Word of Truth

by Rhett C. Bruno

  Shallow water washed over her bare feet. She couldn’t feel the temperature, but she knew it had to be warm this time of year. She did, however, feel the mass of nigh’jels flocking around her. The entire cavern glowed a soft, pulsing green.

  Another servant finished adjusting the hem of her dress. It draped around her feet, gold-threaded netting with shells or gems at each intersection. The dress solidified around her knees, transitioning to extravagant gold cloth with delicate ornamental embroidery, then back to a pattern of transparent netting over her midriff reminiscent of waves. Her breasts, too, were covered by the gold cloth. Around her neck, she wore an elaborate crystal necklace given to her by the Glassmen.

  Mahi had never cared much about clothing, but she had to admit, the dress was stunning. Especially considering it had been crafted only in weeks. And the necklace… she’d never seen anything like it. There was a gentle beauty to the unity between Kingdoms being so captured by a single outfit. For what was glass if not sand, blown and refined?

  Not only had there never been a female Caleef, there had never been a Caleef to get married. There was no reason for it. The position wasn’t dynastic. For any Shesaitju woman to have ever been willing to marry a Caleef would mean they saw themselves also as a vessel of the God of Sand and Sea. No Shesaitju woman would’ve ever dared think that.

  This was unprecedented. Mahi knew that. And so, she let these loyal servants of her position and their god do as they pleased. She even allowed them to cover her head with a veil, beads over her eyes. She let them build up the sharp points at the shoulders of her dress, and stretch the tight sleeves down her arms, which, at least—thankfully—faded to netting around her wrists.

  She played along, though she hated restricting her body in such a way to be no good in a fight.

  The fight comes after, she reminded herself. For now, I need the support.

  She knew that beyond doing something no Caleef had ever done, as the first female Caleef, those were secondary concerns. She was marrying a Glassman. A King, chosen by his own god or not, that’s all they’d see.

  They wouldn’t see the smart, capable young man she hadn’t expected to meet, with loyal, worthy advisors at his side. They’d see pink-skin, a diminutive figure, and the memories of their fathers being destroyed by his.

  And so, Mahi had to look the part. Beautiful, strong, unflinching, and unquestionably Shesaitju.

  She manipulated the clasp of the necklace. “Take it off,” she said.

  “Excuse me, my Caleef?” one of the sages remarked.

  “Take it off. My people, they will only see this as representation that we are again being collared. This is a union, not captivity.”

  “I… uh—“

  “Now!” Mahi snapped, and her servants obeyed.

  She lamented losing it for the sheer beauty of the thing, and truly, she didn’t want her future husband to be insulted—but her people came first.

  “And… finished,” one of the other sages said, perfecting her makeup. Mahi wasn’t sure she’d ever seen anyone look so pleased with themselves, except maybe Babrak after he’d killed Farhan and seized favor with the other afhems.

  A servant woman held up a mirror, and Mahi finally had a chance to see the fruits of their efforts. Tapered lines of glittering gold circled her eyes, stretching toward her temples like wings. The way it contrasted against her pure-black skin made it feel bright as sunlight. The same color lined her thin lips.

  She reached up and ran her thumb along them. Whether it be her shell of hardened nigh’jel blood or the gold makeup, she missed how she used to look. Who she used to be. She missed the chance to care about people and not all the people.

  Mahi pulled her hand back.

  “I hope this necklace will better suit you, my Caleef,” one of the sages said. It took her a bit to find the speaker, there were so many, all with soft, impassive voices. He presented a necklace made of onyx pearls, found only at the bottom of the deep Boiling Waters.

  “This will be fine,” she said. “I can handle it. This is enough. Leave me.” She snatched it from his hands, her glower sending him and all the others filing out of the room. She spun to face the rocky wall, the bottom of her dress twisting beneath the shallow water.

  She stared down at the pearls. It was said that in complete darkness, a purplish glow emanated from their centers. The nigh’jels made the room too bright to tell, so she closed them in her palms and peered through the crack between her fingers.

  “I can help with that, my Caleef.”

  The necklace slipped and splashed in the water. Mahi immediately crouched, reaching in to fish it out, but the nigh’jels crowded her arms, brushing against it with all their innumerable tentacles.

  She knew the work that went into retrieving pearls like these. Her people had to dive to the seafloor, in rough waters filled with killer creatures. Some may have died in the effort to rush the production of this necklace so she could look more regal than her future Glassman husband.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Bit’rudam said. He rushed in to help, but Mahi barred him with one outstretched arm.

  With her other, she dug around under the water until her finger looped something, and she pulled it free. One of the nigh’jels hung from her arm as it emerged. She grunted and flung it aside, then found herself squeezing the necklace, drawing deep, ragged breaths.

  “My Caleef, is everything all right?” Bit’rudam asked, not daring touch her.

  “You’re too smart to ask that question, Bit’rudam,” she replied, exhaling slowly through her teeth.

  “I just mean—“

  He got tongue-tied when she turned to face him. His eyes told the whole story. They studied her from head to toe, while his cheeks went a darker shade.

  “You look—“

  “Is the arena secure?” Mahi interrupted him again.

  “It is,” Bit’rudam said. “Sir Unger and I both checked everything. Both the Shieldsmen and Serpent Guard will circle the arena around you. Two warships are moored beyond the dam. If the Glassmen try to make a move on you, they’d be killing their own King.”

  “I’m not worried about that.”

  “You should be. This Sir Unger… I do not trust any man whose eyes I cannot read.”

  “He has no eyes, Bit’rudam.”

  “So, the pink-skinned tricksters say,” he said.

  “Just do your job and keep the arena safe,” Mahi said, a harsh edge entering her tone.

  What was this all for? If her own most loyal servants refused to trust their soon-to-be allies, what good was it?

  “Always, my Caleef… it’s just…” He turned toward the water. Mahi waited for him to glance up before she nodded him along. “Are you still sure you want to do this?” he asked.

  “Do you know how tired I am of that question?” she answered.

  “I know. You’re right.”

  “I’m trying to be a Caleef who actually helps our people, one who uses this power, or whatever it is I was chosen for, to change things, not sit on a throne and watch like a spectator of the Tal’du Dromesh.”

  “I know.”

  “Do I want to marry a stranger? No, Bit’rudam, I do not. But—“

  Without warning, Bit’rudam lunged and kissed her. His strong arms wrapped her back and pulled her close so she could feel his chest heaving. His lips pressed tight, and her eyes closed as she found herself instinctually kissing him in return.

  And then, she remembered her last first kiss in this very room—with Jumaat, right before their ignoring of the laws caused him to forfeit his life to the Siren. Her best friend ever. Her only friend ever.

  “No!” Mahi shrieked, pushing Bit’rudam away so hard, he fell back into the water. Before she knew it, she was on top of him, stretching the pearl necklace across his throat with both hands and pushing.

  His yellow-flecked eyes went wide as he gurgled. His mouth and nose were barely above water, but he didn’t defend himself. Ne
ver even kicked. He simply reached out to stroke her cheek.

  She rolled off, though remained crouching in the water and ready to pounce. Bit’rudam gasped, then coughed as he crawled back to lean against the cavern wall.

  “My Caleef,” he rasped. “I—“

  “What were you thinking!” she barked.

  Bit’rudam pushed off with one arm to sit up straight, still wheezing. “I thought… I needed you to know.”

  Mahi glared at him, fuming, unable to speak. She could hardly breathe.

  “Mahraveh,” he went on. “Caleef or not, I have never met a woman like you. From the moment I laid eyes upon you, I knew that the Current brought us together for a reason, and so I ask you now, as a man who loves you, do not do this.”

  “You would damn the entire world just for me?” she whispered.

  “Is it really that simple for you?”

  Mahi relaxed her stance. “Nothing about it is simple. It’s just what’s necessary.”

  Bit’rudam frowned. Tears welled up in a look not befitting a man of his status as her primary protector.

  “Well, I lied,” he said. “I thought I could serve you through all of this, despite my feelings, but I cannot. I will resign my duties after the ceremony.”

  “Stand up, Bit’rudam,” she said sternly. He looked perplexed. “I said stand up. Good.” She approached him, then patted his gold pauldrons, and ensured his armor was straight. “That is the last I’ll hear of that. You say you love me, then prove it. Protect me.”

  “But Mahraveh, I—“

  She placed her fingers over his lips. “I said that’s the last of this. Clean yourself off, and we’ll greet the future together.” She stared into his eyes for a moment longer, then dragged her thumb across his lips and to his cheek before walking to the open door.

  “And Bit’rudam.”

  He looked to her, hope in his eyes.

  “Kiss me again without my permission, and you’ll lose your tongue like the others.”

  She couldn’t describe what sort of sound he made behind her, but it dripped with embarrassment before he stammered, “Yes, my Caleef.”

  Mahi set off through the undercroft without another word. She waited until she was out of sight to feel her chest, realizing that her heart beat like it hadn’t since becoming Caleef. Then, she noted how she’d been careful to add ‘without her permission.’ She hadn’t even thought about it, but the opening for her and Bit’rudam remained.

  She didn’t mind.

  It was nice to have someone around who reminded her that no matter who she was, she was still alive. She’d survived the temptation of a simpler life with a man of her own race who she knew she could love—perhaps already did. Now, she knew she was ready.

  “My Caleef, there you are!” Tingur said, hurrying down the tunnel on his bum leg, accompanied by guards. He froze upon the sight of her, offering a very different expression than the one Bit’rudam had displayed, though flattering, nonetheless.

  “The Current flows with you today,” he said, bowing his head. “In all its splendor.”

  Mahi stopped, straightened her dress, and took a deep breath to compose herself. “What is it, Tingur?”

  “I’ve been advised to have you hurry. The Glassmen insist their ceremonial rites be read at the high sun, but we mustn’t be a moment later. That storm will set upon us soon, and the sages predict it will be strong.”

  “Storms seem to follow me,” Mahi said.

  Tingur chuckled. “Indeed.”

  “What do you think this one foretells?”

  “On the islands, sea storms bring ruin, but also new beginnings. A changing of the tide, so to speak. I believe it to be a good omen, my Caleef.”

  “Tingur, she’s ready,” Bit’rudam said from down the tunnel.

  “I can see that,” Tingur replied.

  Mahi glanced back and saw Bit’rudam strolling toward them, mustering his most confident stride. His expression betrayed no sign of their latest interaction, and of that, she was glad. Sir Unger would sniff out an illicit affair in a second if Bit’rudam couldn’t control his emotions. Even Tingur didn’t notice, promptly turning to lead them.

  Maybe it’s what he needed, Mahi thought. Or what I needed…

  XIII

  The Outcast

  After a long trek down the mountain, Tum Tum and the others stood in a place he knew well.

  “Grew up in these fields,” he said. “Wouldn’t know it by all the snow, but there’re tracks under there. Wind all the way through that pass, and beyond.”

  He couldn’t remember a time when the minecarts traveled on those tracks, but he knew them. At one time, they’d have been shoveled and cleared, but for as long as Tum Tum had been alive—save the few weeks a year where the plains in this southern part of Brotlebir would thaw—the tracks were a tripping hazard beneath heaps of snow.

  “It’s… uh… beautiful, Tum Tum,” Whitney said, staring out over the stark white landscape. “I bet you had… you must have had a great childhood.”

  Tum Tum turned to see Whitney whispering something to Sora.

  “Aye, ye dolt,” he said. “But that ain’t why we’re here.”

  “So, why are we here?” Lucindur asked, her hands tucked underneath both her arms to stay warm.

  “Follow me,” Tum Tum said. Then under his breath, he added, “Damn flower-pickers have no appreciation for showmanship.”

  He led them through the clearing, trudging through snow that easily passed his belly—a belly that had, since all this mess began, shrunk quite a bit.

  Yer lookin trim, ye devil, Tum Tum told himself. Best throw back a few ales next chance ye get.

  He pointed out spots where he recalled, with dwarven precision, the exact location of iron rails. Sora and Lucindur both expressed how impressed they were, while Whitney grumbled that it “wasn’t like he killed a god or anything.”

  Tum Tum had known Whitney long enough to know this was as close to praise as the ungrateful runt would ever give. Though, Tum Tum couldn’t help but give credit where credit was due. Somehow, a two-bit, over-exaggerative thief had become a hero. It was difficult to admit, but if they’d made it through, the bards would be writing tales about Whitney for the rest of time. They’d call him precisely what he continually reminds everyone he is: a godkiller.

  Tum Tum’s bones ached. He’d been sore before—growing up in the mines would do that to anyone—but this was different. Worse than that, his heart ached. It had taken him the whole journey to stop shaking after their run-in with Gargamane. Ever since Tum Tum was a wee boy, he’d looked up to the commander of the clanbreakers. Sure, all the clanbreakers could wallop the snot out of anyone, alive or dead, but the commander of them all… Gargamane the Gold was a legend.

  And Gargamane the Gold just told him how unwanted he was in his own home.

  So much for bein over it, Tum Tum mused.

  “We almost there?” Whitney complained, pulling Tum Tum from his despair.

  “There,” he said, stopping as if on cue. “Dwarves be a little too trustin and a lot too proud.”

  They soon stood before a boarded-up old iron mine. It had been that way since Tum Tum was Aquira’s size. He’d always wondered how the king could be so lax with an entrance to his kingdom left unattended.

  “Good as our minds are, there ain’t too many with memory of this place,” Tum Tum said.

  He brushed aside some freshly-fallen powder. “Hole’s a bit smaller than I remember.”

  “You fit in there?” Whitney asked.

  “Me and me kin. Used to play down here all day, then sneak inside. Tunnel leads to the southern mead hall—suren it’s no longer in use, but we’d steal us a drink or seven from the barrels, and none were the wiser.”

  “You… steal?” Whitney said, with mock-offense. “And to think, I’ve known you all these years and you never told me.”

  Tum Tum laughed, one big exhale. “Wasn’t like any of yer grand adventures. Truth was, we didn’t
even need to. Anyone’s of age to drink in Balonhearth, and the barrels ran free for me friend Brouben—son of the King he is.”

  “Son of the King—your friend? Why didn’t you tell Gargamane you were friends with the Prince?” Lucindur asked.

  “I was friends with the son of the King. Ain’t seen him in many moons. Besides, ye heard him clear as I. This outcast ain’t welcome here no more. Wouldn’t have done no good to drag poor Brouben into things now, would it?”

  Whitney unleashed an exaggerated sigh. “If by ‘do any good’ you mean us being inside and sipping on a pint instead of freezing off our baby-makers—ouch!”

  Sora punched Whitney in the arm.

  It was good to see the lass with some strength again. After that feat she accomplished on the pass, Tum Tum expected her to be out for days. But she bounced back, looking only a little worse for the wear.

  “We can still get in there,” Sora said while Whitney rubbed the wound to his delicate ego, stepping forward and clearly trying to put on an air of positivity.

  There was positive, and then there was delusional. Tum Tum could have—maybe—fit his arm through the gap between boards… and even then, only up to the elbow.

  “I remember it being bigger,” Tum Tum admitted.

  “That’s what she said,” Whitney whispered to Lucindur, who stood by his side.

  Whitney dodged another hit from Sora, then approached the boards, squeezing between Tum Tum and the rocks. He ran his hand over the aged wood.

  “Sora, can’t you just—woosh!” He motioned his hand like a flame.

  “You’ll have to forgive me,” she said, “but rescuing you from death kind of took a lot of out of me.”

  “I think that just makes us even, right?” Whitney smiled. “Fine. Then, how about Aquira. You can blow a hole right through there, can’t you, Girl?”

  Whitney turned, head swiveling side to side.

  “Where the yig did Aquira go?” Whitney asked.

  “Where’ve you been?” Sora asked. “Aquira went off hours ago to search for something to eat. The poor thing hasn’t had a decent meal in—what, a week?”