Journey of Wisdom

by Shawna Thomas

  Ilythra rose and walked among the men, trying to get a better sense of what could be out in the darkness. Whatever it was, it didn’t feel dangerous and there was a slightly familiar flavor to it. After making her way around the camp, she sat back down. Maybe it was her overactive imagination. Maybe she needed some sleep. Wrapping herself in her cloak, she leaned against a tree and let weariness claim her.

  * * *

  Mists rose around her, swirling in a hidden breeze. A shadow approached, and the mist spun away from its movement. Fear radiated through her with each of his steps. She froze, unable to move. He reached out his hand, and the mists bled red. Her heart froze and then beat a staccato rhythm.

  A feeling of peace washed over her, cooling her fear. She was hazed in a field of blue. Strength surged through her limbs. She’d faced the red man and lived. The fear vanished. He didn’t tempt her. Not with power, knowledge or revenge. She had nothing to prove any longer.

  He couldn’t touch her, couldn’t come any closer. She was safe. Melodies echoed around her, her own and Crioch’s tortured tune. Lifting her hand, blue light highlighted each water droplet, sending rainbows of color throughout the mist. The colors danced and shimmered.

  From far away, a voice called her. She looked up and up again until she was gazing across an impossible distance. A new melody, one that soothed her soul, traveled the distance. Another voice called, drawing her attention away.

  She opened her eyes and cursed whatever had woken her. The last melody had been the missing stone. The one held by the Siobani. She knew it.

  Dawn filtered through the clearing in columns of hazy light. Res stood before her. “Sorry to wake you, but someone is coming.” He had his sword drawn.

  She shot to her feet. Every muscle in her body protested the movement. “How many?”

  He shrugged. “We only hear one.”

  A branch snapped. Ilythra drew her sword. A man lumbered toward the camp. Dirt covered his body so completely that his skin and clothing bore a uniform color.

  She recognized him a moment before he spoke.

  “That’s not the kind of reception I was hoping for.” Mohan grinned.

  She rushed toward him and drew him close. “Mohan.” Tears of relief filled her eyes. She blinked them back. Her chest lightened and she took a deep breath for seemingly the first time since she’d left him on the mountain. She didn’t let him go. The solidity of him comforted her. He was alive. She put her head on his shoulder and tried not to cry.

  “Now that’s a little better.” Mohan patted her back and then lifted her chin to look at her face.

  She blinked back tears. “Are you hurt?” She stepped out of his arms and examined him. His clothing hung in tatters, and cuts and scrapes marked his arms and face. Dirt coated every part of him. “Where were you?”

  “Fell into a bit of an argument with a few rocks, but I won.” He grinned. “Took longer to get off the mountain than I thought. Once dark fell, couldn’t track you, so I found a place to hole up until dawn, and here I am.”

  She hugged him again.

  “With a reception like that, I should almost get crushed by a mountain more often.” He gazed around the camp. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but a rider passed me early this morning on the road to Greton. By nightfall, the castle will know of your disappearance. It’s not safe here. They’ll come looking for us.”

  Chapter Ten

  A note rang through Teann, pure and clear. Ilydearta. She’d used the stone, and well. But where? Bredych opened his eyes. What was the little bitch up to? A surge of pride welled in his breast, contradicting the anger. Although he’d offered, she hadn’t needed anyone to teach her. He hadn’t lied when he’d told her they were of a kind. No one had taught him the deeper ways of Crioch either. Oh, he’d had a mentor, as she had, but the man had only taught honor, unity, balance. Things that had led to the banishing of the stones in the first place. He’d made his own path.

  She will go to him, to Ewen. Jealousy burned hot in his chest. Yes, she would, and the Siobani leader would complete the ruination that Zeynel had begun.

  He stood and paced from one end of the room to the other. A fire burned hot in the grate but failed to warm the recesses of the room. He paused before the flames, watching as they consumed the wood, as the light warmed the stone, drawing shades of burnt orange and rust from the gray rock. He couldn’t afford to care. She was only a vehicle. It was the stone he needed.

  He’d offered her everything, and she’d turned him down. He smiled, remembering the texture of her skin, how it had looked in the candlelight. If she made it past his Rugians, found her precious Siobani and met Ewen face-to-face, she’d still be his. She carried him on her skin. In the recesses of her mind when her thoughts were unrestrained, there he lived and breathed. She thought she wanted to destroy him, to strip him of power and even the stone, if that were possible, but in the end, she wouldn’t. They were too similar. Ilythra could run from him, but she wouldn’t fight him. She was broken and she didn’t even know it.

  * * *

  Mohan winced as he ducked under a tree branch.

  “Okay, that’s it, let me see,” Ilythra said.

  “Just bruises and a few scratches. I promise.” He continued walking through the woods. “Does it bother you at all that we’re heading closer to Greton?”

  “Let me be the judge of that, and yes.” She glanced at the few men who were still following them. Most of the former prisoners had headed north toward Elston or west toward the pass. “But it can’t be helped.” She grabbed his arm. “Besides, as you know, I left Melior this way.” She lifted his tunic.

  “Here? Now? I know you’re a lady of passions but—” Mohan hissed as she pressed against a dark purple bruise. “That hurts.”

  “Obviously.” She ran her hands over his torso. “But I don’t think there are any broken bones.”

  He jerked his tunic down. “I told you.” He grinned, revealing a dimple, as the prisoners caught up. “Besides, I’m not the strong, silent type. When I’m hurt, I prefer to be pampered, cossetted, cared for.” He raised an eyebrow.

  Ilythra laughed. “Yup, you’re fine.”

  The group walked until they reached a bubbling creek. The sun shone from above, and wildflowers peppered the banks of the waters. She turned to the men. “This is where we’ll have to part ways.” She gazed at each of them. They still wore ragged clothing, but there was a new determination in their eyes. Even in the short time they’d been free, the weakest had gained strength. The catch in her voice surprised her. “Be careful. Stay hidden. The king’s counselor, Bredych, is the one behind your slavery. If anyone suspects you’ve escaped, he won’t hesitate to kill you or send you back. He might have spies in the village. I don’t know.” Dim memories of women with cloth-covered heads and sorrowful eyes filled her mind. When one was without hope, even the most unlikely people could be convinced to sell out a neighbor for the possibility of something better. But she knew for the most part, the villagers were a close-knit group. They even had a network for hiding one another from the soldiers.

  Res stepped forward and clasped her arm. “Thank you, milady.”

  “I am not a lady.”

  “You are more a lady than anyone I’ve ever met.”

  Her eyes misted. “Give my love to Nenya and that baby. Be safe.”

  “You too.” Res grasped Mohan’s hand and patted his back in the male version of a hug. He nodded to them both and jumped the narrow channel, disappearing into the deep woods.

  One by one all the men came forward to offer her and Mohan thanks. When the last one disappeared, she turned to Mohan.

  The thief blinked and turned away quickly.

  “It’s just me and you once more.”

  He scratched his chin. “If you’re thinking of taking on an entire ar
my again, I’d like to protest. I may need a few days to recover.”

  Ilythra wrapped her arm around Mohan’s waist. “Me too. Let’s go before we have to do just that.”

  * * *

  Aclan sat in his rooms, staring at the window without seeing anything. Was it possible? Was Cassia his sister? Her eyes were lighter than his. The same color of his father’s, now that he thought about it. But it wasn’t an uncommon shade. Most of their family had pale blond hair too, so Cassia’s wasn’t unusual.

  He ran a hand over his hair. Thanks to his mother’s southern blood, his coloring was darker than his father’s. He’d always wanted a sibling. Could he have had one all this time? No. His father was difficult to please, but he wouldn’t make his daughter scrub walls and empty chamber pots.

  Aclan stood in frustration. He wished he could ask his father, but he didn’t want to cause any distress to the king. How had he been so blind? Rothit. Rothit knew something was wrong. And Ilythra. She’d been drugged too. He will come after me. He swallowed. A knock sounded on the door. Panic surged through his blood.

  “It’s Konrad.”

  He sank against the chair. “Come in.”

  “My prince.” Konrad bowed his head then stepped aside to reveal a tall man in nondescript leggings and a scholar’s tunic. “This is Hendrik.” He looked vaguely familiar, but then, Aclan hadn’t paid much attention to Rothit’s men. He hadn’t paid much attention to anything at all. Maybe he was the spoiled, pampered child Cassia had accused him of being. Shame darkened his mood.

  “You’re my new tutor?” Aclan observed the warrior. He wore no weapons that Aclan could see. His sandy brown hair and dark blue eyes were far from striking. A small scar near one eye gave his face a little character. Neither handsome nor ugly, not thin nor fat, he was the kind of person you would overlook. It was only in his gaze that Aclan glimpsed the warrior. Hendrik blinked, and even that was gone.

  “You are skilled in the information I need?” Aclan asked.

  “Yes, my prince. I will serve you well.”

  Aclan looked to Konrad.

  The steward shut the door. “Hendrik is distantly related to Rothit. He is loyal to your family.”

  “I will guard you with my life.” Hendrik bowed.

  “Then teach me how to protect it,” Aclan said.

  “As you will.” The blue eyes sparkled.

  Aclan turned to the steward. “Konrad, is it true what Cassia said? I’ve been considering it and it just doesn’t sit well with me. Father was not always the kindest man, but he would not have forced his child, even a bastard child, to scrub chamber pots.”

  Konrad’s expression grew apologetic. “Your Highness, if she is your father’s child, it is possible she is not a bastard.”

  “What!”

  The steward took a deep breath. “I’ve served your family for years and it is true that your father had a wife before your mother. But as far as I know, no offspring were produced.”

  Betrayal and confusion warred in Aclan’s mind. Had everyone kept secrets from him? “Father was married before Mother? And Liana? Is she not the cook’s child?”

  Konrad paled a little. “I don’t know the details or who Liana’s mother was. I do know the cook was barren and one day showed up with a babe in arms.”

  If Cassia had told the truth about Liana, then maybe it was all true. The betrayal stung. Did he even know his father? His entire life he’d had a sister. How would his childhood have been different if he’d had someone to play with, talk to? The loss of it took his breath away. He steadied his voice. “Then it’s possible. I have always tried to please Father and never succeeded. Now I find he’s capable of this. How she must hate me, and I never even noticed.”

  “You were young—”

  “I was sheltered and oblivious to anything save myself, just as she accused me of being.” He paced the length of the room. Anger fueled his step. Anger at his father, at himself. Nothing he did would erase the injustice, but he would help Cassia.

  “Highness, if I may.” Hendrik stepped forward. “Perhaps you were, but I do not see a pampered prince before me now. I see a man who wants to make things right. One who would defend his kingdom.”

  Aclan blinked. “I suppose feeling sorry for myself is another habit I must surrender. Thank you. I will go to the kitchens. I want to see this child who is my niece.”

  * * *

  Weariness slowed her step. She and Mohan had traveled without stopping, well into the night. Mists rose from the landscape, swirling among the trees and grasses, deepening night’s gloom and softening the starlight. She blinked. It was very much like the dream she’d had. Had the Siobani stone keeper tried to reach her? The possibility excited and frightened her. What if he was like Bredych? What then? Her skin pebbled.

  The light of the moon, too weak to penetrate the mist, reflected its surface, illuminating eddies and whirls as the fog danced to hidden breezes.

  “Not much farther.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but Mohan nodded.

  A soft whinny sounded in the night. Melior galloped toward her, skidded to a stop and then shoved his nose in Ilythra’s shoulder.

  “Whoa, boy, I’m gonna think you missed me.” Ilythra reached to stroke between Melior’s ears. She breathed the comforting scent of horse deep into her lungs. A moist nose nuzzled her neck.

  “I think you’d be right,” Mohan said.

  Together they walked back to the bubbling pool of water.

  Trampled grass, vegetation shorn to the ground and horse droppings transformed the little clearing. Ilythra stroked Melior’s neck. “You made yourself at home.” She moved toward her stack of belongings. Her pack and Zeynel’s staff lay where she’d left them.

  Mohan submitted to Melior’s greeting then kneeled to splash icy water on his face and neck.

  “That’s one way to wake up,” Ilythra said.

  “I can think of one better.” Mohan took a weary step. “But if I confess that I’m just too tired, you have to promise the admission doesn’t leave this grove.”

  “You got it.” Melior nudged her back, throwing her off balance. “I know you don’t like this place. But your human friends need to sleep for a little while.”

  “Want me to take first watch?” Mohan sat down against the trunk of a large tree.

  “You’d be asleep before the sun rose. No, Mel can do it. Besides, his ears are better than ours.”

  The soft sound of Mohan’s breath convinced her she’d overestimated the time the Benai could stay awake.

  She leaned against him. Her body ached and it felt good to sit, but sleep wouldn’t come. Staring into the mists, she thought of her dream. She’d dreamed often of the red man when she’d first come to the mainland. He’d fascinated and scared her at the same time. It wasn’t until she’d met Zeynel that she’d learned he was another stone keeper. He’d warned her to stay away from Bredych, to find the Siobani, keepers of the third stone and rightful owners of all three. How had the Siobani lost them? It was only one of many questions she wanted to ask once she found them.

  She hadn’t listened to Zeynel. As soon as she’d learned his identity, she’d chased after Bredych, keeper of Crioch. Had it been the lingering fascination that drew her?

  She could picture his dark eyes and dusky skin with clarity. There was nothing outwardly extraordinary about him, but he was not ordinary. Not to be trusted. Although he couldn’t use the stone against her—Zeynel had told her as much—he could weave his words into a pattern that formed a lie wrapped in just enough truth to trap you. He was intelligent, charming and deadly on his own. With the stone of Dominion, he was a force to be reckoned with. He had controlled an entire pack of wolves and led them to attack a hunting party. He’d controlled the weather to keep her in Greton, and he’d hinted at greater abilities. He used the stone
for his own gain, contrary to its purpose, and thus created a dissonance in Teann. A discord that could only lead to destruction.

  Shifting against the tree next to Mohan, the rough bark dug into her back through her clothing. Bredych had tried to poison her the same way he’d poisoned Mohan’s brother—through a scent. Ingenious, really. She’d never suspected. At least not enough to question at first, and when she had, then it had been too late.

  He wouldn’t give up.

  Her hand found the smooth wood of Zeynel’s staff. Her heart ached with longing for her mentor. The ache had become part of her, much like the pain of losing her grandfather. She smiled at the thought of her grandfather. If only she had one more day with him. There were so many things she wished she could tell him. Ask him.

  He’d raised her to carry the stone and trained her in Shi’ia, an ancient and almost forgotten sword-fighting discipline. He’d taught her everything he knew about herbs and healing. All she was, all she would be, she owed to the foundation laid by her grandfather. She struggled to remember his pale blue eyes crowned by coarse gray eyebrows. He’d worn his hair back in a queue, like Mohan. She shook her head. That she could picture Bredych with clarity and not her grandfather was maddening.

  She’d been naive when she’d said goodbye to Nolwen and Pierric, the kindly couple who had taken her in after the shipwreck that had killed her grandfather. Guilt weighed down her eyelids. Bredych had destroyed the entire village looking for her. They were the first victims on his quest to obtain Ilydearta through her.

  Maelys came to mind, with her sharp tongue and sharper wit. The old woman had turned her from a girl who knew about herbs into a healer. She’d been the first to teach her of Teann.