Healer must be you, Dyfnel, since you’re a physician,” Gerrias mused. “Is the Cur the same person as the ‘Trusty Thief’ we’ll meet in the beginning?”

  Risson scowled down at his own copy. “We won’t know until we meet him, I suspect.”

  “Read that last line again, Erielle.” My father’s command was spoken as if he’d not even noted the discussion going on around him.

  “But Ryn must onward with her quest.”

  “Onward?” His voice rose and his tone revealed his irritation as much as his clenched jaw. “There’s more? But she’s found the Remedy at this point!”

  “There is quite a bit more, I’m afraid,” Julien, who’d refrained from commenting thus far, spoke up. “As we saw in the beginning, it appears the Cobeld curse is dependent upon them drinking from a tainted well. The Andoven at Tirandov are of the opinion that the water comes from an underground spring that originates at the location of the Remedy, within the core of the mountain. But we can’t be sure what is metaphor and what is literal.”

  There was a long pause. Finally, Erielle said, “Should I go on?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded and lifted the scroll. “Split the loaf to find the bit to medicate the Cobeld pit. The globe illumes with radiant shine until dropped in poisoned wine.”

  Kinley groaned. “This unruly pattern of rhyme will likely do me in before the Cobelds even get a chance.”

  Though I knew he was exaggerating, I heartily agreed with the sentiment.

  Erielle took a breath. “Oracle’s daughter scales the slope, takes the mantel, drops the stone to nullify the Cobeld curse and purge the poison from its work.”

  “Sounds like you’ll be a busy girl, Princess,” Gerrias said.

  Erielle glanced at her brother, and then looked down again. “There’s something about this line that bothers me,” Erielle frowned at me. “I can’t figure out why Lady Anya refers to you as the Oracle’s daughter. Unless, of course . . .” She looked over at my father. “You wouldn’t happen to be an oracle, would you?”

  “Hardly. And I doubt the Queen would lay claim to that title, either.”

  The room was silent for a moment, each person concentrating on their own copy of the scrolls, each of us intent on figuring out what that line could mean.

  “What if Lady Anya sees Rynnaia as her symbolic daughter, since she’s the one who is fulfilling the legacy of the scrolls?”

  The word “legacy” rolled around in my head, attaching itself to a picture of a pirate. I shook my head, as if that would clear Cazien from my thoughts. I suppose I could be considered part of Anya’s legacy, the one entrusted with bringing the prophecy to fruition, but . . .

  Silence stretched. Finally Dyfnel said, “It seems as good an explanation as any.”

  Shrugs and nods made their way around the table before Erielle took a breath and read on. “Emerald bonds to seal the Ryn, a toast expels curse taken in. Souls conjoin, a third concurs. Hope consumes the saboteurs!” The sudden smile in Erielle’s voice was infectious. Her voice took on strength as she finished the poem. “One Name of Power in purest form removes the stain of Cobeld’s thorn. An army parts, in panic, flees. A King of Truth gains victory.”

  “Finally!” Kinley raised his fist up in the air, grinning. “Uh, sorry. I just thought it was about time something good happened in our poorly constructed poem. The King gaining victory sounds rightly good to me.”

  “It does, indeed!” Julien grinned and slapped him on the back.

  “Go on, Erielle,” my father said.

  She looked up. “That’s all. Well, except for the postscript.”

  My father arched an eyebrow. “The postscript?”

  “The author left a note after the end,” Dyfnel explained. “It seems to have been recorded by the same hand and is itself a poem, but it was not written in the Ancient Voice like the rest of the text.”

  My father ground his teeth and looked at Erielle, one eyebrow arched as if to say, “Well, get on with it.”

  “Right.” She nodded. “Awakened I with death-gripped quill, ink before me, memory stilled. Unaware, I’d scribed a chart penned by my hand, not from my heart.”

  She took a breath. When she spoke again, her voice was laced with a sense of destiny. “A restless night brought new a dream of who would find what I had seen and where to hide the Poet’s verse: a map to lift Cobeld’s dark curse. Before the moon set I began to carry out the First King’s plan.” Erielle glanced at me and grinned. “But suddenly the Ryn of flame, unborn borne on vapored plane, appeared behind the Poet’s desk to learn about her coming quest. Advised I she whose time had come, but come not yet by time undone. And when her form removed from sight, these words I wrote till end of night to hide away until the time when read will be prophetic rhyme.”

  “Poor girl,” Kinley said. “Clearly she understands the use of meter. Can you imagine waking up with a collection of words copied down in your own hand but so crudely composed?”

  “These copies are
translations, remember?” Erielle sounded a bit defensive. Then again, it was her ancestress who penned it, so perhaps she had the right. “It might have read more lyrically in the original language.”

  “I wonder which was more shocking,” Julien mused. “Waking to this poetry? Or having a beautiful red-haired princess, one who won’t be born for over two hundred years, arrive unannounced in your room? It must have been . . . something.”

  Silence reigned for several minutes. Strangely, I could imagine, since I’d been the one transported across the planes of time to speak with Lady Anya.

  “That’s all, then?” My father let out a long breath.

  Erielle nodded.

  He scowled at the top of the table. “The geographic landmarks seem vague, at best.”

  “Yes,” Edru answered the King. “But our hope is that, with eight of us familiar with the scrolls, the likelihood of that recognition will increase.”

  “Commit them to memory, each of you,” the King commanded. “If you see to no other task over the next few days, see to this one.”

  When I found my bed that night I was exhausted, but a cold thread of unease crept into my thoughts even as sleep rushed in to still it. In just a few short hours it would be known across the Kingdom that my mother and I lived. Families who had lost loved ones to the Cobelds’ curses might rejoice at the news, but I couldn’t help but wonder about those whose red-haired daughters had been killed in the Cobelds’ desire to thwart the prophecy.

  The harsh reality was that, because I lived, those lives were needlessly forfeited. If it had been my red-haired mother, sister, or friend who’d fallen prey to a curse, I’m not sure I would be so quick to forgive my King.

  Regardless of his good intentions, tomorrow my father would be revealed to his people as a liar.

  And I, as the lie.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  A somber assembly of knights surrounded the King’s table to break their fast the next morning, and although no one mentioned the coming announcement, I sensed it lingered in everyone’s thoughts. My father was unusually quiet as I pushed the food around on my platter, finding nothing there that appealed to the gnawing in my belly. Anxiety, it seemed, would not be appeased by something so menial as food.