“There are other things.”
“Yeah, like what? More secrets you’ve been keeping? Imagine that. Well, c’mon, then. Out with it. I want to hear everything.”
“I’ve told you enough.”
With that cryptic statement, the man actually had the audacity to turn his back on me and walk away. I stared after him, temporarily frozen in shock, but he didn’t make it far before I recovered my wits. Picking up my skirts, I ran, catching up to and managing to scoot around him on the narrow path where I stopped, blocking his way.
“Wait a minute, you—” I punctuated each word with a finger jab to the chest. “I want the whole story. You can’t start this and not finish it!”
He regarded me with cool authority. “What you know will suffice for the present. Now you know to be on your guard.”
“Against who? You won’t even tell me who I should be on guard against!”
The frost in his eyes was frightening, his icy tones even more so. “Against all, save myself.”
I felt like I’d been sucker-punched. “What are you saying?” I breathed, thinking of Elisia, Rittean, Cole, Kan, Contrey, Garett, Kurban and others. Surely they were trustworthy, weren’t they?
“Time will tell, my lady. Now, stand aside, please.”
I moved woodenly to do as bidden, a feeling of numbness creeping into my bones as I watched the Simathe High-Chief walk away.
Disclosures
I returned to the party, but my heart was no longer in it. As if sensing my mood, most folks were content to leave me alone with my brooding thoughts for company. Over and over again I replayed the scene in the palace gardens, my thoughts chasing each other in circles like a puppy playing with its tail until a headache blossomed that refused to go away.
Was Ilgard right? Could one of the Simathe really be a traitor? How was that possible, without anyone else knowing? True, Ilgard had claimed there were other things, but what? He had to be blowing this out of proportion, because I couldn’t think of a thing. The harder I tried, the worse my headache became. Eventually, I could stand it no longer, and slipped away from the revelry for good.
Back in my room, I readied for bed alone, not bothering to send for Rosean to help. I sighed as I hung my beautiful gown inside the towering wardrobe, running a hand wistfully over its glossy fabric. The evening had begun on such a high note, only to end like this. I felt like Cinderella after she’d fled the ball, the magic having worn off at midnight, leaving her stuck with a pumpkin, rags, and mice. At least she’d had a glass slipper as a memento. I retained only good memories, partially soured by bad.
Pulling the pins from my hair, I dropped them listlessly onto my dressing table. The string of pearls followed next, and my carefully upswept hairdo tumbled down about my shoulders. Miserably, I brushed it out, wincing at each yank of the silver-backed brush on snags and tangles.
Way to end the evening. I should’ve brought a glass of wine with me to help me unwind.
But there was no wine, so I climbed into bed, eager to lay my aching head on a cool pillow and lose myself in sleep. Unfortunately, just I got comfy, a knock sounded at the door, disrupting my plans of forgetfulness and rest.
“Who is it?” I called, suddenly wary as the memory of Ilgard’s warnings flashed in my brain like the red and blue lights of a police car.
“Rosean, my lady.”
“I’m already in bed, Rosean. I don’t need anything else tonight. You can go.”
I started to slide back under the blankets, but she stopped me by saying, “My lady, I bear a message from the Simathe High-Chief.”
Ilgard?
This halted my attempts at getting into bed. Regretfully, I kicked away the inviting covers and pushed my weary body off the mattress. Getting to my feet, I went to open the door.
“Begging your pardon, my lady.” The servant girl bobbed a quick curtsey. “Lord Ilgard desired I convey his request for your immediate presence in the Great War Room.”
I dropped my forehead against the doorframe. “Did he say why?”
“He did not, my lady.”
Taking a deep breath, I exhaled a sigh. “Okay. Tell him I’ll be there in a minute. And Rosean?”
“My lady?”
“Have someone bring me a cup of tea, will you? Make sure it’s very hot and very strong.”
“As you wish, my lady.”
While the servant girl scurried away to do as bidden, I slipped back inside my room to get dressed.
“What is it now?” I asked shortly, upon entering the so-called Great War Room.
Lord Garett, Prince Kurban, Norband, Ilgard, Risean, Lord Ri, Lady Tey and another Cortain who, judging from her half-armor and sword, had been on duty somewhere, were all seated around one end of the ridiculously long central table running the length of the room.
This immense chamber was shaped like a rectangle, and its expansive walls were covered with an assortment of weapons and tapestries, most of them depicting blood-soaked war scenes. Many included two different women, both dressed in white. These, I assumed, were probably High-Chieftess Laytrii and the first Artan.
Two more Tearkin stood at ease behind their prince, and one now stepped forward to pull out a chair for me. After I’d settled myself next to the head Cortain with a quiet “Thank you,” he scooted in my chair in for me, then resumed his position beside his comrade.
As if waiting for me to be seated before answering my question, Lord Ri, stationed at the head of the table, now began to speak.
“My lady, distressing tidings have been brought this eve.”
I cut a glance across the table toward Ilgard and his Chief Captain. Surely they hadn’t spread their suspicions of a traitorous Simathe. Not on such flimsy evidence, which mostly seemed speculation to me. As expected, they both ignored me completely, and the newly proclaimed High Elder continued speaking.
“Reports have reached our ears concerning a planned attack upon the city of Shayle.”
“Shayle? Where’s that?”
“Shayle is a seaport, my lady. It lies at the head of the Largese river, precisely at the juxtaposition of river and sea,” Risean took it upon himself to explain.
“And I’m assuming it’s important?”
“Vitally. Whoever is master of Shayle is master of the Largese—Aerisia’s foremost river and vital to all watertrade. Watertrade, as you may know, supplies much food and goods to the city of Laytrii. Were The Evil to conquer Shayle, they could cut off all watertrade, as well as use the Largese to transport their own ships and men downriver.”
I scrubbed a hand down my face, so tired even my jaws ached. “Great. So what happened? Did this army appear out of nowhere?”
The High Elder and the Moonkind Tredsday exchanged troubled glances. Watching them, I noticed everyone present except myself and the unknown Cortain were still wearing evening clothes, suggesting they’d left the party and come directly to the Great War Room for a meeting.
Strange. Guess this message about the attack on Shayle really did just arrive.
Risean looked away from the High Elder after Lord Ri inclined his head, granting the elderly Guardian permission to speak.
“For some time past, ni nokestrin, there have been attacks upon various villages, estates, towns, and farms throughout Aerisia. While some have been repulsed, others, alas, were successful. The Evil has been gathering an army. With each raid, they disembowel the land in their quest for supplies, and as each day passes more of those with shadow in their hearts join their forces, binding themselves in service to the Dark Powers.”
Inside, my ire rose. If not for Ilgard’s admission in the palace gardens, this would have all come as a pretty nasty surprise. Instead, coupled with the information Ilgard had already leaked, it helped put the pieces of the puzzle together. Clearly, Aerisia was not as peaceful as I’d been thinking. Obviously, I’d been shielded from a lot.
“The Ranetron and Cortain have managed to put down a number of these raids and quell some of the rebel
lion,” Risean was saying. “However,” he grimaced, spreading his hands as if in apology. “They cannot be in all places at once.”
“I see,” I said calmly, although the sick sensation of dread was returning with force.
The Evil…gathering an army. For some time now. Is this what I’ve felt coming, ever since those days at Treygon? The tension on the air, the something that no one would talk about?
“And now they’re strong enough to attack Shayle, a major city?”
“That is what we fear. This is not the first attack of the kind, but it is unquestionably vital to their cause if they wish to campaign against Aerisia.”
My stomach was churning. It was hard to put my thoughts in order and process all this.
“So how did you find out about the attack on Shayle?”
“A detachment of Ranetron encountered the main body of this army. They fought bravely but…”
“But?” I prompted gently, when it became apparent Risean was reluctant to carry on.
“They died bravely, as well.”
This from Garett, who offered the words with sorrow, yet dignity. His face was guarded, but a deep sadness darkened his eyes. I knew his men’s deaths weighed heavily upon their High-Chief.
“I’m so sorry, Lord Garett,” I said gently. “Your men will be honored. I promise you their sacrifice won’t be forgotten.”
“I thank you,” he said, and the subject was dropped as Risean now picked up the tale.
“From this battle, a handful of Ranetron survived,” he said. “One of them was briefly taken prisoner by The Evil, before his remaining comrades managed to free him. While in camp, he heard many whispers of Shayle. From this, we have surmised their intent.”
“Unless that was a diversionary tactic,” I pointed out.
“Of course, we have considered this. Scouts have already been dispatched to locate the army, follow it, and report on its whereabouts.”
“Good idea. So did the Ranetron that survived have any other news?”
“There is more,” the new High Elder responded solemnly. “And it is the most appalling news of all. So dreadful is it, that my tongue falters to speak it aloud.”
“That bad? What could be worse than The Evil plundering villages, attacking cities, raiding the countryside, and gathering an army to march on Shayle?”
“It is worse, because word was brought that this army does not consist merely of drocnords and men. Cistweigh and Warkin also ride under the black banner.”
“Cistweigh? I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of them.”
For some reason, every eye in the room suddenly turned to Ilgard.
Weird. Why do they want him to explain?
The Simathe lord leaned forward, placing folded hands on the tabletop as his dark gaze fastened on me.
“You have met the Cistweigh, my lady, though you knew it not at the time.”
“I have?”
“Aye, lass.” His face was grim. “Jonase.”
I felt myself shrink at the mere mention of his name. “Jonase was a—a Cistweigh? No one ever told me that before. Who, or what, exactly is a Cistweigh?”
Terse, uncomfortable silence met the question. I didn’t know it, but my fingers were clutching the table so hard my knuckles had turned white. Memories of Jonase always put me on edge, but to know there were more of him, or rather, more like him…I could hardly stomach the idea.
It was Risean who took up the challenge.
“The Cistweigh,” he began carefully, compassion in his eyes, “are great ones who dedicated themselves long ago to the service of the Dark Powers. Because of mighty deeds done during their lifetime, their spirits were permitted to live on after death.”
“You mean they’re like…like ghosts?” I stammered, my tongue thick and unresponsive.
“Nay, sweeting. A ghost is a spirit returned from the dead—a shadow of its former self. The Cistweigh differ in that, after their own bodies perish, their spirits inhabit the form of another.”
My throat closed off. “They take another person’s body?”
“Not a living one, child. They take the body of one already deceased.”
I stared at him in horror. “But—but why do that instead of reviving their own bodies?”
He shrugged gently. “I suppose it is a price they must pay. To gain immortality, they must surrender their own forms, taking that of another who has already perished.”
“So you’re saying they’re basically a living corpse?”
That would explain the cold that had always heralded Jonase’s presence—the wintery chill of death. It would also account for the other signals: the strong odors of decay, of rotting flesh.
“And you mean to tell me,” I brushed a wisp of hair nervously behind my ear. “I was almost—almost raped by one of them?”
At those horrified words, I saw the Simathe flinch as if struck by an unseen blow. Squeezing my eyelids tightly closed, I fought for control, determined I would not break down in front of these people. The attack, after all, had been a long time ago, and it had been foiled. I didn’t have to let this break me.
I will not let this break me.
Inhaling a shuddering breath, I reopened my eyes to find the Simathe watching me closely. Better than anyone, he understood what I’d gone through, for, in a very real sense, he’d experienced it, too. He knew…Ilgard knew, and he would have done anything to have spared me from the ordeal, despite the fact that the whole thing had been largely my fault. At any rate, it was now over and done with. Jonase was dead.
Or was he?
Something in my brain clicked as I summoned up the old Moonkind’s phrase, To gain immortality.
Immortality.
Immortals.
Were the Cistweigh immortals like the Simathe? Impossible! With my own eyes I’d seen Jonase’s dead body. Surely he was dead. He had to be.
I made myself ask anyway.
“Are…are the Cistweigh really immortal? I mean, they can be killed, can’t they?”
“It is written in the lorlin,” Risean rushed to clarify, “and told by the Spinners, that after their first death—the death of their own body—the Cistweigh are granted three lives-which-are-not-lives by the Dark Powers.”
“Three lives? And which one was Jonase living at the time?”
“We cannot be certain, child.”
“Then it’s possible I might…see him again?” I groaned.
Risean frowned sympathetically. “It is not impossible.”
“No,” I whimpered, dropping my face into my hands. “No, no, no.”
Again I was fighting tears, fighting for control. From her position next to me, Lady Tey made bold to place a hand on my shoulder.
“Never you fear, my lady. You are the Artan, and he cannot harm you now. Your power is stronger than any he might possess.”
To my surprise, her words brought swift encouragement. Reassured, I scrubbed angrily at my tears. “You’re right, Tey,” I agreed. “I am the Artan, and I can defend myself. If Jonase and I ever do meet again, he’ll be the one to regret it. Not me.”
She smiled fiercely in return. “Aye, just so.”
Buoyed by the Cortain’s consolation, displaying more composure than I actually felt, I turned once more to Risean.
“Jonase didn’t just attack me that one time in the Unpassed Mountains. There was also the mind attack, I believed you called it, my first night in Aerisia.”
“True,” he acknowledged. “Because the bodies they occupy are not strictly theirs, the Cistweigh’s spirits can sometimes depart their forms to plague the minds of others.”
“But I defeated him then, after a fashion,” I went on. “So I must have used magic without knowing it, because he left all of a sudden when I ordered him to. What happens to people the Cistweigh mind attack who can’t fight back?”
Risean lowered his eyes. “There is no record of any surviving the ordeal. In the aftermath they were discovered dead, their heads split open like melons, th
eir brains scattered about the floor.”
A shudder coursed through my body at his graphic language, but I forced myself to concentrate. To think.
An army. An army of The Evil. Attacking, pillaging, plundering. Killing, butchering, looting. Growing. For how long? How long has this been going on? How long has it been bad? Surely longer than the few months that I’ve been here.
“Tell me,” I said, voicing my musings aloud, “how long has all this—these attacks by The Evil—been going on?”
The new High Elder, Lord Ri, frowned as if trying to fathom the rapid switch of topics. “Warring with The Evil and evil ones has always been a constant on some level, my lady. That is why the services of the Ranetron, Cortain, and Simathe are so valued.”
“Yes, I realize that. But you said something like the raids have been stepping up, growing worse. And now an army has materialized.”
“They have, without doubt, worsened since your arrival, child,” Master Risean replied. “The Dark Powers, knowing you had come to resist them, have hurried their pace to resist you. However, this latest deterioration is merely an outcome of what has been occurring for more than a score of years. Since that time, greater numbers of warriors have been required to manage the peace you see us enjoy. Yet now I fear even this is not enough. War is coming.”
“Okay, wait, hold on, this is a lot to process,” I begged. “A score is twenty years, isn’t it? I’m in my early twenties, which must mean things have been slowly but surely growing worse since around the time I was born. Which means the Dark Powers must’ve had some idea back then that the time of the Artan was approaching.”
The words tumbled out faster as pieces of the puzzle fell into place.
“They have to force the issue now. They’ve attempted several times to kill me, and failed. Once they tried rape to break the prophecy. If Jonase had succeeded, it would have been over, because that’s what that part of the prophecy means, doesn’t it? She will be untouched by man?
Now that the Dark Powers have failed with both rape and the Doinum, they’re going to have to force things to come to a head. Which, as you said, means a war we have to fight. A battle we have to win.”
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