Pawns (The Wielders of Arantha Book 1)

by Patrick Hodges

  Utter helplessness is what Davin had felt as a ten-year-old when, safely hidden beneath a hundred feet of desolate African desert, every major city and minor town on Earth fell to the Jegg. It was the worst experience he'd ever had. But he knew there was nothing that he could do to stop it from happening. There was nothing anyone could do. This situation, however, was much, much worse. A thousand years of medical advances, and his mother would die from a goddamn snakebite. It was ridiculous.

  He grasped Maeve's hand in both of his, his voice a full octave higher than normal as he screamed at the top of his lungs. “Mom! Heal yourself! Please! You gotta do it! I can't help you! You're the only one on this planet who can –”

  A sudden idea struck him. It was crazy, and it might end up getting both of them killed, but he had to take that chance. He had no other choice.

  With a sudden surge of adrenaline, he sprinted back up the ramp.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  K elia stared down at Nyla's still form, anguish pulling her soul in a thousand directions.

  The night before, Kelia had just drifted into sleep when a frantic Sarja barreled through her bedroom door and informed her that Nyla had gone and done exactly what she'd been expressly forbidden from doing. Kelia carried her daughter's limp body straight to the Room of Healing, rousing Lyala and Sershi from their slumber. After a brief examination, Lyala concluded that Nyla's contact with the Stone had shocked her into a dream-like state, and there was no telling when she would come out of it.

  Kelia remembered the same thing happening to her when she first touched the Stone, and prayed to Arantha that Nyla's condition was the same as hers had been. The difference was, Onara had prepared Kelia for months beforehand, while Nyla had received no preparation at all. Nyla was strong, she realized; much stronger than she was at thirteen.

  In her mind, Kelia replayed her conversation with Nyla from outside the cave. Nyla had begged her for a chance, and she refused, like she'd refused all of Nyla's requests.

  She squeezed her daughter's hand, her breath quickening.

  Why couldn't she just do what I asked? Why is she so willful and stubborn?

  Because she's just like me, that's why.

  Nyla wasn't a child anymore. She'd grown into a young woman, who wanted nothing more than to prove herself. And Kelia had turned her back on her.

  Despair gripped Kelia's heart.

  I've failed. I've failed as a daughter, as a mother, and as a leader. I've led my people, my family straight to their doom.

  “Please, Arantha,” she whimpered under her breath, bringing Nyla's hand up to her lips and kissing it. “I beg of you. Tell me what to do. Please tell me what to do.”

  Emotionally spent, she sank to the floor next to her daughter's body, and after many minutes of silent prayer, she reluctantly succumbed to sleep.

  * * *

  Smoke swirled around her as Kelia found herself at the Plateau. Flames engulfed the fields of grain and the fruit vines, the searing heat pricking at her skin. The only thing not aflame was the River Ix, which wound its way through the dead or dying croplands.

  Kelia ran as fast as she could toward the village, passing many huddled forms who lay unmoving. The smoke obscured their faces, but they were dressed in the garb of the Ixtrayu. Her sisters, dead, littered the ground.

  She climbed the last hill to the Plateau, scanning both sides of the river frantically for signs of life, seeing nothing. There was too much smoke. It stung her eyes, its acrid smell filling her nose. She covered her mouth, trying not to cough as she searched for survivors.

  On and on she ran, when in the distance she saw movement. A body, silhouetted against the smoke, still moving. She ran up to it, and the figure's identity became clear.

  “Nyla!” she screamed, her guts twisting inside her. Her beautiful daughter's face was badly burned, ugly red blisters dotting her arms and legs, her breath coming in shallow rasps. “It's okay, duma, mama's here!” She enfolded Nyla's body in her arms, trying to keep her alive by sheer force of will.

  Nyla's eyes fluttered open. She stared vacantly up at her mother. “You must save me,” she whispered. Then her head lolled to one side, her body went limp, and her breath ceased.

  “No!” Kelia screamed, shaking her daughter's lifeless body. “Please, duma! Don't leave me!”

  Another figure stirred nearby. It was Sarja, lying on her side, staring at her. She, too, was covered in burns. Her large, sad eyes bored right into Kelia's. “You must save me,” she said, and then she, too, lowered her head, the life gone from her body.

  Beyond Sarja, in the near distance, another body clung to life. Gently placing Nyla's head on the ground, Kelia ran to this new figure. She did not detect any burns or scorch marks on this one's skin or clothes. However, her body was jerking and twitching as it convulsed in pain. Kelia grabbed hold of her shoulders, staring into her face.

  “Ilora?” Kelia cried. It couldn't be. Her companion died, many years ago.

  I must be dreaming.

  Just like that, Ilora's spasms eased and renewed hope filled Kelia's heart. Ilora's eyes sprang open, looking lovingly up at her. She lifted her hand to Kelia's cheek, caressing it gently. “You must save me,” she spoke in a gentle, dulcet tone.

  “No!” Kelia screamed. “You're dead! I couldn't save you!” Fat tears poured from her eyes. “I couldn't save you …”

  She heard a hiss, and looked down to see a hugar, it's black eyes staring back at her as its fangs pumped their deadly venom into Ilora's leg. “Get away!” She batted at the thing, but missed. Its work done, it disengaged its bite and slithered away, disappearing into the smoke.

  “You must save me,” Ilora repeated, her voice much weaker this time.

  “No,” Kelia sobbed. “Please don't leave me again. Please.” She cradled Ilora's head in her hands, leaning forward to plant a tender kiss on her lips. She closed her eyes, feeling Ilora's hand cup the back of her head. Dream or not, she would get what she was denied twelve years ago: one last kiss.

  She felt the hand fall away, and lifted herself up to meet Ilora's gaze one more time. But this was not Ilora. It was Maeve.

  “You must save me,” the Terran woman said in a choked voice.

  Despair overwhelmed Kelia, her heart crushed. “I can't,” she sobbed. “I can't save you. I can't save anyone.”

  “You must,” said another voice.

  Kelia looked up to see another figure. This one was standing, but it was not obscured by smoke. Rather, the sunlight framed it in a brilliant yellow aura. It stood over her, smiling down with a wise, careworn face.

  “Mother?”

  “You must save them,” Onara said, stepping forward, the light continuing to dispel the smoke.

  “How?” Kelia cried. “How can I save them? Please tell me! Tell me what to do! I'll do whatever it takes!”

  “You must save them,” Onara repeated, and then her form faded into nothingness.

  “Come back!” Kelia reached for her mother, but it was too late. She was gone, vanished in a cloud of light. She looked down to see that Maeve's body had disappeared. So, too, had the bodies of Nyla and Sarja. There was nothing left.

  Kelia pressed her face to the ground, pounding the dirt with her fists, over and over again, ignoring the pain as she wailed in misery.

  * * *

  She awoke to find Lyala standing over her, shaking her shoulder, her ovular face scrunched up in concern. “Protectress! Wake up!” she was saying.

  Kelia sat up, getting her bearings. She was still in the Room of Healing. Nyla lay on a bed of lyrax pelts, her face serene and peaceful.

  “Lyala?” she panted.

  “Oh, thank Arantha,” the healer said. “I've been trying to wake you for several minutes.”

  Kelia reached out a hand, and Lyala helped her to her feet. “I–I must have fallen asleep.”

  “You fell asleep hours ago. I thought it best to let you rest, but then you seemed to be having a nightmare. A really bad one, I w
ould say. Are you all right, Protectress?”

  Kelia drew herself up, trying to dispel the ghastly images from her mind and restore order to her psyche. “I am all right.”

  Lyala looked like she didn't believe it for a moment, but said nothing. “I'll have Sershi bring you some camirra-root tea,” she said. “It will soothe your nerves.”

  Kelia exhaled and nodded. “Thank you, Lyala.”

  Lyala bowed, moving away just as Liana entered the room. She wore a white robe, a long-sleeved ceremonial garment reserved for official ceremonies. “Nima,” she said, striding to Kelia's side. “How are you feeling?”

  Kelia considered lying to her, but decided against it. “I don't know what to do, ama. It feels like I have no control over anything anymore.”

  Liana wrapped her arms around her niece, pulling Kelia onto her shoulder. “All will be well, nima. Just you wait.”

  Not for the first time, Kelia drew strength from Liana. She could always count on her aunt to keep her grounded. “I pray you're right.”

  “Nyla's a fighter, just like you,” Liana said, moving several strands of hair, which had come loose from Kelia's braid, away from her face. “You came through your first consultation, and so will she.”

  Kelia nodded, gesturing at Liana's robe. “The ceremony?”

  Liana held up her hands. “We had it an hour ago. I know custom dictates that the Protectress be present, but we didn't want to tear you away from Nyla for something so simple. In front of the tribe, I spoke the Councilor's oath and Katura and Eloni welcomed me in.”

  “Was the tribe supportive?”

  “Very much so.” Liana beamed, and then became serious. “Have you decided what's to be done with Susarra?”

  Kelia had to admit she hadn't come up with a solution. Never in the Ixtrayu's history had someone been guilty of an infraction as serious as Susarra's. What could be done? The thought of some form of physical punishment or exile was repugnant to Kelia, given Susarra's age and infirmity, but neither could the former Councilor be allowed to walk free, continuing to sow dissension. “I regret that I have not.”

  “Fear not, nima,” Liana said. “My first conclave was just adjourned, and that was the main topic of discussion. We have a proposal that I think is a fair punishment, as long as it meets with your approval.”

  “What is it?”

  “For the foreseeable future, Susarra will be confined to her home. A wooden barricade will be constructed and placed over her door—-light enough to be moved when needed, but strong enough to keep her inside. Once a day, Runa or one of her huntresses will escort her down to the cistern so she may bathe. Meals and clean robes will be passed to her through her window.”

  Kelia thought it over for a few moments. “That sounds acceptable. Do you think she will put up a fight?”

  “I doubt it. She seems convinced that she's accomplished her goal.”

  “That's good. Maybe just one thing can go smoothly today.” Kelia's shoulders sagged.

  Liana patted her cheek. “You just take care of Nyla, and we'll see to the rest.”

  “Thank you, ama.”

  “By the way, Sarja's waiting outside. She's been out there all morning.”

  “Really? Send her in, please.”

  Liana bowed and left the room. Moments later, Sarja gingerly entered, each footstep more hesitant than the last.

  “Come in, Sarja,” Kelia said. The grisly image from her dream of the girl's dying plea flashed through her mind, but she brushed it aside. Sarja was still very much alive, though her moist eyes were just as sad as in her nightmare.

  Sarja cast a worried glance at Nyla, wrapped in lyrax pelts, and out the tears came. She ran up to Kelia, making frantic gestures with her hands and talking a mile a minute. “I'm so sorry, Protectress! This is all my fault! I knew she was going to do this, and I tried to stop her, and she said it was the only way, and Great Arantha I'm so, so sorry! Please forgive me!”

  Kelia pulled Sarja into an embrace and didn't let go until the girl had calmed. “It's all right, Sarja. Nyla will be just fine. You know how strong she is.”

  “I know,” she panted, her eyes still mournful. “It's just … I'm so worried about her. She's my Promised, you know.”

  Kelia quirked an eyebrow. “Your what?”

  Sarja explained their impromptu ceremony from the night before, and a tired smile crept onto Kelia's face as she realized the true depth of the relationship Sarja had with her daughter.

  “I know, it's silly, but it really meant a lot to me,” Sarja said.

  Kelia put both hands on Sarja's shoulders. “It's not silly at all. I think it's a great tradition you two have started. And I can't think of anyone I'd rather have my daughter pledge her heart to than you.”

  Sarja gave a half-chuckle, half-cry. “Thank you, Protectress. May I sit with her for a while?”

  Kelia cast a glance at Nyla, then nodded. “Of course you may.”

  A spasm of pain twisted Kelia's stomach, and she realized she hadn't eaten a thing all day. Judging from the position of the sun, it was almost time for evening meal. “I am going to get some supper,” she said. “Shall I bring something back for you?”

  “Yes, please, Protectress, thank you.” Sarja gave a head-bow and sat down next to Nyla's bed. Kelia watched as the young huntress took Nyla's hand, and her heart swelled. She and Ilora were several years older than Sarja when they first developed feelings for each other, but the gestures of love were the same back then as they were now. She always knew Nyla and Sarja would end up together, but seeing it happen in front of her was just another reminder that her daughter was not the child she once was.

  Straightening her tunic, Kelia exited the Room of Healing, on her way to the dining area.

  * * *

  Kelia chewed thoughtfully on her kova steak. It tasted under-seasoned, and she wondered if Aarna was just having an off-day, as her preparations were usually delicious. It wouldn't surprise her if that was the case; nothing had been normal for a long, long time, and she'd been so wrapped up in being a good Protectress she hadn't realized how badly she was failing at it.

  The rest of the tribe gave her a wide berth, not wanting to disturb her reverie. Though Nyla wasn't always well-liked within the tribe, she was still one of them. No one wanted something bad to happen to her, and her current condition brought out the mother in all of them. Kelia just hoped that they wouldn't attribute her coma as punishment meted out by Arantha for all those years of mischief.

  Runa's face was stoic as she sat down opposite Kelia. She placed her plate down in front of her and immediately pushed it to the side. With a humorless grin, she said, “If you want to switch jobs now, I'm game.”

  Kelia returned the smile. Yet again, her best friend was there to pull her away from the cliff's edge. “Believe me, you don't want all this on your shoulders. It's enough to drive even the sanest woman mad.”

  “You'll come through it, Kelia.” It was rare Runa called her by her actual name in public, but Runa always seemed to know the perfect times to do so. Like now, when the mantle of Protectress felt like a boulder around her neck.

  Kelia reached over and squeezed Runa's hand before grabbing another morsel of bread and popping it in her mouth. “Have you talked to Sarja today?”

  “She's not really in a talking mood. She's been beside herself ever since Nyla's … accident.”

  Kelia nodded. “I just spoke with her. In the Room of Healing. She wants to stay by Nyla's side.” She smirked. “I think she's in love.”

  Runa's eyes widened. “With Nyla?”

  “Yes.”

  She blew out a breath. “I'm not surprised.” She grimaced. “Remember that talk our mothers gave us when we were that age? Looks like it's our turn to give it now.”

  “Great,” Kelia said, looking down at her plate with a mock-frown. “We've officially become our mothers. Now my day is completely ruined.” Then she laughed.

  She glanced up to see that Runa was not looking at
her any more. She was looking past her, over her shoulder, at the far corner of the dining area. She also noticed that the room, which held about fifteen Ixtrayu, had gone deathly silent. Several women were staring in goggle-eyed, dumbfounded surprise at something behind her.

  Kelia rose from her chair and spun around, and her jaw dropped in astonishment.

  Standing there, in an empty space between several tables, was Davin. His face bore a horrified expression, and he was carrying Maeve in his arms. Her sister Wielder's eyes were closed, and her arm hung limply downward. She wasn't moving. Or breathing.

  Several Ixtrayu, after getting over the shock of a man materializing out of thin air, grabbed for whatever they could find to defend themselves. Three huntresses snatched up their bows from next to the door. Others picked up their empty plates, perhaps to use them as clubs. The rest just backed away from the pair, not taking their eyes off them.

  Kelia stepped forward, her arms spread wide, hoping her sisters would correctly interpret her silent instructions to keep still and not do anything rash. “Davin?”

  Davin's eyes flicked wildly from side to side, scanning the stunned faces of the women around him before finally locking onto her. His bottom lip was trembling, and his already-pale face had gone ghostly white. She could see the remnants of tears staining his face. “Kelia?” His voice was a taut whisper.

  Runa was the first Ixtrayu to speak. “You know him?”

  At that moment, Kelia realized she still hadn't told any but the Council about Maeve and Davin, and their mission to Elystra. And now, there they were, thanks, Kelia guessed, to four connected metal tubes ringing Davin's waist like a belt. These were the devices Maeve had used before, the PT's.

  Kelia shot a glance back at Runa before sweeping her eyes over the rest of the crowd. “It's all right,” she said, hoping no one would panic and start screaming, or worse, shooting. “He's a friend.” She could see the stupefied reactions this statement elicited.

  She focused on Maeve's body, which still hadn't moved. Her eyes were drawn to Maeve's left leg, and the two bite marks that tainted her skin in an all-too-familiar pattern.