Maeve nodded, relieved.
“This being that sent you here –”
“Banikar. I never actually met him. Only my husband had that honor. If any other person but Richard had come to me with a story about a strange, glowing alien who just showed up out of the blue, with precise instructions about what to do and where to go, I would have said they were stark raving mad. But Richard was the most level-headed man I ever knew. And besides, it's not like the rest of us had a better plan.”
Maeve gestured to the Stone. “According to what Banikar told my husband, finding this Stone was the first step in defeating the Jegg. Judging from these freaky powers I've suddenly developed, I can certainly see the potential. But the Jegg are everywhere, Kelia. They've conquered nearly one-third of our entire galaxy. I'm only one woman, with one Stone. I can't possibly take on an entire race by myself. That is, if I could even get back.”
Kelia reached over the table and grasped Maeve's hand. Maeve's body tensed, but she didn't pull away. “I know you may not accept this, Maeve, but I meant what I said before. It is Arantha that guides you along your path, even though you may not see it.”
Maeve squeezed her eyes closed, her mind a seething cauldron of indecision. “What do you think I should do?”
“Come back with me.”
Maeve opened her eyes, affixing Kelia with a puzzled look. “Back? To your village?”
“Yes. For centuries, Protectresses have chronicled their visions in written form. I have spent my life studying them. I don't remember any specific reference to a second Stone, but that doesn't mean it isn't there. It's certainly worth checking.”
Maeve nodded. “What about your people? How would they react to me?”
“I do not know,” Kelia said, retracting her hands. “I believe I can convince them that you are no threat to the Ixtrayu, or to Elystra, but we may have to engage in subterfuge.”
“What do you mean?”
Kelia's brows knitted. “I've told you of our current difficulties. There have been no Sojourns for thirteen years. For the first time in our history, my sisters are questioning whether or not the path we are on is the right one. I was certain that when I envisioned beings from the Above, they would bring with them the answers we seek.”
“But I have no such answers.”
“I realize that. I also believe that if I present you to my tribe as an emissary of Arantha, it will allay their fears long enough for us to determine our next course of action.”
Maeve stood up and walked a few paces away, placing her hands on her hips. “I can't get involved in the politics of your world, Kelia. No good can come of it. I am glad you do not fear me, but people tend to fear what they don't understand. Some may accept me, but others will surely be terrified of me. And then there's Davin.”
Kelia also stood up. “I assure you, I will do everything in my power to protect him.”
Maeve spun around, her volume increasing. “According to you, no male has ever set foot in your village. You teach your daughters to hate and fear men from birth. Once you put him in front of them, it won't matter that he's from another world. It won't even matter that he's just a boy. They won't trust him, and they'll probably try to hurt him. Will an order from the Protectress be enough to keep him safe?”
Kelia thought for a few moments. “Tensions are high right now, and his presence would assuredly make things more precarious.”
“Precarious,” Maeve repeated. She felt her guts tighten. “That's one way of putting it. Frankly, I'm surprised the Ixtrayu have survived this long.”
Kelia looked as if she'd been slapped. Her face morphed into a scowl. “What does that mean?”
“I saw the life you live,” Maeve said, “during our Sharing. I think it's remarkable what your people have achieved. But it can't last forever, and I suspect you know that.”
Kelia's frown had intensified, but no response came.
“The fact that you've remained undiscovered while living right under the noses of the kingdoms, the men you hide from, is nothing less than a miracle. What would happen if a scout, or a hunting party, or an entire army just happened to pass within sight of your village? What would you do? How far would you go to protect your secret?”
“We would do whatever we must,” Kelia said coldly. “The men of this world would not entertain even the notion of a tribe of independent women. They would see us as a threat, and wouldn't hesitate to destroy us or enslave us, lest their own women get ideas above their station.”
Maeve took a step forward, pointing at a convenient horizon. “And what makes you better than them? What makes your way of life so superior to theirs?”
Kelia straightened her back, each word flicking off her tongue. “We live in harmony with nature. Men war with each other. They fight, and steal, and kill, and squabble over every scrap of land they can get their fingers on. This is how it's always been.”
“Maybe so, but there's another saying we have on Earth: if you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem. And this system you've created will fail. It's inevitable.”
Kelia's even-tempered countenance fell away, and she exploded in anger. “You have been here a week! Do not pretend you know us!”
“But I do know you,” Maeve retorted. “My planet went through exactly the same thing. We were ruled by bigotry and prejudice and ignorance. For centuries, people were discriminated against because of their gender, or their lineage, or their religion, or even the color of their skin. We fought wars over these things, and millions died. Millions, Kelia! Every single lesson the human race learned was paid for in blood! You say the men of this world see women as inferior? You teach them otherwise! You don't hide from them, you don't hoodwink them into becoming sperm donors, and you certainly don't abandon your sons just because they weren't born girls!”
Kelia's chest was heaving, stunned by Maeve's tirade. She looked like she was going to respond in kind, but instead she quietly said, “This is our way.”
Maeve took several more steps forward until she was standing right before Kelia. “Your way is wrong. Men cannot survive without women. Women cannot survive without men. How many hundreds of boys have the Ixtrayu forced to be raised by jilted fathers who no doubt told them that their mother didn't want them? You think any of them grew up respecting women?”
Kelia's voice was a taut whisper. “You believe you have all the answers to this world's problems. What would you have us do?”
“Change it. Raise your sons the same as your daughters. Teach them to respect and honor women as equals.”
“I cannot do that.”
Maeve threw her hands up in frustration. “Why? Why can't you? You are their leader, Kelia! Lead your people out of this … this Dark Age. Before it's too late.”
Kelia glanced up, looking at the sky. It was now mid-afternoon. She turned to the side, staring at Maeve. The look of pain on her face tore Maeve's heart in half. “At first light tomorrow, I will return to my village. Will you accompany me?”
Maeve squared her shoulders. “No. I will not endanger my son.”
Kelia nodded, almost imperceptibly. “So be it. I thank you for your … hospitality. Take the Stone and go. Leave Elystra.”
So that's it, Maeve thought. “Kelia –”
Kelia faced her again. The harshness had gone from her face, and in its place was grim, sorrowful resolve. “No. There is nothing more to say.”
The sound of feet upon metal came from the ship, and both women turned to see Davin descend the exit ramp. Upon hitting solid ground, he stretched, working the stiffness out of his arms and back, punctuating it with a big yawn.
“Don't say anything. I will explain it to him tomorrow,” Maeve whispered.
Kelia nodded. “I wish you well, Major Maeve Cromack. May Arantha speed you on your journey.” Then she returned to Fex's side.
The conversation now over, Maeve went to greet her son. She smiled warmly at him as she approached, but on the inside, she felt like a part
of her soul had just died.
* * *
The three of them ate a sumptuous dinner of barbecued spareribs, corn on the cob, and spinach salad. For Davin's benefit, no words were spoken about Maeve and Kelia's tandem flight, their kiss, or their disagreement. When the sun set, Davin agreed once again to take night watch.
Kelia eventually fell asleep on the same bunk she slept on the night before. Maeve, however, couldn't sleep. She felt queasy, and deeply regretted vocalizing her judgments so poorly. But she'd spoken the truth, and as much as she'd grown to care for Kelia in their brief acquaintance, it needed to be said. Kelia was part of a system based on discrimination, deception, and prejudice. She was just so engrained in that system she couldn't see it.
What Maeve found more disturbing than the thought she might have offended Kelia was the realization that after tomorrow, she would likely never see her again. They'd been given a chance to explore one of the most unique relationships in human history together. The moment her abilities joined Kelia's, twining like invisible tendrils around each other until they became one, was indescribable. But the clash of cultures, of philosophies, was just too great to overcome.
The last thing Maeve saw before surrendering to sleep was Kelia's beautiful, serene face, only yards away from her own. She would miss this woman. A lot.
Her final thought was a jarring one: Am I sending her away because of who she is, or am I just covering up my own guilt at what I did? And what I still feel for her?
The next morning, Maeve woke to find Davin asleep and Kelia's bunk empty. The clock read 6:30 am, which meant the sun had risen less than an hour ago. It took less than ten seconds to determine that Fex was nowhere to be found, and neither was her rider.
Maeve moved to the dining table, where the Stone still sat. Right next to it was a collection of small round rocks that Kelia must have gathered from the floor of the riverbed. They were arranged into three symbols that Maeve recognized thanks to the gift Kelia gave her through their Sharing. Three words: Farol Dama Ven.
Goodbye, Dear Friend.
A fist of regret closed around Maeve's heart as she replayed every word of their argument in her mind. Her legs felt suddenly unsteady, so she sat down in the nearest chair.
Through moist eyes, she read Kelia's farewell note again.
“Way to go, you dumb slag,” she chided herself. “Way to go.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
M izar's nostrils twitched as the scent of cooked meat floated into them, and he snorted as he roused into wakefulness. He'd fallen asleep with his head atop his High Mage cloak and his interlocked fingers resting on his chest.
He opened his eyes. The sun was sinking behind the treetops of the Celosian Forest, which marked the border of Darad. Sen was nearby, turning the stripped meat of a small creature on an improvised spit. Their merychs were tethered to a nearby tree, grazing on a patch of grass growing in tufts at its base.
“Sen?” he croaked, rising into a sitting position.
“Dinner's almost ready, Master,” Sen said curtly.
Mizar rubbed his temples, recalling the awkward moment when he woke up two days before, after blacking out and tumbling from his merych. Much like the moment Sen shook him awake in the Crystal Cavern, he had to assuage his apprentice's fears that he was all right and had sustained no injuries beyond the bruises from falling to the ground, which Sen had expertly healed.
“Smells wonderful, Sen,” Mizar said. “Your skill at trapping jarveks is a constant source of amazement to me. How did you acquire it?”
“Thank you, Master.” Sen nodded in Mizar's direction, but didn't smile. “Jarveks were a big problem back on my father's farm. From the age of seven, it was my job to make sure his croplands were free of them. A nearly impossible task in Thelwyn.”
“I imagine so, given how much they reproduce.”
“If even one got by me and Father found out about it, I was … punished.” Sen spat out the last word. “So it was worth my while to become an expert at trapping them.”
Mizar stood, stretched his legs, and walked over to the campfire, sitting down on a small boulder that lay nearby. With the sun setting, the temperature was starting to drop, so Mizar warmed his hands by the fire.
Sen hadn't spoken much in the last day. After getting back on his merych following his collapse, Mizar had led them to this spot, a verdant glen with a narrow, slow-moving river meandering its way into the forest. In that time, he'd given Sen no reason for his blackout, mainly because he had none to give. Sen gave him the occasional inquisitive glance, which Mizar ignored.
Mizar could tell that Sen was irked by the unannounced detour they'd taken to this spot. The boy's movements were rough and jerky, and he was clearly doing his best to not look his master in the eye.
“Sen, what vexes you?” Mizar asked.
“It's nothing, Master,” he said after a short pause. He didn't lift his gaze from the cooking meat.
“Sen.”
The young man stopped rotating the spit, shifting from a kneeling to a sitting position. He let out a loud breath, then turned to face Mizar. “I am merely your apprentice, Master. It is my sworn duty to obey your commands without question.”
Mizar's brows knitted. “I thought I taught you better than that.”
“Master?”
“There are times, yes, when I have had to be rather cryptic about what Arantha reveals to me and, in turn, what I reveal to others, up to and including the King. I may be High Mage, but that hardly makes me infallible. After two years, I would think you'd feel comfortable speaking your mind. I have come to trust your insights, Sen. I may not always show it, but I consider your opinion important.”
“All right.” Sen cleared his throat, and out came the question that had obviously been on his mind for the past two days. “Why are we here? In this place?”
Mizar stood and put his hands behind his back. Instantly, he changed his approach from that of a concerned Master to an engaged teacher. “Why do you think we're here?”
“I don't know, Master. When we left the castle three days ago, I was under the impression we were riding to Ghaldyn province.” He gestured to their surroundings. “I've never been in this part of the country, but I've studied enough maps to know this is not Ghaldyn. By my reckoning, we should've bore east at the Shardyn Crossing. Instead, we bore south.”
“Very good,” Mizar said, smiling. “So where are we now?”
Sen pointed at the trees in front of them. “This is the Celosian Forest. If we were to travel through it, we would emerge upon the Plains of Iyan. If we head south, it would lead us straight to the Vandan border. Neither option is desirable.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I've heard some of the guards' murmurings of Vandan incursions into the forest. Many travelers who venture into that forest are never heard from again.”
Mizar nodded. “I've heard those rumors as well.” Seeing Sen's apprehension, he added, “Fear not, lad. We are but thirty minutes' ride away from an encampment where an entire garrison of King Aridor's best are stationed. They patrol this section of the Daradian border vigilantly.”
The meat of the jarvek was starting to blacken, so Sen lifted the spit away from the fire, setting it down on top of a large cloth. “That's reassuring, Master, but it doesn't explain what we're doing here. Are we still going to Ghaldyn?”
“Yes. As soon as our business here is concluded.”
Sen removed a small knife from his belt and began cutting the meat from the jarvek's bones. “Business?” he asked incredulously. “What sort of …” He trailed off, and Mizar could almost see the wheels turning inside the boy's mind.
A smile curled the corners of Mizar's mouth as Sen worked it out.
“You had a vision. Arantha led you here,” he said in a hushed tone.
Mizar nodded. “Yes.”
“Why?”
No response.
Sen's shoulders sagged. “Do you have any idea how long we'll be her
e?”
Mizar gave a wry smirk. “Arantha's instructions are rarely that specific.”
“I see.” Sen brought out two small wooden plates from his satchel, portioning out the jarvek meat and a hunk of chaska bread onto each and handing one to Mizar.
They ate their meal in silence, enjoying the jarvek meat, which was tough but tasty. By the time they finished, the sun had disappeared behind the trees.
Swallowing the last morsel of food, Mizar handed his plate back to Sen and clapped the crumbs from his hands. “Tell me of your progress in translating Merdeen's prophecy.”
Sen lowered his head, failing to mask his shamefaced expression. “I regret that I haven't made much, Master. Unfortunately, whoever created the cypher text you acquired was even less organized than the palace archivist. Matching the symbols to Merdeen's hand, those that are even legible, has been a slow, tedious process.”
The fire had ebbed to a few smoldering coals. Mizar stood, grabbed a few sticks from a pile that Sen collected earlier, and threw them in. A wave of his hand later, the fire had rebuilt itself. Satisfied, he reclaimed his seat. “Don't be too hard on yourself, Sen. Those documents were locked up for good reason. Nothing worth doing is ever easy. Now, tell me what you have translated.”
“Well, the first few pages dealt with the end of the Vandan War, and the death of King Sardor's sons.”
“No wonder Sardor locked it up. That would have been a painful reminder of what a hollow victory that war was.” Mizar picked up another stick and idly poked the fire with it.
Sen nodded. “I had only just begun the second set of documents when we had to depart. He mentioned something about a tree.”
Mizar's ears perked up. “Tree?”
“Yes, an ancient tree, its roots spreading all over Elystra.” He chuckled. “That would be one enormous tree, to be sure. Do you know of any trees of such size, Master?”
Mizar was barely listening, instead gazing into the far distance. “Many years ago, right after I became High Mage, I read a text regarding some of the prophecies of High Mage Jerril. I seem to recall him mentioning a great tree as well.”
Pawns (The Wielders of Arantha Book 1) Page 24