Enemy Known

by Butler, J. M.

  "You were never truly betrothed to begin with," Vorec said. "And yes, though apparently this must now apply to your brother as well. Neither of you will be allowed to handle the Machat weapon, whatever it is, after this. It is clear that you will not be able to resist that temptation. You will try to face Naatos yourself, and you will die. Others will die along with you, and there will be no purpose served."

  Shon stared back, furious at this calloused disregard. He drew his hand over his mouth slowly as if to push back the words that rose within him. "You know, all this time I thought we were better than this. Defending the weak and the innocent. Protecting the defenseless. Apparently that is all a pretense if the monster we're up against is too strong to easily defeat."

  "Save your self-righteousness," Vorec said. "Amelia is not nearly so innocent as she pretends. She chose to go back to them. It is incidental that lives were saved. If she had wished to be of service, she would have used her position before now. But her heart is already with them. The blood of our people is on her hands. She manipulated you two like puppets, and she got into that one's head and nearly killed him. She is not the innocent damsel you think her to be."

  "It's true," Saldon said. "Your affection for this woman has obscured your judgment. She is not so blameless as you wish."

  Kepsalon chuckled. He clasped his hands and stared at Vorec and Saldon. "No, you say that to soothe your conscience. If you all intend to damn the woman, damn her for what she is. A Neyeb girl whose vicious mother decided she would curse her and make her the start of a new race, whom a power hungry Vawtrian could not resist. A young Neyeb who is floundering in her own abilities because the only ones who can give her any guidance are a withered Machat and a lustful Vawtrian. A Neyeb woman who will sympathize with those whom she knows not because she is a traitor, but because she can see the hearts of her enemies just as the hearts of her allies and feel their pain as her own. You Libyshans want so much to blame her. To pretend that these things could only happen to one who deserved them. That desire itches beneath your skin though you may try to hide its strength. It makes it easier to hide from the fact that cruelty works against even those who are gentle and kind. Disaster does not overtake only the deserving. She is a gazelle sent to a lion, and you would blame her for being devoured.

  "No…" Kepsalon sighed and leaned back in his chair. "No, tell it as it is. One should always be honest about one's victims. I am responsible for many deaths because of my errors and decisions. Many years ago I made a judgment call and took a risk on what I thought was legitimate foresight, and I cost one to whom I owed practically everything the lives of his wife and children. I could assuage my conscience by focusing on what he has become and perhaps finding a way to blame them. Perhaps they could have fought a little harder to stay alive. Perhaps they could have practiced better safety. But that is irrelevant. My words banished their only hope of rescue. My words as good as executed them, and though I am forever haunted by that truth, I will not dishonor them by pretending I did not err. Likewise, I condemned Shon to a love that will never be satisfied. My choice may perhaps cost him his life because the connection from the bakai provided Amelia with the best chance of resisting the snare her mother and people placed her in. Sacrificing his heart for her mind and will appeared to be the best choice, but I cannot pretend even for a moment that Shon deserved this. He is not weak-minded nor is he a fool who deserves to have the love of his life stolen from his arms. But it has happened. He would sacrifice all for her, and she for him. It is a tragedy."

  Kepsalon jabbed his finger into the table, mimicking Vorec from moments before. "If you must sacrifice people, then sacrifice them as they are. Do not create narratives to justify their deaths or their suffering. If what you are doing will eat out your soul, then either do not do it or accept that you will be devoured."

  The other Machat looked up from the piece of parchment. "Her end is not fixed, Shon," he said, his voice soft. He looked as if he were peering in from another reality. "The Awdawms mistake the Vawtrians' acceptance of Amelia as a sign of betrayal. But the battle rages on within her. Indeed, she may yet live. So long as you do not die in her defense, she will escape the trap set out for her."

  "But she will be with Naatos," Shon said. His heart was both comforted and troubled. He steadied himself, not wanting to weep or even let his voice crack.

  "She is his wife. The slim opportunity for you both to be together has nearly passed. Your relationship with her will never be so long as you do not fight for her. But if you die in that fight, as you almost surely will, you sentence her to death as well. Death and a far greater heartbreak than even your loss." The Machat folded his hands. "I agree with Kepsalon. These two should not be blamed. The loss of their love should be afforded the same respect as the loss of any. Let them be honored, not condemned or belittled. However, these two sons of Linufe must not be permitted to battle Naatos and his brothers. Do not let them near the weapons. The only other thing I will say on this matter is that whoever would disparage the innocent to salve his own conscience will be cursed." He turned his dull grey eyes on Shon. "And as for you, young warrior, heed my words or you will bring a far greater curse upon yourself." With that, the Machat rose from his chair, thrust the parchment into Shon's hands, and left.

  35

  A Gentle Moment

  Amelia watched WroOth weeping over Mara's broken body again and again. The images of the children's bodies torn and mutilated filled her mind. She couldn't look away, and she couldn't stop the agony. Each horrifying moment seared itself into her. The desperation, the crushing, the sorrow. Even WroOth's physical pain reached her. It increased, mounting within her heart and mind until it was all she could see whether she closed her eyes or opened them.

  Her heart raced; blood thundered in her ears. The noise, the scenes, the wounds, it seared into her. It choked her, crushing and growing with each breath. It paralyzed her, expanding, choking, growing until—

  Gasping, Amelia tried to sit up. Her body didn't respond. But there was another stone ceiling. A different one. She moaned. Her cheeks were wet from tears, and her eyes burned.

  "Shhh. Don't sit up."

  The disorientation continued. Amelia couldn't place the voice. It was familiar. Not exactly soothing. The edges of her vision wobbled. She closed her eyes. The heaviness welled up within her once more, strangling her.

  "Just rest. It will pass." Fingers caressed her cheek and wiped away the tears.

  No, it won't. She was going to carry this forever. Amelia bit her tongue, forcing herself to swallow. But more tears and grief replaced the knot. She lay there in silence, gradually becoming more aware of her surroundings even though her eyes remained shut. She rested on something soft, and whoever was with her sat beside her. She was fairly certain it was a man. His warmth seeped into her. From time to time, she heard the scratch of a quill on parchment and the clink of an ink pot. She put her hand to her forehead and started to sit up.

  "Not yet." A hand pressed her back. "Your color isn't back yet."

  "Mara's gone," Amelia whispered. Her voice broke. Tears filled her eyes.

  "Yes. She is." The hand lingered along the side of her face. "Focus on breathing."

  Other names pushed into Amelia's mind. Questions she needed to ask. "WroOth. Where is he?"

  "Flying. He clears his mind through flight and fall. He'll be back before night comes. Now be still."

  Amelia pressed her head back against the soft material. Flying and falling sounded glorious. Just letting go of everything and plummeting. Slicing through the air, letting it whip about her face and tearing her hair free like a thousand tiny fingers. Imagining falling did make the pain dull. "I wouldn't pull up," she said softly.

  "That is why you're not allowed to fly."

  The voice was very familiar. She knew she should know him. She cracked her eyes open, but she couldn't focus. The haze continued to surround her. "You're not WroOth."

  "No. Be still."

  Amelia
pushed the hand away and sat up. Dizziness swept over her. She kept her hands before her, drawing in deep breaths, her head bowed. "I'm done resting." She cupped her palms before her face, trying to orient herself. A horrible loneliness opened within her. She didn't want to be alone. Whatever she was doing here, whatever this was about, she didn't want to feel that awful aching any more.

  Papers rustled. Glass clinked. Arms encircled her and drew her close. "Stop."

  Amelia managed to focus. Naatos.

  A mixture of emotions surged through her. Anger and fear as well as relief and hope. She didn't even know what to say, only knowing it was him and she didn't want to be alone. She remembered him saving WroOth. Holding little Leslo. Telling Mara she couldn't die.

  Naatos pressed her head to his chest. He stroked her hair. "It's going to be a bit before you can get up again. WroOth's mind was more fragmented than I thought. Not that he can be blamed. You wound up with more than you should have, but there's no lasting harm."

  No lasting harm? Amelia closed her eyes. Except for what she could never forget. Except that nothing made sense any more.

  Mara and the children hadn't deserved to die. WroOth certainly hadn't deserved to witness that. None of them did. The hollowness she felt from WroOth encompassed her.

  Naatos picked up the stack of documents he had been working on and continued to read. He jotted something on the page with the pheasant quill and then let his arm drop back around her.

  "Did you cry for them?" Amelia asked.

  "I wept when I knew nothing else could be done. The horrors that those children faced." Naatos's voice tightened. "It's a difficult thing to kill even a Vawtrian child. Little Ephalon probably died the fastest. Sadyr was the strongest. She likely suffered the most. An Awdawm would have died five or six times from the wounds we found, but she hung on as long as she could. I suspect she might have nearly broken free, but she wouldn't have gone for help. She'd have tried to save them herself."

  Amelia's eyes welled with tears. "Who did it?"

  "We still don't know. But we will find them." Naatos spoke with surprising calm. He brushed the hair back from her face. "And when we do…"

  His voice trailed off, but Amelia didn't need him to finish the statement. She stared down at her palms, focusing intently on the elmis. "How long was I unconscious?"

  "A few hours. Like I said, I didn't realize how unstable WroOth's mind was or how fiercely you would respond. The best solution is to remember what you saw or think of pleasant thoughts. Don't bring in other matters or other conflicts. You're still trying to understand what you experienced."

  The weariness clung to Amelia. Her mind was full. She didn't resist Naatos or fight him. He continued to work on his documents, making notes, reading, and setting the pages aside. Occasionally he set a sheet on her leg and then picked it up later. Other times he stroked her arm or her hair as he read.

  Amelia slipped in and out of consciousness, nightmarish images haunting her when she slept and confusion settling in when she woke. She had no idea what time it was. Each time she woke, she half-expected Naatos to be gone. But he wasn't. He seemed remarkably relaxed. What was he even working on? Amelia tried to look at the pages, but the words had no meaning. All she could tell was that Naatos's handwriting was harshly angular with long swooping strokes.

  Her head ached a little, but the throbbing in her heart was far worse. "You knew this would happen, didn't you," Amelia mumbled. She didn't even try to lift her head.

  "What?"

  Amelia tried to think of the words. She just saw the images playing again. Not the kind or the good ones. Always Mara's final moments. "It's all I can see." She tried to find some other memory to draw in, but everything connected back to those moments.

  "That won't happen to our children," Naatos said.

  "You don't know that." Amelia closed her eyes. "Our children could die just as easily. They won't even be Vawtrian."

  "They may have Vawtrian traits. In truth, we do not know. There has been no blood child in my lifetime. To my knowledge it has never actually been done in more than legend, though there are rumors. But regardless, I will protect them. For them, for you, I am willing to give up my life. WroOth and AaQar will do the same."

  Amelia nodded, not even considering that he spoke of their children and she accepted them as if they were fact. For once, he seemed to understand what she needed. That she did not need silence, she needed words.

  He spoke to her of other things, sometimes of what it was like to be an uncle and how he had doted on his nieces and nephews. Nydas, in particular, had looked up to him, wanting to be just like him when he grew up and hoping that one day he too might be an Almonyek. "Any Vawtrian may become an Almonyek if he works hard enough at it. Nydas might have reached that point."

  "I thought you were born Almonyek."

  "No one is born an Almonyek, viskaro. To be an Almonyek is to achieve mastery of all the forms beyond the starting mastery. I was born a Seyal Vawtrian. All earth-based creatures were my strength. But it was not enough for me."

  Amelia laughed faintly, her eyes still closed. "Has anything ever been enough for you?"

  "You're making an assumption."

  Amelia sighed. "Not much of one."

  She focused on the sensation of him. The way his hand cupped her arm. The feel of his jaw against her ear. The constant rhythm of his heart. Slowly the more pleasant images replaced the tragic, and his presence stabilized her. "I think you are a man who will always strive. It's what your nature demands. You will never be content."

  "And why would you say that?"

  "You went from being a wanderer to Para to trying to rule all of creation. If your ambition could be satisfied, it would have found its satisfaction somewhere in between. I doubt you'd know what to do with yourself if you succeeded. For you, it's in the pursuit, not in the having. If it weren't for the locking, you'd tire of me, I imagine."

  "I doubt it." Naatos kissed her forehead. She could hear the smile in his voice. "But at least the locking can comfort you."

  Amelia shifted to her side, her head still resting on his chest. "Do any of the other races have anything like the locking?"

  "No. It's unique to the Vawtrians."

  "Why?"

  "Oh, there are many stories about that. Some say that Elonumato created the locking to prevent Vawtrians from becoming the only race. There are legends that say one Vawtrian overlord had more than nine hundred husbands and many lovers. But no one knows for certain whether she existed or not. It's a story more popular among the Awdawms than Vawtrians."

  "Do you believe it?"

  "It may be true, but I prefer the story of Escolt and Sharish." Naatos shifted his position and set the paper aside. He continued to speak, his mouth near her ear. "It was during the First Age of the Paras, and Escolt was a Seyal Vawtrian. He met a Bealorn girl who captured his heart as easily as she caught the will of eagles and lions."

  Amelia twisted her head back to look at him. "Do Vawtrians ever marry their own kind?"

  "Vawtrian women are far less common than Vawtrian men. Though sons carry the race of the Vawtrians, daughters are prized. But even if Vawtrian women were as common as men, Escolt would have chosen Sharish. And they were happier than any who had loved before them. Escolt soon became the leader of his cadre, and in time, he became an overlord of many cadres. He was beloved by all peoples, but what was greater still was the love all held for Sharish, most beautiful and kindest of women.

  "Well, almost all…you see, there was another who desired Escolt. Terva. The legends disagree on her race. Some say she was another Bealorn. Others a Shivennan. But her race matters little. She believed that Escolt's love for Sharish rose solely from her beauty. And one day when Sharish went down to the river to groom the lions' manes as was her custom, Terva seized her and dragged her to a cave far in the wilderness. She only had hours before Escolt would find them, but Sharish could not heal herself and her flesh was fragile beneath the blades and stones.
Terva mutilated her, taking her lips and her nose, nocking her ears, and shaving her head. She seared profane designs and curses into Sharish's skin. When Escolt found her, he recognized her only by her voice.

  "Now, Terva believed that when Escolt found Sharish, he would abandon her. Sharish no longer looked human. But Escolt's love ran deeper than that. He told her he loved her then and would forever love her. But Sharish refused to believe him. She knew how much he loved beautiful things, for Vawtrians at that time were as all sentients. And so she tormented herself and hid herself away, refusing to see anyone except her physicians. And sometimes not even them. The fact that she survived was incredible, but Terva's torment worked its evil in Sharish's constant pain and suffering.

  "Escolt did all that he could, but she begged him to abandon her. She even threatened to kill herself if he did not. He refused, convinced he could find some way to save her. One day, he found a messenger of Elonumato. He fell before him and made this request, 'Let me forever be satisfied and entranced by the one my heart now loves. And may she forever trust in my love for her.'

  "Now this was a grand request. Elonumato had created choices as central to every aspect of life, and the choice to love and cherish a spouse and to continue to make that choice day by day was one considered precious. And Elonumato at first said that Sharish would have to place her faith in Escolt's word just as Escolt would have to choose each day to love her. But Sharish's distress only increased when she heard this. She believed that she was burdening Escolt, and her agony dimmed her insight. He would be better with a woman not so crippled as she. He would be happier with a wife whose body was not so broken. And it was in small part true. For Escolt did not think her beautiful. But he did love her.