by Brandon Barr
“I am Heliodor,” said the old soldier, his fingers trembling where they hovered over his vanished wounds. “How have you done this?”
“It wasn’t I,” said Meluscia. She remembered Jauphenna, and how she could not heal Praseme’s hand. She’d heard it from the band of prophets before. “The Makers choose whom they wish to heal…and when.”
Heliodor fell at Meluscia’s feet. “Forgive me, Luminess.”
Meluscia felt the power of being the instrument of the Makers. She looked at the man groveling at her feet, then at the other injured soldiers who’d betrayed the Hold. “I forgive you, and if you foreswear your earlier allegiance, I’ll see that your time in the dungeon is short. When it ends, I will give you the choice to rejoin your duties as a protector of our realm.”
He sputtered his thanks, placing his head on her leather shoes. Then she nodded for him to be taken away.
“How did this gift come to you?” asked Katlel.
“A Maker,” she said solemnly. “I’ll write down what I saw and heard, if you think it worthy for the Scriptorium.”
“Yes, of course!” said Katlel, a delighted grin stretching his lips.
Meluscia turned and looked down the row of mats where the injured lay. Her hand had ceased its warm burning. In one night, she’d used two of her three gifts. She looked at her sword sheathed in leather, thankful for a gift with the potential to last a lifetime.
“Luminess,” said Rivdon, entering the infirmary and coming up beside her. “Blessed girl! So it is true.” His words were full of warmth and pride. “It has been a long time. The Makers have finally returned to the Blue Mountain Realm.”
“I’m hardly able to comprehend it myself,” said Meluscia, “I don’t deserve to be their vessel.”
“Nothing is further from the truth,” said Rivdon. “We are all unworthy.” His hand fell warmly on her back.
Meluscia breathed deep, relishing his fatherly touch and wise words
“I need your council in a very serious matter,” she said, then paused, knowing the weight of her next words. “I mean to go to war against our greatest enemy.”
Rivdon’s right brow folded down in heavy thought. Katlel stared at her, nodding.
“You speak now of Isolaug,” said Rivdon.
“Yes. I’m awaiting word from King Feaor. It is my hope the Verdlands will join us as one army to march against the Star Garden Realm. But I will also seek out alliance with the Sea Kingdoms. As soon as I hear from Feaor, I’ll send falcons westward toward the great ocean.” She looked earnestly at her two councilors. “Have you any thoughts?”
They gazed into the distance through glossy eyes. “Of course we will,” said Katlel. “However, I’ll need some time to think. A move of this magnitude requires a little time for me to gather my stuffy old brain together.”
Rivdon nodded agreement, a hard look on his face.
Thoughts. Their eyes were full of thoughts. Questions. She had much to tell them. It would be like one coming out of a pleasant dream only to be told the nightmare of reality.
The spies, the dire threat of Isolaug…
Only days ago, she had awakened to that nightmare.
CHAPTER 43
WILUIT
The twilight cold bit at Wiluit’s wound as he ascended the slope where Takmuk, Seethus and Shauwby sat huddled around a roadside fire. He glanced back at the mare where he’d secured Jauphenna to the saddle. Her hands clutched weakly to the horse’s neck. Wiluit hoped her weariness was only the after effect of the red orb spinner’s poison. Behind the mare lay Harcor, upon a sled of saplings roped to the horse’s saddle.
Having reached the camp and given Jauphenna into the care of Takmuk and Seethus, Wiluit went to Harcor where he’d left him midway up the slope to the road. He feared bringing him any nearer to camp, for it might mean Harcor’s death at the hand of the Aeraphim. Wiluit made him a small fire for warmth, then covered him with a fur blanket.
“You are merciful,” said Harcor.
Wiluit did not answer, for it was only out of moral duty that he cared for the man. Wiluit’s heart desired to leave him in the woods to rot, for all the chaos and murder he’d caused.
The night was miserable as a cold drizzle seeped down from the overhanging branches. Wiluit found sleep hard, despite his exhaustion. He kept both fires going throughout the late hours of the night and into early morning. The heat warmed his bones and held his thoughts captive as he stared into the dazzle of the flames.
He recalled the Maker’s words.
You are unbound from your small group of prophets. Your role of leader is now only a choice.
He considered his own desires. Desires that had shifted radically since the Makers brought him out of the life of a bandit. Even as a road thief he’d wanted better for himself, as he supposed most criminals desired deep down in their soul. He looked at his four friends: Takmuk, the surly grandfather, peevish and loveable; Seethus, the optimistic, song singing grandfather who smiled often and lightened many a moment with his soft humor. Shauwby lay between Seethus and Jauphenna, wrapped in his blanket of black furs, head upon Seethus’s pillow of rabbit pelts. Shauwby a son, and Jauphenna…
…His unpredictable little sister.
Yet Wiluit couldn’t deceive himself into believing he had no desire for her. Jauphenna’s wild spirit and sharp beauty often called to him. But he was not content to wait for her to grow up. In truth, he feared she never really would. Yet he loved her all the same, and would do anything to keep her safe. Anything but surrender his soul.
Wiluit winced at the pain in his shoulder and looked down the hill to where Harcor lay. His fire would need more wood soon and the supply he’d hastily cut was running low for the night. Wiluit turned back to his own fire. As the embers glowed and the fire fought the soft rain, his thoughts turned to Meluscia as he huddled closer to the flames.
Meluscia’s solemn beauty hung in his mind, accompanied by what he’d learned of her in five short days. He knew how and why she’d gained the bruise on her face. But what surprised him was her response to all the questioning. That was far more exquisite than the elegance of her features. She was humble. She was resolute, and mercilessly honest. High born, but unashamedly repentant and bold, unwilling to lie or use her station to evade questioning. She said she saw in him a leader, yet he saw the very same thing in her.
Meluscia’s prevailing virtue through transgression did not fit his experience with leaders of high station. All of this added to the hope in her cause against Isolaug. He saw in it the destiny of the Makers.
He felt their paths were aligned. The Maker made clear he had a choice, and he knew that in some yet unrevealed fashion, he was to aid Meluscia.
He feared for his family fast asleep before him, and the Makers almost certain promise of loss. But that was the way of prophets and all gifted by the gods. In fact, it was the way of all people, though most shied away from danger.
Meluscia, however, was eager to go straight into the storm, and despite his fears, so was he.
--
Wiluit woke to a vibrant energy flowing through his shoulder. Warm and freeing. The pain was almost entirely gone. He opened his eyes to find Jauphenna staring off into the woods.
“Praise the Makers,” said Wiluit.
Jauphenna turned her head, her eyes cold and distant. A hint of anger passed through them.
“Are you alright?” asked Wiluit, confused.
She stood briskly and walked away.
Wiluit turned his shoulder, twisting it around. It was like new.
The relief he felt brought tears to his eyes, and he said another prayer of thanks to the Makers.
But what was wrong with Jauphenna?
She stood by the horses, laying out her wet blanket to dry on the back of her favorite. She glanced at him again. Her eyes were swollen with crying. After packing his mat, he thought he understood the source of her night’s tears. She was embarrassed and frustrated at having disobeyed him and been pro
ven foolish. When he’d told her to take up the rear with Shauwby, she obeyed, but her eyes and the lack of response echoed her mood.
Moving along the trail, the morning sun was bright, but the air was crisp. Oak leaves fell on the road, fluttering and spinning as they descended in the quiet air. Autumn was fully upon these woods. He led the way to the Hold dragging the makeshift sled with Harcor.
Trailing far behind was Takmuk with Seethus at his back, and then Jauphenna and Shauwby. Wiluit had made clear to keep a distance, still concerned Harcor might be slain by Shauwby’s unseen protectors. The man, stripped of weapons and his cursed Cherah, seemed harmless enough not to cause trouble, horribly injured as he was. All Harcor had said was a word of thanks to Wiluit, to which he had said nothing in reply.
Besides Jauphenna’s sullenness, Wiluit had other things to occupy his mind on the long road. Only yesterday, he’d stood face-to-face with a Maker. The memory of the god-woman reaching into tree and earth to form his staff was as clear as the day when he received his calling, years ago, to lead his family of prophets. The presence of a Maker had fallen on him in the room where he’d slept and spoken words into his mind. Words that had softened his thieving heart and broken him down into tears.
Just as the old encounter had set a new course for his life, this new experience confirmed the Makers were calling for a new direction to his life.
He gripped his staff and stared at the smooth hard wood, then gazed at the intricate knot at the top. Resting within was the Makers’ judgment. Dormant, for now.
By day’s end, they would arrive at the Hold of the Blue Mountains, and he was anxious to hear news of Meluscia.
He hoped she and her party had fared well the night before and reached the Hold without trouble.
Wiluit smiled to himself. He looked forward to speaking with her…to watch her reaction when he told her he wanted to help in her fight against Isolaug.
He expected a smile.
CHAPTER 44
MELUSCIA
The aviary rested atop the western ridge of the Hold. It was a half hour’s ride on horse through paths that wound over gently sloping mountain plateaus, high above the forests below. Great walls of steep rock guarded the path from the upper royal gate to the Aviary itself. The only large animals able to find foothold up to the top of the plateau were wily horses and mountain sheep.
Meluscia observed Praseme’s wonderment at the view. She had never been this way, and the spectacular expanse was something unforgettable.
“So you had something important to tell me,” said Meluscia, stroking the white mane on her horse, one of two mounts kept for traveling the grassy stretch to the aviary.
“Have you thought of names for the child?” asked Praseme, her eyes flitting down for a moment to Meluscia’s stomach.
Meluscia sighed. “I’ve had names for my children for a long time, despite never planning to have any.” Meluscia petted her horse and looked earnestly at Praseme. “But this child is not mine, and rightly so. Have you thought of a name?”
“The child I bear will be called either Anastase if a girl, or if a boy, Kielder. But tell me, what are the names you’ve thought of?”
Meluscia remembered her days as a girl of eleven and twelve thinking upon such things as children and husbands, years before the sunweed blight struck her mother and father and forced her thoughts to deeper questions. “For a boy, I am fond of the name, Tulboran. For a girl, Galenna.”
“Then Galenna is the baby’s name,” said Praseme, “for it’s known you’re having a girl, and I have decided the child belongs to you.”
Meluscia nearly fell from the saddle. She turned and stared bewildered at Praseme. “You mean for me to keep the child?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Praseme firmly. “If you will love and cherish her. If you do not want her though, I’m sure I can convince Mica to take a baby. But I would have to lie to him about the child all our lives, calling him or her our mercy child, when truly, she would be of Mica’s own blood.” Praseme held Meluscia’s gaze. “And more,” said Praseme softly, “I think you desire the child.”
Meluscia looked up into the sky, which was beginning to glow faintly red with the nearness of evening. It was true. Simply knowing a life grew inside her—was a part of her—she wanted to love the child.
Meluscia finally said, “I haven’t felt so much as a kick yet, but already I love the baby.”
“Then the child is yours,” said Praseme, reaching out her hand.
Meluscia took it in hers and squeezed with all the emotion she felt inside. “Thank you for this gift.”
Praseme released her hand and rode for a time in silence. “I am scared,” she finally said, one hand on the reins, the other on the swell of her stomach. “I fear this war you’re summoning. I feel as if I am bringing my child into an uncertain future. What will happen if we lose the war? What if…” Her voice choked with emotion. “…What if Mica doesn’t return? What would it be like to raise a child alone, fleeing for my life? You have five, six, maybe seven months before your swelling stomach is plain to all. I sense you mean to go to war before your time as Luminess comes to an end. That is a short time.”
Although Meluscia felt for Praseme, and for the many citizens who would come to share Praseme’s fears, she was resolute in her plans for war. Savarah’s warning held much of the weight in her decision, but there was also the fact that Isolaug’s spies had been unclothed, and she doubted the Beast would sit idle, now that the kingdoms of men knew of his spies and his plans.
He might even suspect the coming war.
“Pray we win,” said Meluscia. “At the very least, the gods seem to be with us. And pray for the child that grows in me. That his mother be protected. I shall be in harm’s way. The sword given me by the Makers is proof of that.”
“I will pray,” said Praseme.
--
Meluscia watched the last of the thirteen falcons fly from the falconer’s wrist. She found Dolostone’s duty of aviary master an enchanting responsibility, second only to the duty of Scriptorian held by Katlel.
The last bird, like his brethren, was majestic in flight, and the small pouch with the letter, bound in leather, was fitted snugly to the leg, just above the talons. Within a day, each bird would arrive at the aviary it had been trained to travel to. Each of the thirteen tallest peaks had its own birder and aviary, and upon arrival, the regent there would receive a simple message:
At Trigon’s pronouncement, Meluscia has been coronated Luminess. Trigon has passed. King Feaor of the Verdlands has made peace. All regents are called to travel to the Hold immediately for an urgent meeting.
Meluscia thanked Dolostone and gave a fleeting glance at three young falcons hanging above her in the rafters. They watched her and Praseme leave with wary eyes.
Meluscia rode the grassy trail back to the royal gate in silence, the only sound that of the horse hooves beneath her. But before she and Praseme reached the end, the pleasant quiet was disrupted by a soldier on horseback.
“Luminess,” said the soldier, kneeling, “a party of six has arrived at the Hold, five claiming to be prophets and another man on a stretcher. They claim the injured man is dangerous and should be placed under security. One of the prophets who calls himself Wiluit wishes to speak with you.”
A smile threatened to spread Meluscia’s lips, and finally won over. She was relieved the Makers hadn’t sent them on some new errand. Perhaps they would stay a while…perhaps she could convince them to help her.
“Bring Wiluit to meet me in the Scriptorium. He is a friend. Do as they say with the injured man and send the physicker to see him. Give the prophets our finest available room and be sure they receive a meal fit for royalty. No salted fish.”
--
Meluscia glanced through shelves of old books. The titles and the contents within could usually whisk her mind away to other times and distant places, but hope kept her feet firmly planted on the here and now.
The fire-lit
crystals that hung from the Scriptorium’s ceiling shimmered brightly, refracting vitreous red light across the room. Meluscia wondered if the enchantment of the place might make her words more reverential, more enticing. Each of the five prophets’ gifts could be invaluable to her mission.
The Scriptorium door at the top of the spiral staircase swung open. Descending were four soldiers and a man dressed in riding clothes. It was not Wiluit.
The rider knelt before Meluscia. “I have King Feaor’s message to deliver.” He held out a parchment in his hand. She took it from him and read silently.
I have decided early. You have the hand of the Verdlands in your endeavor. We must meet to discuss the details. I hope this letter finds you safe and well.
Below was the seal of the king.
Her heart leapt at this good news.
The doors of the Scriptorium opened again and walking through them was Wiluit, followed by two soldiers.
“Give my deepest thanks to the king,” said Meluscia to Feaor’s messenger. “Tell him that I am now Luminess, and if he would, to come to the Hold as soon as he is able.”
The man bowed and left with the four soldiers.
Meluscia turned to the two remaining soldiers beside Wiluit. “I wish to talk to the prophet alone.”
The soldiers left and Wiluit bowed his head.
“I’m surprised to see you,” said Meluscia, reining in her excitement for a simple smile. Concern suddenly struck her as she remembered their parting. “Is Jauphenna well?”
“She is now, but it took me half a day to find her. She was nearly stolen by Harcor.”
Meluscia stared at Wiluit. She had suspected Harcor was the “dangerous man” that had arrived on the stretcher, but something Wiluit said disturbed her.
“Harcor is badly injured,” said Wiluit, seeming to react to her frightened expression. “He has a broken back. I wouldn’t have brought him except for the state he was in. I had no other choice.”
Meluscia shook her head, dismissing Wiluit’s concern. Though the idea of Harcor being within the walls of the Hold made Meluscia’s skin crawl, Wiluit had misread what had vexed her. “You say he tried to steal Jauphenna?”