by Sharon Hinck
“Speak!” Tristan roared.
The boy jumped, glancing at me and back at Tristan. He pulled himself up as tall as his slight form would stretch. “I am a messenger of the sovereign kingdom of Hazor. Your land has been claimed. I have been sent to deliver terms.” He used a formal singsong tone. Even in his fear, the words were spoken with a hint of pride that rekindled the rage of the guardian standing in front of him.
Tristan’s sword arm lifted.
The boy’s eyes widened. “If you kill me, you won’t learn everything you need to know,” he squeaked, no longer using a formal cadence.
Tristan eased his sword back . . . barely. Tension coiled in his body, but he took a deep breath and gestured toward the door. “Did you kill her?” he asked in a low, tight voice.
The young man’s mouth dropped open in shock. “No! I’m just the messenger. They brought me here after—” He glanced out the window that overlooked the fields, where the last stages of the devastating automated attack were unfolding. He steeled himself and looked back at Tristan. “Let me deliver my message before you kill me. Otherwise, they’ll have to send another.”
I could read in his face that he expected to die, and I shook my head in disbelief. “Are your people still out there?”
He seemed confused by my question, but shook his head.
While we questioned him, Bekkah’s body remained sprawled in the dirt. “I’m not leaving her out there,” I told Tristan.
“He’s probably lying. Stay where you are.”
I looked pointedly at the backs of my hands, where all the blisters had disappeared. Even if someone were still out there shooting, I had a good chance of healing from anything they threw at me. “I’ll be fine.”
Tristan took his eyes off the boy long enough to glare at me with genuine anger.
It dawned on me that he wasn’t used to having guardians question his orders. This probably wasn’t a good time for me to start promoting democratic principles. I nodded and sank onto the cot at the side of the room, determined to keep my mouth shut and pay attention.
“So, messenger,” Tristan said venomously, his eyes back on the boy. “What are these ‘terms’ you’re supposed to deliver?”
The young man hesitated a moment, and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He looked younger than my son Jake. What kind of army would leave an unarmed boy alone in the territory of a provoked enemy, just to deliver its message?
“May I know whom I am addressing?” the youth asked. Before Tristan could respond to the gall of that question, he added quickly, “My orders are to deliver the message to the leaders of Braide Wood.”
Tristan lowered his sword and took a step closer to tower over the boy. “I am Tristan, captain of the guardians of Braide Wood.” Tristan’s eyes burned red, his face was raw and blistered, and his voice shook with anger. He was a powerful and frightening warrior, yet the boy met Tristan’s eyes with a nod of resignation.
I could read the youth’s face as easily as those of my own children. He had been left here to deliver his message and die. Because he fully expected death, he wouldn’t give in to fear.
“Hazor has claimed these lands.” His voice reminded me of Councilmember Cameron issuing boastful predictions in the transport. “We have destroyed the plains to show you our might. Next we will destroy Braide Wood. Not one log will remain above another. Not one life will be spared.” The youth couldn’t keep looking at Tristan. He stared at a point past the guardian’s left ear and took a deep breath. “Unless, within the time of twenty days, Braide Wood delivers tribute to Zarek, King of Hazor, in Sidian.”
The Hazorites had to be crazy. First they hauled machines over the mountains separating Morsal Plains from this end of Hazor. Then they destroyed all the fertile land for miles. It would be of no use to them now, either. What possible purpose did this serve? Then they left a scrawny kid near the body of a murdered guardian, ordering him to deliver an ultimatum. And what tribute could they possibly expect from a community that never possessed much to begin with and now would be driven to near-starvation? I stared at the boy, stunned by the insanity of all of this.
Tristan, however, had taken a step back and was no longer vibrating with suppressed rage. He seemed to be making sense of the message. “What tribute is requested?” he asked in a formal tone that indicated this was a ritual exchange of words.
“The tribute demanded,” the messenger said, “is for you to give over each Braide Wood child of fewer than twelve years to Sidian as a surety. Deliver them before nightfall of the twentieth day, and they will live and Braide Wood will be unharmed.”
“What?” I gasped. Neither man looked at me.
“If the tribute is not met, they will die along with every other soul in Braide Wood.”
Like a recording that had run to the end of its tape, the boy’s voice slowed and dropped as he finished. He looked at the floor and then closed his eyes. I wondered if he was praying, and if so, to whom. His thin body tensed, but he didn’t move as he waited for Tristan to run him through. For a moment, I wasn’t sure what would happen next.
Tristan apparently had no indecision. He sheathed his sword and ignored the boy, turning to me. “Since they’ve sent terms, the Hazorites won’t be out there anymore. Tie him up. We’ll take him back to the village. I’ll get Bekkah.” Tristan grabbed a blanket from the end of the cot where I was sitting and left the shelter.
The messenger opened his eyes and looked at me in confusion.
My earlier pity for this young man had faded after hearing his ultimatum. I untangled a rope from a sack of grain in the corner of the room and walked over to him. “Hold out your hands.” I wrapped the rope around his wrists. His arms shook.
When I was sure the knots would hold, I lifted my gaze to his face.
The mask of resignation and determined courage had dropped away. He was terrified.
I wanted to hate him because Bekkah’s body was being wrapped in a blanket right outside the door, and his people had killed her. I wanted to blame him because he stood and watched at this window while hideous machines destroyed Morsal Plains. I wanted to scream at him for repeating the threats and demands of his king.
But he was a skinny kid who should have been climbing trees or playing ball games with friends, not playing the pawn in an insane war. He was watching my face and must have seen it softening. “Please,” he whispered.
Did he think he could talk me into letting him go? I may have felt some compassion for him, but I wasn’t crazy.
“Please. You have a sword.” He was trembling. “Kill me now. By all the gods of my people and yours, don’t let him take me.” He dropped to his knees. “Hurry!” He looked up at me, then glanced toward the doorway.
I crouched down in front of him, shaking my head. I needed to calm him. The ride back up to the village would be hard enough without a hysterical prisoner to cope with. “What’s your name?”
He looked startled. “Nolan.”
“Nolan, my name is Susan. I’m not going to kill you. I really don’t like killing people.” It would be nice to reassure him that no one would hurt him, but I didn’t know if I could promise that. I didn’t know what would happen to any of us in the near future.
“Give me your knife. I’ll do it myself.”
“Why are you so eager to die?”
He stared at me as if I were making a sick joke. “I know what the barbarians of the Wood do with their prisoners. Please, if you have any mercy, let me die now. I’ve given you the message. You don’t need me anymore.” His thin chest was moving up and down rapidly, his panic growing.
I had to get him calmed down. I reached out a hand to touch his shoulder, and he flinched, expecting me to strike him. My stomach twisted at the unfamiliar feeling of being feared. I couldn’t stand any more of this.
I stood up, planning to go outside for Tristan.
Before I reached the doorway, he strode back through. “We need to ride back and send word to the Council. Can you manage him?” He looked at the boy, who was still huddled on the floor.
I clenched my jaw and nodded.
“On your feet,” he snapped at our prisoner.
Outside, I saw the blanket-wrapped body strapped across Tristan’s lehkan and felt a wave of vertigo. I battled back the nausea and misery that hit me at the sight of Bekkah’s form bundled like a sack of grain. There wasn’t time for grief right now. I climbed onto Mara.
Tristan emerged from the shelter, hauling Nolan by the arm. He boosted him up to sit behind me. The boy gripped one side of the saddle with his tied hands, and I hoped he’d be able to stay on. Tristan swung up into his saddle and eased his animal forward. With the cargo we carried, we couldn’t gallop, but the large creatures covered ground quickly even at a walk. We retraced our path to the eastern hill overlooking the fields, where several of the guardians waited for Tristan. He paused to receive reports from his men. They sent curious looks at the boy behind me, but with military protocol, they waited for Tristan to explain Nolan’s presence. When he didn’t, they hurried away to carry out their orders.
I sat still in the saddle and looked out at the plains. I couldn’t stomach the destruction and quickly focused on the strong, tall stalks of grain on the few acres that had been spared. If the poison fumes didn’t destroy them, there would be at least a little food to glean.
Something cold touched my face, and I tilted it upward. The afternoon rainfall was beginning. Clean water sprinkled down onto the valley and stopped the spread of the yellow cloud. The sight was the only shred of hope I could cling to as we nudged our lehkans toward the more gradual southern trail up to the plateau and back to Braide Wood.
Chapter
15
When we rode through the lehkan pastures, Tristan didn’t stop at the paddock, but continued into the village. I’d never seen anyone ride on these footpaths, and from the stares we received, the villagers hadn’t either. They trailed behind us, watchful, tense.
Tristan rode right up to a home near the center of the village. He dismounted and carefully lifted down the bundle from his lehkan. The door to the house flew open, and Bekkah’s sister and several other family members ran out. Cradling Bekkah’s body, Tristan walked past them into the house. A woman inside wailed.
I let my own tears fall. Bekkah was one of the first women I met in this world. Within minutes of meeting me, she had given me the boots she was saving for her sister, and had encouraged me along the trail to Braide Wood. During the meeting at Tristan’s home, in spite of a brief flare of mistrust, she had volunteered to train me. She would have been my teacher, and she had already been my friend. I wiped at my tears with my sleeve, but the chemicals on my clothes only brought more tears as they burned my eyes.
Tristan came back out and signaled to me. I dismounted, leaving Nolan alone on Mara. The boy’s thin body slumped, and he kept his focus down. He was trying to become invisible.
Whispers traveled among the gathered crowd, but they stayed at a respectful distance. Tristan spoke quietly, his face a mask of duty. “Susan, will you take care of Kendra for me? Make sure she’s all right? I’ll check back when I can.”
His respect for me was growing. He asked instead of ordered. “Of course I’ll stay with her. She’ll be all right.”
He nodded his thanks and hauled our prisoner away.
I hurried down the path to his home.
Confusion and stunned disbelief spread through the village in overlapping ripples as more details of the attack spread. Healers were busy helping the guardians who had been burned fighting the minitrans and their acid spray. Songkeepers gathered and invited families to prayer. Friends visited at Bekkah’s home to comfort her family. In a community this small, her death hit every person in some way.
When I arrived at their house, I assured Tara, Talia, and Kendra that Tristan was safe. Payton and Gareth had gone out with other men from the village to see how much grain could be salvaged. I stayed at home talking quietly with Kendra and trying to keep Dustin and Aubrey content indoors. Kendra was horribly thin from the weeks of being trapped by the poison, but Tara was already focusing her energy on feeding her daughter-in-law.
She also coped with her anxiety about the attack by baking batch after batch of round bread loaves, until Talia pointed out that it might be wiser to save the grain. Then Tara shifted her energy to washing the chemical residue from my cloak. There were several gaps where the fabric had burned through, and I feared Tara’s vigorous scrubbing would add more holes.
Talia slipped out often throughout the day to gather news. Tristan had sent a messenger to the Braide Wood Council chief, who was currently in Lyric. He was also meeting with other village leaders. The reports on the condition of the fields continued to be bleak. The lehkan patrols followed tracks through the mountains, but the enemy was long gone now. The healers struggled to find a way to treat the blistering burns of the men who had come in contact with the chemicals. One guardian had gone blind, and they feared it would be permanent.
I taught Aubrey and Dustin how to play “Pick-Up-Sticks”—a new game to them. Once they were busy with that in the corner, Kendra and I poured mugs of juice and sat down to talk.
By unspoken consent, we deliberately confined our conversation to topics other than the day’s tragedy. Kendra was curious about where I had come from and even laughed a few times as I described my early days in this world. In turn, I asked her how she was feeling and what she remembered about the past two seasons.
“The last thing I remember was Tristan planning to leave for a patrol on the River Borders. He was sure an attack was coming from Kahlarea and had given his evidence to the Council, but they wouldn’t listen. I was furious that he was going ahead with his patrol when he knew about the danger. Did they ever attack?”
“I don’t think anything happened on the River Borders.” I sipped my juice, puckering at the sour tang of orberries, and tucked my legs up underneath me. “I know Linette’s fiancé is patrolling there this season, but I haven’t heard about any problems. Tristan’s been more worried about Hazor. When we were in the transport traveling here, Cameron told Tristan he had been trading with Hazor. He also said something about the guardians being obsolete soon.”
“Did Cameron say what they had been trading?”
“I don’t remember. I’m sorry. None of it made much sense to me at the time. I was going to ask Kieran when we met to spar yesterday, but—”
“Kieran? He’s here?”
I bit my lip and shook my head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Kendra’s whole body had tensed. “Tell me where he is.”
I met her eyes. “I don’t know. He stopped here to meet Tristan and get supplies, but when Tristan went to talk to him last night, he had disappeared. I really don’t know where he is right now.” That, at least, was true.
Kendra’s face fell. “How did he seem?”
I wasn’t at all sure how to answer her. “Like he doesn’t want to have hope, but he can’t keep from trying to make a difference in spite of himself.”
Kendra tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear and smiled. “Sounds like you’ve gotten to know him pretty well.”
“He’s not thrilled with the theory that I might be a Restorer. He seems to think that’s just going to cause more problems.”
“The last Restorer saved our people. But the cost was high.” Kendra’s expression became wistful. “Mikkel was an incredible guardian. He knew that Kahlarea planned to invade through the pass by the Cauldrons. He begged the Council for support, but they didn’t believe him. Finally, he gathered a handful of other guardians who were willing to ride with him to defend the pass. When the attack came, Mikkel himself killed two hundred enemy soldiers. Even after he was
badly wounded, he kept fighting with a power beyond anything the guardians had ever seen. They held off the enemy and drove them back across the River Borders. But most of the men who rode with Mikkel died. Kieran and I were still young when it happened, but we had a cousin who fought beside the Restorer. He died at the Cauldrons.”
“What happened to Mikkel?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know.
“He died the next day. Too many wounds. Too much damage. His body couldn’t heal anymore.”
I squeezed my mug. “No wonder Kieran doesn’t want to rely on a Restorer. He told Tristan that I’m only going to get a lot of other people hurt.”
“Kieran always has to do things his own way. I guess I’m more like him than I realized. If I hadn’t gotten so angry at Tristan for ignoring my advice, I wouldn’t have run off to Blue Knoll.” Kendra’s shoulders sagged.
I recognized the same shame and regret that had battered me after the Rhusican poison. “Kendra, I understand,” I said. “I was poisoned too.”
Her eyes widened, but she waited for me to say more.
“When I came back, I hated the fact that I had hurt other people by giving in to it.”
“Yes,” she said. “That’s exactly it. And Tristan told me about tracking the man who did this to me. If the Council finds out . . .”
I interrupted her, cutting off the dangerous line of thought. “The important thing is that you’re better. It will help him so much to have you back.”
Kendra looked at her hands in her lap. She had been rubbing them absently. Now she clenched her fingers together to still their movements. “Susan, do you ever fight with your husband?”
I laughed. “Way too often—and about some pretty silly things. I was baking cookies one night a few weeks ago, and Mark told me that if I’d line the rows up diagonally on the sheet, I’d fit more on. I told him I liked my straight rows and we kept arguing like it was some important issue.” Pain twisted behind my ribs. Would I ever get to have silly arguments with Mark again? But even while it triggered an ache, I was glad to talk about Mark. It reminded me that he still existed somewhere in the world where I belonged. Soon Kendra and I were sharing more stories and laughing about the foibles of husbands. It was as if we could hold back the day’s tragedy if we talked about normal things. Any distraction from grief and fear was welcome. Maybe it was a form of denial, but I needed the reprieve.