“You are saying your parents stole these relics and hid them away?” Illiana asked.
“Yes,” Lamorun said. “To save two nations on the edge of bloody war.”
The priestess and priest exchanged a glance.
“And you brought the Sword here? With you?” Mozde asked.
“Until that Thora woman stole it,” Alronna said.
“We will have it brought to you,” Mozde said. “Patience.”
“But you’re saying they couldn’t be the objects in that image?” Simra asked. “Because they were destroyed?”
“It would be impossible,” Illiana said.
“But isn’t it possible that somebody stole them from that people years ago? Hid them away?” Simra continued.
Lakhoni caught her meaning. “Maybe it was someone who feared the power they gave the rulers, so they took them like our parents did hundreds of years lat—” He cut himself off, an idea coming to him with nearly physical force.
“What is it?” Simra asked.
“Did you swallow your tongue?” Lamorun squeezed Lakhoni’s shoulder.
Alronna was nodding. “That’s it. Whoever took the Relics from those people,” she pointed at the carving on the wall, “they kept them. And they somehow divided into our nations.”
Certainty filled Lakhoni like a stone slipping perfectly into place in a hut wall. “That’s how our parents had that symbol. They’re descendants of those people.”
Illiana and Mozde turned in their seats, facing each other. Unspoken communication passed between them for a stretched out moment, then Illiana faced forward again, nodding. “Of course, in a way, we are all descendants of those people. But it appears your family might somehow have become guardians of those Relics.”
“And you had the balanced circle carved in the top stone of your doorway?” Mozde asked.
“Yes.” Lakhoni still marveled at the truth of his parents’ lives. The king he had crossed a continent to kill had turned out be his uncle. His terrible, power-hungry uncle. But his father’s brother just the same. And it seemed all of them were descended from the people in the image carved in the wall. How much death had the Relics caused? He clamped down on the hot grief and fury at all Molgar and Gadnar had done. It would be ended soon. Soon, Gadnar would be stopped and this would be all over.
“And how have you come to be here?” Illiana asked.
Lakhoni told this part, speaking of Mother and Father’s murder and the destruction of the village. He spoke quickly, memories of terror and a blade sliding over his scalp repeatedly returning in flashes. Before long, he described the people with the animal totems living next to the river and the slaughter Gadnar had done among them. At the first mention of Gadnar, and at every repetition of his name, Illiana’s face grew darker and Mozde visibly flinched.
“We weren’t sure about where he’d gone,” Lakhoni said. “He’s one man so he doesn’t leave much of a trail.”
“Except for death,” Simra added.
Lakhoni nodded sadly. “True.” He elbowed Alronna. “We’ve been following Alronna’s instincts for the last few days.”
Illiana licked her lips and stood. She shook her arms back and forth and strode in front of Mozde, who remained sitting. “And Alronna. With the earth totem of wolf. How have you known where to go?” She turned sharply and came back.
“I don’t.” Alronna shrugged. “I just keep choosing the direction that makes the most sense.”
“The totem people pointed us this way,” Hilana said. “They said Gadnar was seeking the pure water.”
“In the high place,” Lamorun finished. “Mountains are high places, so we came this way.”
All of the color had left Illiana’s face. She spun and stared at her brother. “That’s where he went.”
Mozde’s nose wrinkled in an angry snarl. “The snake thinks to become immortal.” He stood and addressed Lakhoni and his family. “That is enough. You could not possibly know these things if you were lying.”
Lakhoni ground his teeth. “What are you talking about?” Then Mozde’s words registered. “The snake? You mean you’ve seen him? He came here?”
Mozde nodded.
Illiana hissed. “He is a servant of Sintawanxla and all of the serpent’s ancients. He came here, speaking smooth words of prophecy and salvation.”
“He fooled us both.” Mozde glared at the stone walls beyond Lakhoni and his family. With an effort, he met Lakhoni’s gaze. “He spoke of balance and a danger to the tree.”
The tree? Confusion boiled in Lakhoni again. What tree were they talking about now?
“He beguiled us!” Illiana spun, her robes flowing behind her. “Come and we will show you what we gave to him.”
“He took it.” Mozde waved for Lakhoni and his companions to follow Illiana. They did, with Mozde taking up the rear. Illiana stalked quickly to the deep right of the domed room, behind the stone chairs. What Lakhoni had taken for a smooth wall revealed itself to be a perfectly crafted, hidden doorway through which one person could fit at a time.
“We practically handed it to him, brother.” Illiana slipped through the doorway.
“What tree?” Lakhoni asked.
“The one sealing the crack between Creation and chaos.” Illiana’s voice echoed shrilly off stone walls as she led the way into a narrow room that was lit by natural light coming through a slit high up the wall. The slit ran the entire width of the wall, perhaps a hand’s width tall.
The space was completely empty except for an altar of rough stone arranged against the far wall. A smooth, flat stone formed the top of the empty altar. The hairs on the back of Lakhoni’s neck stood and anger kindled in his gut. He ground his teeth and clenched his fists. Altars were places of blood and murder. “Why are we here?” He slid out of the way so the others could come into the room too, but he caught Alronna and Lamorun’s eyes, doing his best to communicate a silent warning. Lamorun moved so Mozde would be in front of him, then stood so he could see anyone coming into the cramped room. Alronna nodded and put her back against a stone wall and tensed.
Illiana gestured at the clear altar. “We showed him where it was. He came in the night and stole it away.”
Lakhoni glanced at the altar. It was empty but for dust and a long bare spot. “Stole what away?” Lakhoni closed the distance between him and Illiana, dread filling him. He looked back. Something long and narrow had been there, the absence of dust evidence of its presence. “Did you have something on the altar?”
“The Rod, my young Sword,” Illiana said. “The Rod left in the care of the people of the gods. The Rod left with us to keep the balance between Bha’gweki and Sintawanxla.” Tears poured down her regal cheeks. She scrubbed them away. “This Gadnar of yours stole the Rod and now he will drink of the Water Pure. He will be healed and will become unstoppable.”
Lakhoni slid his dagger home in the sheath at his side with a satisfying click. He slid his fingers down the leather, tapping the point. He felt fully clothed for the first time in hours. “He left yesterday?” He and his family stood in the huge domed room again, donning their weapons. Lakhoni checked to make sure his katte was tight against his back and within easy reach. His arm twinged, but not as badly as it had the day before.
Illiana and Mozde, their faces flat with stricken expressions, both nodded. “We only discovered the Rod’s absence yesterday morning.” Illiana shook her head mournfully. “We hadn’t yet decided what to do about it.”
Hilana huffed as she straightened her long sheath, retying the straps that held it tightly against her leather-clad leg. “You go after him, of course.”
“But the citizens would panic if they found out the Rod was gone,” Mozde said. “We had to keep it quiet.”
“I could have gone after him quietly.” Desa Thora’s voice seethed with frustration.
Lakhoni couldn’t blame her. It was no wonder she’d been angry the entire time she and her soldiers had been leading them through the city. “It’s not your p
roblem now. We will get it back.”
“And maybe we should keep it this time,” Alronna said, her voice quiet.
“You wouldn’t dare!” Mozde flinched toward Alronna as if to attack her. She put her hand on the Sword of Nubal which was at her side again. Mozde pulled to a stop, a frown cutting lines into his chin.
“We have confirmed our family are the descendants of the original caretakers of the Relics,” Lamorun said. He casually swung his wicked looking cudgel in circles, flipping it and catching it with the other hand smoothly. “It’s not a terrible idea.”
“But its place is here,” Desa Thora said. “Not in the hands of.. of…” She trailed off.
“Of the people who have been fighting Gadnar and his brother for over a year now?” Simra asked. Pointedly.
“Be that as it may,” Illiana said. “The Rod’s home is here. One generation lived without it in this city after it had been stolen by a group of thieves. But our ancestors,” here she gestured at Mozde and herself, “reclaimed the Rod and brought it back to its home three generations ago.” Her gaze grew heavier as she stared at Lakhoni. “Should you succeed, we beg that you bring it back here. We can discuss its destiny and proper care at that time.” She released a steady, careful breath, her eyes going from Lakhoni’s to each of his companions. “Your family were effective guardians for generations, we don’t dispute that. But Modigilza would be utterly changed if the Rod were to never come back to us.” Her gaze finally settled on Alronna’s. “Please. Bring it home and we will talk then.”
“A fair compromise,” Mozde said.
“I truly do not care where this Rod lives,” Alronna said. “As long as Gadnar dies and this can all be over.” The exhaustion in her voice matched all that Lakhoni had been feeling for the last few weeks.
“We will bring it back,” Lakhoni said. “We crossed paths with the people you call thieves. They call you Betrayers.”
Illiana rolled her eyes. “They would paint themselves in an aggrieved light.”
Lakhoni wondered if the priestess heard her own words. He shook the useless question away and settled a hand on Alronna’s near shoulder and gave her a comforting squeeze. “We’ll bring it back first. No promises after that.”
“I will go with you,” Desa Thora said. She slipped her curved sword partway out of its scabbard, then dropped it back in. A gesture Lakhoni had seen warriors do the world over. “You need another fighter to take him down, if he’s as powerful as you say.”
“He survived an arrow,” Alronna said. “He will not survive our blades.” She turned to go.
Lakhoni turned with her, but then stopped and faced the priestess, priest, and soldier. “You may do as you wish, but you will not join our party, Desa Thora. You stole our weapons and chose to keep us in the dark about what was happening. This lost us precious hours. Simply because you decided without asking that you could not trust us. We cannot afford any question of trust.”
Lamorun and Hilana followed Alronna toward the door as Lakhoni held Desa Thora’s attention, making sure his intent was clear and his message had been received. Simra remained by Lakhoni’s side, her closeness warming him. Desa Thora’s face twisted with anger and she opened her mouth to retort, but Illiana’s hand on her arm stopped her.
“We understand,” Illiana said. “This is unexpected wisdom from one so young. I thought you were the Sword, but it might be that you are the Guide.”
Anger flashed hot in Lakhoni’s stomach. Gimno’s words about where anger resided, over a year ago now, came back to him. He shook the memory away. Heat filled his words. “You can take your dusty ideas about the Guide and the Sword and shove them into that hiding place back there. We are here by choice, not by some prophetic destiny.”
Illiana rocked backward slightly at the onslaught. But her lips stretched in a small smile and she nodded. “Understood.” As Lakhoni and Simra turned, Illiana put out a hand. “Wait, you must remember. The Water Pure is not like the water that has been plaguing your journey.”
Tingles slid down Lakhoni’s spine. “What?” He met her intent gaze. “How did you know that?”
“The waters of this realm are still influenced by Sintawanxla, the serpent who flooded Creation.” Illiana closed the distance between her and where Lakhoni and Simra stood frozen in place. “T’laloc, an ancient who remains faithful to Sintawanxla, roams the waters, exerting evil influence. But the Water Pure is free of T’laloc’s power. This water is pure from the moments of Creation.” Illiana licked dry lips and fixed her gaze tightly on Lakhoni. “If Gadnar sips of the Water Pure, he will become immortal and he will have power over some portions of this world.”
“Immortal?” Simra snorted. “That’s ridiculous. It’s not possible.”
“What portions of the world?” Lakhoni asked. These cursed furs on the floor made it impossible for him to find the stable rock he needed underfoot. “What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know. But the Water Pure is real. It is in the High Place, behind the curtains and in the fire mountain to the west.” Illiana’s hands settled on Lakhoni’s shoulders. He fought the urge to pull away. “Do not let Gadnar taste of it.” Then she closed her eyes and squeezed. “May the wisdom of Bha’gweki be with you in the moment you need it most.” Illiana’s hands loosened on Lakhoni’s shoulders and she turned away. Mozde and Desa Thora went to either side of the priestess and caught her as she staggered.
Lakhoni tried to shake off the strange sensation that had settled into him at Illiana’s words. It felt as if a sudden, soft rain had caught him and warm drops were soaking directly into his skin. He swallowed and took a breath, seeking his center.
Simra’s hand filled his. “Let’s catch up to the others.” She pulled him gently toward the door.
Lakhoni allowed Simra to pull him. He glanced at where her hand held his. Callouses lined her fingers where she worked bandages until they were soft and usable. The woven ribbons they had given each other what felt like so long ago still wrapped around their wrists. The future together that those ribbons represented seemed so far away. And it was only possible if they could catch and stop Gadnar. Whether there truly was power in the Water Pure or not, Gadnar would exert his evil influence over the land in terrible ways unless he was stopped.
Lakhoni matched Simra’s stride and they crossed toward the large double doors quickly. Alronna, Lamorun, and Hilana stood just beyond the door in the ante-room outside the huge domed space.
“She said to the mountain to the west,” Hilana said.
“We will waste no time,” Lakhoni said. “We leave immediately. Maybe we will be able to resupply enough from the vendor wagons we saw as we came up.”
Everyone nodded their agreement and Lamorun and Hilana led the way down the winding stone stairs. This place was so similar to the temple back in Zyronilxa with floors and walls and ceilings made of perfectly cut stone. Of course, this was smooth and seam-free, whereas King Zyron’s temple had been made out of massive stone blocks. Lakhoni couldn’t keep from remembering his mad chase through that temple after finding his way in through the canal. Even then, the water had seemed to pull on him, trying to kill him.
By the time they reached the ground level outside, Simra and Lamorun had traded for enough supplies to keep them for a few days. Drumming and the sounds of a busy, full city filled the air. Hilana watched two drummers near the bottom of the road carefully, even turning and walking backward to keep an eye on them.
“They’re communicating!” Hilana caught up with the group. “I thought I was hearing patterns.”
Several high tones followed by two low tones sounded from the drummer pair she’d been watching. “What are you talking about?” Alronna asked.
“Those drummers.” Hilana pointed a thumb behind the group. “They relay messages from one set of drummers to another, either higher or lower in the city.”
“Or maybe the people of this unpronounceable city simply enjoy drums,” Alronna said.
Lamorun le
aned over a low stone wall and held his waterskin under a smooth stone pipe that jutted out from uncarved rock. The water that poured from the pipe was crisp and clear. “Hilana is probably correct. When I was…” he paused and considered his words, “a slave to Shelu, we encountered a people to the south that used small whistles to communicate.”
This was the first time Lamorun had spoken of the years that he had been essentially enslaved by Shelu and Molgar, his name stripped away and his memories suppressed by constant physical torture. Lakhoni bit back the questions that arose, knowing he had to wait for Lamorun to overcome the scars on his own.
“We have voices and words for a reason,” Alronna said. “What a pointless thing to do.”
“Drums carry farther than a person’s shouts,” Lamorun said.
After all had refilled their waterskins at the clear spring, they left the stone city behind. At the spring, Lakhoni had instinctively cupped his hand under the water and taken an experimental taste of it. The water had tasted like all mountain water, clean and flavorless. Why did water from the spring not have the evil influence that they’d encountered? What had Illiana called the being that supposedly roamed the waters? T’laloc. It made no sense to him that some water might have an evil presence in it but some other water wouldn’t. Unless this T’laloc had decided to grow sneakier and was going to make the water in Lakhoni’s stomach revolt and kill him somehow.
For that matter, why would some ancient being wield influence over water and not just control people? Or animals? That would be a quicker way to kill their enemies. The memory of the strange boar and the giant, red-eyed lizards flashed into Lakhoni’s mind. The boar had looked just like the one he and the others had killed earlier that day. And it had disappeared into water. So was it possible that somehow the boar they had turned into several meals had been reanimated by this T’laloc and sent to kill them? That didn’t answer any of the questions he had about the bloodless, vicious lizards that had cut him so much.
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