Redemption: A Malvers War Story

by Tora Moon

  He glanced behind him to where Naila rode in front of Alixstrun, unconscious and barely alive herself. Already the skin around her neck and chest was turning a sickly gray from the monster toxin. The Reds hadn’t dared burn the poison from her, terrified they’d kill her in the process. Even though he wanted to linger in order to hold Zehala longer, he knew he couldn’t continue to dawdle, or he’d risk losing Naila, as well. Reluctantly, he kicked Telen into a faster pace.

  Soon the keeps’ gates came into view—the closed gates. Despair rippled through him. As if this day couldn’t get any worse. It doesn’t look like Norvela and Tedehan were able to take control of the keep. Histrun knew he wasn’t capable of a fight for dominance. He took a deep breath and tried to mentally prepare for yet another battle.

  A shout went up from the watch tower, and the gates creaked open. Norvela and Tedehan stood just beyond them, bloody and bruised. Salloreen, a bandage wrapped around her right bicep, leaned against a young man who had the same burgundy-red hair.

  “Where’s Mendehan?” Salloreen asked, craning her neck to see behind Histrun. “Is he dead?”

  Histrun nodded.

  “Good riddance!” Salloreen pumped her fist in the air. “Thank you, Mother!”

  “Is that Zehala?” Norvela asked, taking a step forward. “What’s wrong with her? Is she injured?”

  Histrun shook his head. “She’s dead,” he croaked past a tight throat. “We need a healer quickly for Naila. She has a bad case of monster poisoning.”

  “One’s coming now. Zehala’s dead? How?” Salloreen’s voice quavered.

  “A janack crushed her.”

  Alixstrun had just handed off Naila to Eidelstrun when a slim woman with dark brown hair and eyes ran to them. She stopped mid-stride when she saw Naila’s injury. Then quickly motioned for Eidelstrun to kneel down so the much shorter woman could reach Naila. The healer placed her hands above Naila’s throat, hovering a few inches, and bronze light spread from them, surrounding Naila’s wound. The light deepened to a dark, mud-brown as she drew the poison from the monster’s ichor out of Naila’s body. The healer made a swirling motion and gathered the noxious light into a tight ball. Maheli jumped forward, and sent a tendril of fire from her helbraught to the ball. It flared, and fine ash trickled to the ground.

  “I removed the worst of the poison,” the healer said, “but she isn’t out of danger. You,” she said to Eidelstrun, “follow me to the infirmary.” She turned on her heel and Eidelstrun hastened to catch up to her.

  “I’m so sorry about Zehala.” Salloreen placed a comforting hand on Histrun’s shoulder. “One of my men can take her to the temple to be prepared for her final rites.”

  Histrun hugged Zehala’s body closer to him and pulled his shoulder away from Salloreen. “No! I will take her.” He stalked toward the temple.

  “But—”

  He didn’t stop. He didn’t care what happened to Dehanlair Keep anymore. He’d stopped caring about anything the moment Zehala had lost her life. As Dehanlair’s Clan Alpha, it was Salloreen’s responsibility to clean up the mess she’d allowed Mendehan to cause.

  Histrun stumbled up the temple steps. A gentle hand helped him catch his balance. He glanced over and nodded to Lestrun. Lorstriel steadied him on his other side. Together they would give Zehala to the White Priestesses, who in turn would usher Zehala’s soul through the veil and into the Summerlands, where she would reunite with the Goddess.

  Wylara waited inside the temple, her eyes bleak. “My condolences, Histrun. We will ensure she has crossed over and is embraced by the Mother.” She moved to peer into the courtyard behind him. A hand flew to touch her parted lips as she gasped. “So many dead! Is Mendehan with them?”

  Histrun nodded. “That one won’t hurt anyone else again. He should have been taken down long before … before she died because of his foolishness.” Fresh tears pricked his swollen eyes.

  “Come,” Wylara said, gesturing with her hand. “Come and bring her into the temple to be prepared for her final journey in this life, and you can ease your burden.”

  “She’s no burden,” Histrun mumbled as he followed the priestess. Zehala’s body seemed so light without the force of her personality to give it life.

  When they reached the preparation room, several other bodies already lay on the tables with white sheets draped over them. Wylara led Histrun to an empty table.

  “You can lay her here,” she said kindly.

  Histrun shook his head, and pulled Zehala tighter to him.

  Wylara laid a gentle hand on his arm. “You have to let her go, Histrun. It’s time she returned to the Mother. She’s ready and waiting. I can see her soul, waiting to cross the veil, wanting to go. But she can’t while you’re holding her back. Do you want her to become a ghost?”

  That finally got through to him. How could he condemn her soul to wander the world rather than find peace with the Goddess? With great reluctance, Histrun lowered Zehala onto the table, closing her eyes and arranging her arms as if she were just sleeping. He bent over and kissed her lips, surprised to feel a lingering warmth.

  “Good-bye, my love,” he whispered. “You take my heart with you as you cross into the Summerlands. Keep it safe. I’ll join you soon.” He kissed her again and stepped back.

  Two White Priestesses waited for him to finish, then covered her with a white shroud.

  Histrun tilted his face to look at Wylara. “I don’t want her burned with Mendehan or any of his filthy followers. I don’t want their sickness to contaminate her. I want to take her ashes home. She’ll only rest in her beloved mountains.”

  “I’ll see that it is done,” Wylara promised. She guided him from the preparation room. “While we attend to the dead, you need to attend to the living. Go. Take care of your people.” She paused at the temple door’s threshold. “We still need your strength, Histrun. Take care of my people until one of the other alphas comes. There isn’t anyone strong enough to lead in the vacuum of power. Mendehan saw to that.”

  Outside, people filled the courtyard, more than he’d seen the entire time he’d been in the keep. Their voices were raised in a cacophonous roar of anger. Salloreen stood on the keep-house’s top step with the same young man at her side. On the step below her stood Norvela and Tedehan. Lined up below them were twenty or thirty men, all wearing Black Guard uniforms, their hands were tied behind their backs, and bruises purpling their faces. A few had bloody noses or other wounds oozing blood.

  Histrun frowned when he recognized Deldehan and several other men who had helped them with them. Deldehan had a nasty cut over his left eye and a bloody gash on his bicep.

  “Mendehan is dead,” Salloreen said. “His sickness and madness is dead with him.”

  “How do we know?” a woman from the crowd yelled. “I don’t want to be locked up again just for being a Red!”

  “I don’t want my children locked away from me,” another woman cried. Histrun picked her out from the crowd. She tightly held two small children in her arms as if she’d never let them go again. “They need to be punished!”

  “Kill the rogues!” Someone yelled. The chant echoed through the courtyard as others took it up.

  Something had to be done to stop the crowd before it turned into a mob. Salloreen held up a hand and tried to yell over the noise, but no one paid any attention to her.

  Histrun pushed through the crowd, using his fists as necessary to get through. Finally, he reached the keep-house stairs and ran up them. “People!” he cried, holding up his arms. “Quiet! Listen to me!”

  The chant died down to murmurs went up as the people pointed and stared. He glanced down at himself, realizing for the first time that blood covered him. A few splotches of monster gore spattered his sleeves, and a large patch marred the bottom of his pant leg where the acidic blood had nearly eaten the fabric away. Luckily, his boot protected his skin.

  “I can assure you the rogue, Mendehan is dead!” Histrun shouted. “I killed him myself.” H
e gazed at his hands, feeling Mendehan’s neck in them as he broke it. It had been too easy of a death. The crowd quieted. “He took most of his personal guard with him to the monster battle, and they too, are dead.”

  A tall young man with mouse-brown hair and a bruise on his cheek, pushed to the front, his hands on his hips as he glared at the alphas on the steps. “Why would Mendehan go to a monster battle? He hasn’t fought the monsters, or allowed anyone else to fight, for over six lunadars.”

  Histrun quirked an eyebrow. “If you know of my history with Mendehan, you’d know how easily I could goad him into it.”

  “And who exactly are you?”

  “Podehan, don’t you recognize him?” An older man stepped forward, and pushed the younger man aside. “That’s Histrun de Strunlair, Mendehan’s nemesis. I’ve seen them fight over just about anything, with Histrun always coming out on top. It infuriated Mendehan.” He frowned and looked around. “Hey, where’s your bond-mate, Zehala?”

  Grief washed over Histrun anew. His throat grew tight with unshed tears. These weren’t his people. They didn’t need to see him weak. “She …” he swallowed. “She was killed by a janack.”

  “Who cares who he is?” Podehan said. He pointed at the bound men. “Those men deserve to be punished! How many people did they hurt? How many women did they rape or worse? They’re rogues! And rogues need to be put down.”

  “Put them down!” someone yelled, while someone else screamed, “Kill the rogues!”

  Many in the crowd took up the chants again. Histrun grimaced. He’d just about had them under control, and now they were turning into a mob again. He glared at the young man, then looked down at the former Black Guards. How can we separate out those who were part of it because they liked hurting people from those who were there to protect their families, like Deldehan? A prisoner struggled against his bonds, his shirt slipping down his shoulder, revealing a large black splotch similar to Mendehan’s, and he knew how.

  Histrun stalked down the stairs, grabbed the man, and dragged him up the stairs so all could see him. He ripped off the man’s shirt. The ugly black splotch covered his shoulder and chest.

  Histrun pointed at the markings. “I believe this marks those who willingly followed Mendehan. He had a similar one that stank of evil.”

  “Jaedehan is one of the bad ones, all right,” the older man said. “He’s the one who beat me before throwing me into the prison. I saw him whip a man to death, a grin on his face the whole time.”

  Eidelstrun and Dorstrun hurried up the stairs, and dragged the former guard to one side.

  Histrun pointed to Deldehan. “There are those, like him, who were in the guard to protect their families. They aren’t rogues, just men trying to do the best they could in an impossible situation. They shouldn’t be punished—or killed.”

  “Prove it!” the younger man said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “You know he never hurt anyone, Podehan,” the older man said with a frown.

  “Bring him.” Histrun ordered. Even with the man’s testimony, the crowd wouldn’t be satisfied without proof.

  Alixstrun hurried to obey, keeping a hold of Deldehan’s arm as he stumbled up the steps.

  “Strip him.”

  Alixstrun nodded, and with a few quick slices of his helstrablade, he cut off Deldehan’s shirt and pants.

  Deldehan stood nude, shivering slightly, then without urging, turned in a slow circle to show everyone his body. It was free of any black blemishes.

  “Satisfied?” Histrun asked the young man, and the crowd.

  Podehan nodded, and the crowd murmured assent.

  Soon all the former Black Guards had been stripped, and segregated into two groups. Histrun was gratified the group with blemishes was quite a bit smaller than those without.

  “Take them,” Salloreen ordered, “and lock them up in the jail until we can put them down like the animals they are.”

  Several men stepped forward to obey the command, but Podehan stopped them.

  “Why should we listen to you?” he sneered at Salloreen. “You did nothing to stop Mendehan or to help your people. You should be locked up with them.”

  “I was as much his victim as you were!” Salloreen cried, lowering the top of her dress to reveal dark bruises.

  A woman with mussed up, bright-red hair stepped forward. “You’re not much of an alpha, Salloreen, if you let him beat you and intimidate you.”

  “I didn’t see you stand up to him, Verdara.”

  “I wasn’t my job. It was yours. You are—or were—the Clan Alpha, Salloreen. Your job was to balance Mendehan, and make sure your people were treated right. You failed. I don’t believe you are fit to lead us. Step down.”

  “Are you challenging me, Verdara?”

  Verdara shook her head. “After lunadars locked up with little food, I’m not strong enough. But when I’ve recovered my strength, then yes, I challenge you.”

  “We can’t be without alphas for that long,” the young man standing next to Salloreen spoke up. “I’ll lead.”

  “You!” barked Podehan. “No. You’re not an alpha. You hid behind your mother’s skirts. This is the first time I’ve seen you in chedans, if not lunadars, Salordehan. Where have you been?”

  “Locked away, just like you, Podehan. Mendehan hated me more than anyone else.”

  Podehan looked the younger man up and down. “You don’t look like you suffered much.”

  “Why, you … you …” Salordehan sputtered, his hands balling into fists.

  Histrun stepped in before the two could come to blows. “Neither of you are qualified to be Keep Alphas, let alone Clan Alphas. Until the formal Alpha Competitions next summer, the interim position will be held by either Wendehan or Rodehan. They should be on their way here.” Histrun glanced at Norvela.

  “Both teams passed beyond my reach late last night,” she said, “unharmed. I believe they made it through. As soon as we gained control of the keep, I sent larger teams to help them.”

  Histrun nodded, then sighed. The White Priestess had been correct: no one in this keep was capable of leading. He’d have to step in. “Until they arrive, and it’s determined which one will become the interim Clan Alpha, I will be in charge. I killed Mendehan, and I was the Clan Alpha of Strunlair for many years.

  “You all have jobs that have been neglected. This keep is in disrepair, the fields lie fallow, and the herds are untended. Malvers monsters roam unchecked. I want the fighting-packs to gather in the practice arena in one octar. Dismissed!”

  The courtyard quickly cleared as people scurried away. Histrun was surprised at how little grumbling he heard. Right now, the people were still in shock from the past lunadars of terror. It wouldn’t last. He hoped the two Dehanlair alphas arrived soon to take over. All he wanted to do was leave this dung-heap and take his beloved back home.

  Chapter 10

  That evening, a procession marched from the keep behind the white draped bodies to a far field used for the funeral pyres. The high stone fences surrounding the field protected it from narhili beasts, and the Malvers monsters went into a stupor at night. Behind the main group, the Strunland contingent followed Lestrun, Alixstrun, and Chestrun, who carried Zehala. It took all of Histrun’s strength to stagger along in the procession. When they reached the field, Priestess Wylara directed them to a pyre as far from the others as possible.

  “Wait here,” Wylara said, “until the fires have been started for the Dehanlair people, then we will come to send Zehala on her way.”

  The pallbearers carefully lifted their burden onto the pyre. Each member of the fighting-pack solemnly approached, laid a flower or some other token on or around Zehala’s body, and said their final farewells. The only one missing was Naila, who was still unconscious from her injuries.

  After everyone else had stepped forward, Histrun approached the pyre. He held both his and Zehala’s bond-mate torques, the symbol of their unification. They were both thin, gold wire twiste
d together, each with a ruby set in the center. He placed the one he’d given Zehala in the center of her chest; he’d never give it to anyone else. It would go with her to the afterlife, where perhaps she would remember him. He reached up and touched the one she had given him around his neck, vowing he’d never remove it. He took out his helstrablade and cut a lock of Zehala’s dark-auburn hair. Later he would weave it into his torque.

  When he finally stepped away, Wylara and her priestesses moved into position. Wylara stood at Zehala’s head as one priestess poured sweet oil over Zehala and another one sprinkled the sacred incense made from kehani flowers and frankincense on her. When they were finished, they stepped back to join the other priestesses, surrounding the pyre in their snowy-white gowns, veils covering their faces.

  “Great Mother,” Wylara intoned, lifting her hands toward the sky, palms upward, “accept this your daughter into your loving embrace. Hold her close and give her comfort as she releases the burdens and joys of this life. Gentle and wise Matriarch, guide this, your daughter, through the Summerlands, where she may remember and learn from the lessons gifted in this life. Gracious Crone, may your purifying fires be gentle as they burn away the dross that accumulated in this life so that her next life begins in pure love and joy. Zehala, you brought many gifts into this life and shared them with all you met. You lived a good life, and those whom you touched were blessed by your love. Go with love and grace.”

  Maheli, Lorstriel, and Kehali stepped forward and touched their glowing helbraught blades to the pyre. Their magic quickly lit the wood, and in milcrons the fire burned high. The sun set with a glorious display of purples and oranges, and Histrun took it as a sign Zehala peacefully crossed the veil.

  He and the others stayed until the wood collapsed into a heap of glowing coals, and everything on it had been immolated. A priestess with water as her secondary Talent lifted her hands and a cooling mist settled over the coals. Steam billowed into the night air, and the coals sizzled until they were nothing but ash. Another priestess, this one with Yellow Talent, created a hot, dry funnel of air, and swirled the ashes together into a neat pile. Histrun stepped forward with a carved wooden box, and the priestess used the air to scoop the ashes into the box.