Through the sound of the blood pounding in her ears, she realized he was still talking.
“… you know why I agreed to stay behind while all the others transported to safety. I know what I did to you, and I know I'll probably go to hell for it. But I believe in my heart of hearts, it had to be done.” He gave a humorless smirk. “When you're an engineer, you never want to believe that there's a problem that can't be solved. And when you're an arrogant bastard like me, you never want to believe that the universe is a better place without you in it.
“But I've made peace with my sins. I know you will never forgive me, and I don't deserve to be forgiven. That's why I'm glad it's over for me. My part in this little play is done. This pawn is taking himself off the board. All I can hope is that Banikar has a hotline to God, and lets Him know that I did what I had to do. Then maybe, just maybe, I can be reunited with the rest of my family.”
He looked directly at her, his deep brown eyes boring into her soul. “You're the strongest woman I've ever known, Maeve. Whatever is about to happen, I know you're going to kick ass. Win this game. For humanity.”
One last lingering look, and Richard switched off the recording. The screen went dark, and two seconds later, the words “RECORDING DELETED” appeared. Then it went dark again.
Maeve was numb. Her entire life, her entire existence had been ripped apart like so much tissue paper.
Slowly, she pushed herself up from the pilot's chair. Observing the room around her, like she'd done a thousand times before, she could not comprehend the innumerable switches and lights along the panels. Richard's words swirled around her head, supplanting every other impulse struggling for her consciousness. She descended the ramp and immediately broke into a run.
Her blood pounded in her ears as she sprinted down the wadi, toward the western peak where the sun was now hidden behind its uppermost crag. After five hundred yards, just as she was about to round the bend in the riverbed, she stopped, gasping for breath. She bent over, clutching her knees, begging to every Saint in heaven to make her forget every single word she just heard.
With her back to the camp, she balled up her fists and screamed. She screamed over and over again. She screamed once for every lie he'd ever told her. Every year of her life she'd wasted thinking he really loved her. Loved her. Bullshite. She was just a tool to him, to be used at his whim.
She couldn't deal with this. If even a fraction of what Richard said was true, this was a matter for philosophers and theologians and cosmologists to discuss. Geniuses, scholars, holy men. She was a soldier, not a queen. She was meant to fight battles, not end wars.
Arantha has chosen you, Kelia's words echoed.
“No!” she screamed at the mountain looming before her. “Fark you! Fark destiny! Fark the Jegg and the Eth and FARK YOU, Richard!”
Physically, mentally, and emotionally spent, she dragged herself to a nearby rock, sitting down upon its flat surface. She buried her face in her hands, unable to process it all. If she thought she was broken two nights before when she cracked in front of Kelia, that was nothing compared to this.
Free will. For millennia, humanity did everything it could to destroy their planet, and each other. Holy wars, crusades, inquisitions, world wars, holocausts, they'd survived it all. They pulled together as a species, grew out of their infancy and evolved. They became the beings they always knew they could be. And it all amounted to precisely zero. Free will? What a crock of shite.
Is every decision I make part of some grand design, a thread in some infinite tapestry? Do I go left or right? Do I drink water or whiskey? Do I become a pilot or a schoolteacher?
It's all meaningless. Utterly meaningless.
Do we stay here, on Elystra? Or do we leave?
We.
Davin.
My son.
It didn't matter whether he was the product of somebody's twisted game of fate. He was just a boy, who didn't know any of this. She'd given birth to him. She'd helped raise him into an amazing young man. She would die to protect him, and nothing would ever change that.
He was not meaningless. In this whole farked-up universe, he was the only thing that mattered anymore. He was her son, and she was his –
“Mom?” his voice called, echoing down the wadi.
She looked up to see him, fifty yards away, jogging toward her. Behind him was the Talon, the last remaining sunlight reflecting off its bird-shaped hull.
It would only be a few moments before he reached her. She had to compose herself, fast. She would put on a brave face for him, just like she always did. She couldn't tell him what she just learned. Had he heard her screams? Had he seen her run away?
She stood up, screwing the fakest fake smile she could onto her face, and walked toward him.
Off to her right, she heard the faintest of hisses. By the time her brain registered it, processed it, and made her realize it wasn't the wind or the scurrying of rodents, she felt a sharp stab of pain in her leg, causing her to cry out in alarm.
She looked down to see something attached to her leg. It was serpentine, about three feet long, and the same color as the dirt of the riverbed. It had two sharp fangs that were now embedded in her shin.
Snakes? They have snakes on Elystra? Figures. The day I'm having, I'll probably get infected. Thank the Saints I can heal now. I hope it's not poi–
A flash of white-hot pain engulfed her brain, overwhelming all her other senses. A cocoon of agony wrapped itself around her like a second skin, suffocating her, smothering her. She barely heard Davin's cry of alarm as he came charging up to her.
Then, all at once, the pain receded, replaced by a numbness that seeped into every corner of her mind. The whiteness faded, and a fog of inky blackness took its place.
Her last thought before the abyss stole her consciousness was for her son, who would now be all alone in this terrible, cruel, unforgiving, not-worth-a-shite universe. And then, nothing.
Chapter Forty-Two
T he Ixtrayan Plateau loomed before Vaxi as she trudged up the path to the village. On both sides of her, the fields where dozens of Ixtrayu normally tilled the soil, watered the plants, or harvested the grain, were all empty. There were no signs of life to be seen.
She ascended the path, cradling her enormously pregnant belly. Very soon, she would give birth to the first daughter born to her tribe in fourteen years. Or it would be a son, which she would return to his father, a man she strangely had no memory of.
Why can't I remember him? Why can't I remember any of it?
She crossed the threshold into the Plateau. Her sisters were there, standing still as statues on the banks of the River Ix, which was bone-dry. She strode down the middle of the waterless riverbed, through the gauntlet of women staring down at her. She scanned their faces, expecting welcoming smiles. What she saw instead chilled her blood. Many of their expressions were inscrutable, while others were looking upon her with disapproval, disgust, loathing.
At the end of the gauntlet were the people that mattered to her the most: Kelia, Nyla, Sarja, and, of course, her grandmother. She smiled, hoping they would greet her, but their faces showed even more disdain.
And then, one by one, her sisters wordlessly turned their backs until only a few remained facing her.
Vaxi felt her will crumbling, and the knot in her stomach intensified as she felt the baby kick. A pitiful whimper escaped her lips.
Sarja was the first to speak. “You left us.” Her voice, tinged with sadness, cut through Vaxi like a knife. “How could you do that?”
“You were our friend,” Nyla said, her hazel eyes brimming with tears. “You left us behind.”
“I had to –” Vaxi began.
“You abandoned us!” Sarja and Nyla shouted in unison.
“Please, let me –”
“You are not our friend,” Nyla said, and then she and Sarja turned their backs on her.
“You are a disappointment,” said another voice, and she turned to see Susarra glowe
ring at her. “Why couldn't you be more like your mother?”
Vaxi could not believe what she was hearing. “I only did what you wanted! You said it was Arantha's will! And I succeeded! See?”
She looked down at her belly, and was shocked to find she was no longer pregnant. The baby that grew inside her was now cradled in her arms, looking up at her with loving eyes as naked as its body. Such a beautiful baby …
… boy.
She met her grandmother's derisive gaze again. “You have failed me,” Susarra spat, and then she, too, turned her back.
Kelia had moved to stand directly in front of her. “You have failed me,” she echoed.
“Protectress –”
The baby began to wail, thrashing his little arms and legs.
With a terrible scowl, Kelia snatched the infant from Vaxi's arms, rapidly ascending the bank of the river and hurrying to the entrance of the cave. She gave the baby one contemptuous look, and then threw him inside. Within seconds, a great stone door descended across the entrance, slamming shut with a crash and cutting off the baby's screams.
This couldn't be happening. Never had Vaxi thought Kelia capable of such cruelty. She turned, aghast, from the stone slab separating her from her son, preparing to beg for the life of a beautiful, innocent boy. But it was not Kelia standing before her anymore. It was her mother.
Vaxi looked around wildly, only to discover that her sisters had all vanished into thin air. The Ixtrayu, the village, the Plateau, all gone. She now stood on the edge of a cliff overlooking an abyss so black it seemed to swallow all light. Ilora stood before her. She was just as Vaxi remembered her the day she died: a young woman, tall and beautiful, only a few years older than she was now. Vaxi did not know how or why Ilora had come back to her, but if there was one person who might forgive her, it would surely be her mother.
“Mama,” she begged, searching for words that weren't coming. Tears burst through her eyes, falling in salty rivers down her cheeks.
“Who are you?” Ilora said, just above a whisper.
Despair such as she'd never felt clutched at Vaxi's heart. “Mother,” she whimpered. “I'm your daughter. Please –”
“I have no daughter,” Ilora interrupted. And then, without another word, she flung herself off the precipice, spreading her arms wide as she fell.
“Mother!” Vaxi cried, but it was too late. The darkness swallowed her mother up, leaving her completely and utterly alone.
She sank to her knees, consumed by hopelessness. She had failed. She had failed everybody she loved. She had nothing left, not even her baby. There was only one thing left for her: oblivion.
The chasm called to her. It sounded like … a voice. No, voices, several of them. She tried to make out words, but they were too faint.
And then, without warning, a blinding whiteness shattered the empty black of the abyss, rushing at her at breakneck speed. Her body disappeared, and she lost all sense of self. All that remained were the voices, getting ever louder.
One by one, the rest of her senses returned. She felt warmth surrounding her, softness underneath and on top of her. A bed. A blanket. She moved her head, felt her neck muscles working.
She was alive. The abyss hadn't claimed her.
She couldn't remember what had happened. How she'd gotten … wherever she was.
Where am I?
She opened her eyelids just a crack, then all the way. She scanned her surroundings, blinking her eyes. She tried to focus on something, anything, and came up with the unmistakable sensation of someone grasping her hand.
A slight movement caught her eyes as they continued to focus. Two figures were nearby, blurry and indistinct. They were watching her. One was standing against the back wall on her left, while the one holding her hand sat on a chair to her right. She concentrated on the near figure's face. It looked young, with a wide mouth and high cheekbones, much like someone she knew.
Sershi's here? Vaxi thought. Maybe I didn't die after all. I'm safe. I'm home. I'm healed.
“Sershi?” she said, barely audible to even her own ears.
Her eyes continued to focus, the blurry images resolving. She was in a room, roughly the same size as her room back in the village. However, she could tell she was nowhere near her home. The walls were made of wood and not the stone of the Plateau. The blanket that covered her was most assuredly not made from lyrax pelts. And what was she wearing? It did not feel like her sleep-robes.
The figure holding her hand cast a glance at the one standing in the background, and shrugged. Neither spoke.
After a few moments of silence, the near figure turned to face her, leaning forward and finally speaking. “Hello,” it said. “How are you –”
Vaxi caught a clear glimpse of the figure's face.
It was a man.
Every memory of her encounter with the bearded brigands flooded back. The last thing she remembered was being thrown from her chava immediately before pain overwhelmed her.
But she was still alive. They'd kept her alive. For what? Humiliation, rape, torture and murder?
Not while she still had an ounce of strength to retaliate.
Vaxi let loose the loudest, most piercing scream she could muster, jerking her hand free from the man's grasp. Simultaneously, she pushed with her legs to reach some semblance of a sitting position while swinging her left fist at the man's face. The man, startled by her sudden burst of energy, did not have time to react before her fist connected with his nose.
Her punch struck hard. His chair toppled backward, spilling both him and the contents of the mug he'd been holding in his other hand all over the wall. He hit the ground with a resounding thump. She immediately turned her attention to the other figure, who hadn't moved. One more to overpower, and perhaps she could escape.
She looked around for some kind of weapon, but all she could see within arm's reach were a couple of wooden sticks holding the candles providing the room's illumination. She grabbed one, causing the candle to fall over. Thankfully, the sudden movement snuffed the candle out before it hit the ground, though the increased dimness made it even harder for her to see her captor, who appeared to be much older than the other. He, like the men who attacked her, had a tuft of hair descending from his chin, though his wasn't as thick or scraggly.
She made a motion to kick the blanket off and swing her legs off the bed, but before she could, the other man strode forward and placed one hand on her legs, holding them in place, while showing the palm of his other hand to her.
“Please, child,” he said. “We mean you no harm.”
She hesitated. His voice was much more soothing than she expected. Not only that, but his words came out in a practiced, even tone, a far cry from the rough, guttural dialect the thieves used. It seemed like he was being honest. But he was a man, and her grandmother had warned her that gentle words from a man always hid a more insidious nature.
Rearing back her hand, she threw the candlestick at him, and it passed harmlessly over his shoulder. Before it had even hit the wall, she made a grab for another one. Again, the lit candle toppled over, but this one did not go out. It fell upon a small pile of clothes bundled together in the corner, and within moments, it had caught fire.
The man's eyes flicked to the fire, and he released his hold on her leg. Hoping the fire would distract him long enough for her to get the upper hand, she attempted again to climb out of bed.
And then the last thing she expected to happen, happened.
Taking a step back, he made a wide, sweeping motion with his hands, and just like that, the flames flickered and died, snuffed out by a sudden, concentrated gust of air. Only a patch of blackened cloth and a tiny wisp of smoke gave evidence there'd ever been a fire.
She ceased her struggling, rendered mute by what she just saw. Somehow, he had put out the fire. With nothing but a wave of his hand. There was only one possible explanation for such a feat.
“You're a Wielder,” she said in a hushed voice.
&nbs
p; He had resumed his stance near the back wall, straight and non-threatening. If he truly meant her ill, he sure wasn't showing it. “Yes.”
“But you're a man.” Her mind raced. “I only know of one man with Wielding abilities, and that is –”
“Mizar, High Mage of Darad.” He gave a wry smile and a slight bow. “At your service.” He gestured to the young man on her right, who had regained a sitting position, leaning his back against the wall and holding his hand over his nose. “And this is my apprentice, Sen.”
She looked back and forth between them for several moments. Neither made a move toward her, so she relaxed slightly, though she kept a firm grip on the candlestick. It wasn't much of a weapon, but it could still cause pain. “Where am I? What happened? Where are my clothes? Where's Tig?”
Before Mizar could answer, the door opened and a plump woman with short black hair entered, rushing immediately to Vaxi's bedside. “Oh, my dear!” she said. “You're awake! Thank Arantha! I heard the most dreadful scream! Are you all right?”
Vaxi stared up at the woman, at her kindly blue eyes, which were rife with genuine concern. Susarra had instructed her to be wary of Daradian men. Daradian women, her grandmother had led her to believe, were little more than servants. At that moment, she felt her surge of strength drain from her limbs, and the fight-or-flight instinct ebbed.
“I am … all right,” Vaxi answered. Her hand drifted to her side, and more memories rushed through her mind. She remembered being wounded, the intense waves of pain that washed over her as the arrows pierced her skin. But there was no pain. The flesh beneath her sleep-robe felt tender, even sore, but it was little more than a dull throb. She threw off the bed-cover and hiked up her robe so she could inspect her thigh. Her eyes widened when she saw that it, too, was miraculously healed but for a rough nodule of skin where the arrow penetrated it. She looked incredulously at Mizar. “Did you do this? I was not aware that healing was one of your abilities.”
He gave a friendly grin, gesturing across the room to the young man she'd punched, Sen, who had righted the chair and resumed his seat. “Actually, that was me,” Sen said. As if in demonstration, he leaned his head forward, showing off his perfectly-healed nose. Only a few drops of dried blood gave any indication he'd ever been injured.
Pawns (The Wielders of Arantha Book 1) Page 32