Way Walkers: Tangled Paths (The Tazu Saga)

by Leigh, J.

  Chapter 10

  “Dolomith’s in trouble!”

  Rhodonith’s pack of Tazu guardsmen stared at Jathen with a mix of perturbed, dubious, and disturbed expressions.

  “And how would you know?” one of them asked.

  “He knows,” his mother replied with a resounding authority. “Someone find Raspiss! He’s the only one big enough to carry me.” She reached behind her neck and grasped at the clasps of her heavy necklaces. “Or help me out of these baubles so I can shift without choking, whatever is faster.”

  The guards sprang to oblige, some running to find Raspiss, while others made to dislodge the extensive array of jewels.

  Jathen jumped to help her as well, but Rhodonith said, “No, Jathen. You and Eglestonith go now. Tell Petalith.”

  “I already did,” he said as the remaining guards made room for a shifted Eglestonith. “Weeks ago, before the life ladder was drafted.”

  Above them, fireworks boomed, and in the flashes of colored light, a fear he had never wanted to see again glowed in her eyes.

  “Go,” she said. “I’ll be right behind.”

  Jathen mounted Eglestonith, and they flew into the sky, weaving between bursts of fire and light. Sulfur and smoke stung Jathen’s eyes and nose, and he could barely grip Eglestonith’s mane as the tyrn beat a mad dash back to the palace. They crash landed on the queen’s balcony, skidding into the round chamber through the open doors in a tangle of curtains and wings.

  “What in all the ruddy hell?” Petalith yelled.

  Jathen removed the thick drapery that had caught on his head. “Something’s wrong with Dol.”

  “What are you ranting about? I just checked on him. He’s fine.”

  Jathen moved toward the nursery bay. “When?”

  “Forty minutes ago, an hour at the most.”

  Going down hard on his knees beside the cradle, Jathen prayed, a jumble of thoughts beseeching a barely understood higher power. He reached in and laid a shaking hand upon his baby brother’s tiny body. “Pet…” Jathen swallowed, feeling sick. “He’s not breathing.”

  “What?” The healer shoved him out of the way.

  Numb, he watched as she lifted the limp body from the bed and turned him, listening to his chest with one ear and her Ability.

  “Jathen, my kit. On the desk.” she ordered, placing Dolomith gently on the floor. “Now.”

  Jathen scampered to the other side of the chamber. Grabbing the green bag in both hands, he skidded past a bipedal Eglestonith sitting in the doorway and handed the satchel to her. Jathen assisted the healer, moving automatically as he followed her every instruction as she intubated his brother. At one point, he heard his mother’s pleading, then the stern voice of Kyanith and the shrill cries of Thee.

  Petalith yelled, “Everyone but Jathen, get back or get out!”

  Jathen placed his fingers where Pet indicated on Dolomith’s still-warm chest, rhythmically pressing.

  The king started, “Petalith—”

  “I need his small hands, Kyanith. Shut up and get out!” Petalith moved with incredible speed, her claws flashing as she pressed and cut, pulled and prodded, doing things Jathen could not begin to comprehend.

  Desperation finally starting to show in her blue eyes, she brought out a device he’d only seen once before: an essence revitalizer. He knew little of the technical explanation, but he understood it was a processor-charm to use as a last resort, as it sent extremely powerful energy through the body in an attempt to restart the entire system. Jathen had seen her use it in Tourmaline last year to bring a Tazu child who had drowned back to life after mouth-to-mouth had failed.

  Once he finished helping her attach all the crystal chips to Dolomith, Petalith ordered him to stand clear. He backed up to the edge of the bay.

  “You were fine,” she muttered to the baby as she pressed the button. “So you are going to be fine.”

  The incredible whir of energy made the hairs on Jathen’s arms stand on end. The little body spasmed then lay still. After checking Dol’s vitals, Pet waited a few moments and did it again.

  Spasm. Still.

  At the third press, Jathen closed his eyes. Fear and sorrow shook him. In the darkness beneath his lids was the vision of the pyre, of green scales swathed in indigo silk. The clinging scent of sulfur on his finest attire made him choke on a sob.

  A belting howl announced Dolomith’s explosion back to life. Jathen opened his eyes. Petalith leaned back on her heels.

  “He’ll live,” she said, while the little boy kicked and cried on the floor before her.

  Lightheaded and reeling from having bested a vision of death, Jathen grinned. “So much for the first marker.”

  Petalith simply shook her head, smiling.

  His mother’s cry, a gut-wrenching moan of relief and subsiding terror, mixed with the baby’s wail. Running over, Rhodonith plucked Dolomith from the floor and cradled him with no regard for the dangling cords and crystals. Thee stood on the balcony, her wings tightly tucked alongside her body, ears flat, watching Petalith try to untangle their mother and brother from the essence revitalizer. Kyanith was there too, clad only in a robe, apparently having flown. Dolomith’s father was in attendance as well, though Jathen noted the man did not run to his child as Rhodonith had done but instead hid behind the towering silver-gray of the king.

  “What happened?” Kyanith sounded more displeased by his lack of facts than the actual incident.

  “He stopped breathing,” Petalith responded. “I inflated the lungs and manually pumped his heart, but by then, he’d been out too long. The babe was dead a good few minutes before he decided to come back.”

  Kyanith barked, “Why did it stop?”

  “I have no idea. It could be a cold, could be because he was early, or he could have gotten tangled in his bedclothes. If not for Jathen, our other Monortith prince wouldn’t be alive.”

  “Jathen?” Kyanith exclaimed at the same time Clevelandith squawked, “How?”

  All eyes fell to Jathen, who stood in the center of the concourse, too weary to reply.

  Petalith explained with a rueful smile. “He finally beat a premonition.”

  The room drew a collective breath, the scattered guardsmen, Eglestonith, Thee, and even Clevelandith appearing surprised; the latter a touch thankful, too. What flickered in Kyanith’s golden eyes was harder to determine. A part of Jathen wanted it to be respect, while another expected at least gratitude. However, what he thought he saw on the king’s face was entirely different and deeply disconcerting: suspicion.

  Rhodonith threw an arm around Jathen while still clutching Dolomith in her other. “Thank you,” she sobbed into his shoulder. He could barely hear her words over Dolomith’s continued bawling.

  Jathen spent the remainder of the night in his mother’s chambers, having collapsed onto a couch in exhaustion. He didn’t awaken until the next day, when the servants came to set out breakfast. The scent of the strong southern coffee revived him.

  “Ah, my hero is up,” Rhodonith said.

  All morning, every one of his mother’s callers had something to say to Jathen about his rescue. And for once, the words of the court were positive and startlingly genuine. The whole scene became embarrassing after a time, with nobles and random Way Walkers currying his favor while Jathen was still clad in rumpled finery and sporting a thin red mark across his forehead from sleeping in his crown.

  “You should be very proud,” Jephue told him when he came up to deliver some packages. Hair black in a bowl-cut, he kept brushing his bangs away from his eyebrows only to have them fall back into place again. “’Tis no small thing, to save a life.”

  Jathen shook his head. “Petalith did the saving. I just—”

  “Was the reason she knew to.” Jephue put a hand on Ja
then’s shoulder. “Do yourself a benefit, Jath. Accept the good things you are by first seeing the good things you do. Point of the trip, yes? A good start for you tomorrow, I think.”

  “For all of us, you mean?”

  “Ugh! Don’t remind me,” he puffed before dramatically exiting the chambers.

  Jathen took great delight in bathing then changing into clothing that didn’t weigh him down. In the afternoon, after he’d eaten lunch in his room with Thee for the last time, he returned to his mother’s chambers.

  Thee beamed when he entered. “A tiny surprise goodbye party, complete with presents.”

  “Mother,” he said, startled by the volume of packages and trunks stacked on the couches, “this is too much.”

  “Shush. You’re turning twenty while you are away. Maybe twenty-one through twenty-five, too. We don’t know.”

  “And after yesterday, you deserve some tribute,” Petalith added. “Take the gifts graciously and do your mother the kindness of gushing in gratitude instead of mewing about unworthiness.”

  Jathen smiled. “Thank you.”

  Most of what inhabited the packages were things he had been expecting: the travel clothing Rhodonith had had fitted for him, a new slaga-hide long coat with bone buttons, several pairs of shoes for different occasions, wool blankets, and a variety of other travel necessities. But there were a few surprises in the mix, such as a sturdy, multicompartmented pack that could carry a lot on its own and had a few secret, waterproof pockets as well. Opening a small black velvet box, he found the signet ring of the Monortith Royal House. His mother insisted he wear it around his neck on a thin platinum chain she’d included.

  “Don’t flash it around too much,” Petalith warned, rocking a dozing Dolomith.

  “I won’t.” Jathen put it on with humble reverence.

  Thee presented him with the collapsible easel he’d seen in the low market and a sketchbook with charcoal pencils. “For drawing your silly buildings.”

  He hugged his sister, making her sniff a little. Petalith gave him a thick set of blank pages and envelopes with his monogram and the Monortith crest embossed upon them. Along with plenty of wax, ink, and two pens in a sturdy travel case, she included a list of every travel stop along their route with access to the post carriers.

  “So you will write your mother,” she instructed. “And not leave her to worrying.”

  Jathen grinned. “Thank you.”

  From his mother came something truly surprising: a leather wrist cuff with a single rounded stone imbedded in its center.

  “Is this...?” Jathen peered at it more closely in disbelief. “Tazu leather?”

  “Mine, actually.” She smiled softly at his startled expression. “I shed as a tyrn this last time, and we took it all from the black stripes. The stone is obsidian, for protection.”

  Tapping the mineral once, he admired the understated shine. “A ward stone?”

  “Yes. And look. There’s a seam where it opens.”

  Jathen pressed the seam, which opened with ease. Inside, a flat mat of more dark obsidian boasted two silver needles and a single diamond chip, all encased in a flawless sheet of glass. The clock ticked soundlessly, conveying in its silence the extent of its magic. “A timepiece?” He blinked in awe. “I thought a quartz piece this small couldn’t vibrate in time if there was a ward around it.”

  Rhodonith smiled wider. “This one can. It’s a master-charm. I commissioned Master Chann to make it for you, something that wouldn’t break so easily. It’s his gift to you as much as mine, as he didn’t charge me for his time. It’s to keep you safe, and to always keep a part of me with you.”

  “Mother.” Jathen swallowed, overcome with emotion. No one had ever given him something made of Tazu hide before. It never made any sense for a moot to have something shiftable, as supplies were too precious to waste. “Thank you.”

  “You are most welcome.” She reached beside where she was seated, bringing up a small brown package from under a pillow. “Kyanith sent you something as well.”

  “Really?” Jathen took it, treating the small parcel as if it housed a live ral snake. “Why?”

  “Such a question.” His mother shook her head. “Is it so hard to believe he might be more malleable than you thought and perhaps is finally considering you in a better light?”

  Yeah, now that he’s more certain my moot butt won’t be resting itself on the gold throne anytime this century. He opened the package to reveal a detailed atlas of the continent. The tome was old but in pristine condition and quite elegant, showcasing Kyanith’s well-known enthusiasm for rare books.

  “Goodness, that’s actually halfway decent of him,” Thee mused, peeking over his shoulder.

  Jathen was more subdued in his enthusiasm when he leafed through and saw Kyanith’s addition to the inside of the front cover. He passed the book to his sister. “Read the inscription.”

  “‘If you get lost, I’ll understand.’” Thee snorted. “And just like that, he’s reestablished himself as a slaga’s ass.”

  “Thee!” their mother and Petalith scolded in unison.

  “Oh, Mother, if I can’t say what I will in the privacy of family, when shall I ever?” She patted Jathen’s arm. “To hell with him, Jathen. It’s still a good atlas. Use it to get home again then give it back to him and say you couldn’t have gotten here without it.”

  Jathen laughed. “Sure, Thee.”

  They spent a bit more time together, laughing and talking through dinner, then Jathen returned to his room to pack his gifts. It felt strange to lie in bed that night, one last time under the false sky.

  It will be real stars tomorrow.

  Goodbyes were said again in his own chambers the next morning. Rhodonith, Dolomith, Thee, and Petalith hugged and patted him in turn, while Raspiss was loaded with luggage and Eglestonith readied to carry him.

  “I love you,” his mother whispered one more time. “Be safe.”

  “I promise,” Jathen said, and silently advised his little brother as he patted his petite green head, You’d better be too, kid. No more brushes with death markers. Dolomith gurgled and blew spit bubbles, but Jathen decided to take it as a promise. With one last goodbye to his room and the people he most loved, he shifted his new pack onto his back and mounted Eglestonith.

  Kidwellith looked different from above as they flew to where the dirigible was docked. Circular because of the outer walls, the city resembled an elaborate amulet or master-charm encrusted with tiny jewel chips that were really buildings. The rivers and roads evoked magical markings etched into the surface, while the foundation stones from the old dome brought to mind ancient monolith circles.

  Jathen was greeted by a hooting Pallo upon landing, the captain’s good humor infectious even to the grim Hatori, who smirked slightly.

  “Well, all the supplies are packed and set, including all your gear, Highness.” Pallo’s slit yellow-green eyes sparkled excitedly. “You two ready to board? I know Jephue could use a body to cling to up in the gondola.”

  “Heh! And you wonder why I’m delaying.” Hatori snorted.

  Pallo peered around Jathen’s shoulder, eyebrows aloft. “Who’s this we have here?”

  Jathen turned to find a slender blue Tazu standing shyly behind them. Hidden partly behind a curtain of blond hair, with one toe prodding the ground, she was still unmistakably the same girl who’d alleged he’d make a good king someday.

  “Seren?” he asked. “What are you—”

  “Here.” She thrust a box at him, her skinny blue arms holding it as far from her body as possible. The small package was wrapped in shiny silver paper and adorned with a purple velvet ribbon.

  Taking it, Jathen winced as Seren’s hands shied away from his. She was afraid to even brush the hide of a moot with her perfect Tazu scales.
“This is very kind of you, Serendibiss,” he told her, truly touched by the gesture. “You didn’t have to.”

  “Mmm.” She bit her lower lip and stared at the ground. Then her head shot up, the night-sky depths of her eyes shimmering. “It’s a puzzle,” she blurted. Then she bolted off the landing pad with speed akin to the streak of a passing comet.

  “That was odd.” He examined the gift. “But nice.”

  “She likes you, that one,” Pallo teased.

  Jathen grimaced and shook his head. “I highly doubt it. That girl is too afraid to touch a moot let alone imagine anything else. Thee probably put her up to it. My sister’s always doing stuff like this to her friends.” Slipping his pack off his back, he put the pretty package inside to open later. “Besides, she’s like, twelve.” A sudden flash of memory of her holding the box, the hint of width at the chest hidden amid the loose folds of her dress perhaps suggesting the swell of a budding bosom, and he amended, “Maybe thirteen.”

  “They grow up.” Master Hatori shrugged. “Now come on. It’s time to go.”

  PART TWO:

  JOURNEY

  Chapter 11

  They flew.

  Jathen hung off the dirigible’s side, ropes thrice wrapped around his wrist, with the rush of air and expanse of the view feeding his blood. It was thrilling, even if he was only leaning out of the gondola window with one foot still planted on the rim rather than flying on his own. The hanging enclosure wobbled and tilted, and Jathen grinned, finding he could sway the transport as he saw fit. Gripping the rough line in both hands, he lifted his other foot from the rim, swinging his legs through the air and whooping. Two of the escort dragons whipped by, their riders hooting in approval. Tilting drastically when his feet met the rim again, the gondola bounced violently.

  “Jathen, for the love of peace and serenity, get back in here,” Master Hatori demanded over Pallotos’s belly laugh and Jephue’s shrill yelps.