Souls of Aredyrah 1 - The Fire and the Light (29 page)

“I don’t like this. Something’s not right,”
Jensa said.

“Brina needs us, sister, and she’s always
done for us. What would you have us do, ignore her plea for help?”
Torin walked toward her and placed an arm around her shoulder.
“Kerrik will be fine. You’ll see.”

* * * *

“No, Dayn, wait!” Reiv shouted from the
atrium. But it was too late. Dayn had already thrown open the
door.

Dayn froze in the portal and felt the color
drain from his face. Before him stood Crymm, flanked by several
Tearian Guards, swords drawn. Dayn grabbed the door in a desperate
attempt to shove it closed, but he quickly found himself knocked to
the ground. Crymm took a menacing step toward him and seized hold
of his tunic, yanking his head from the floor.

“Where is the princeling?” Crymm
demanded.

“I don’t know!” Dayn cried, grabbing Crymm’s
wrist.

Crymm slapped him across the mouth. “Do not
lie to me!”

Dayn felt warm blood pool on his lower lip.
His eyes darted around for a sign of rescue.

“Crymm!” Reiv shouted as he rounded the drape
and ran into the room. “Let him be!”

Crymm threw Dayn to the ground and stepped
over him, then marched, sword in hand, toward Reiv.

Reiv stopped, but stood fast.

“So I have you at last, Jecta,” Crymm said,
grinning.

Dayn’s eyes shot to Reiv’s, searching for the
reaction that would surely come from his being called Jecta. But
Reiv’s expression indicated no acknowledgment of it.

“Why Crymm, whatever do you mean?” Reiv
asked. He folded his arms across his chest.

“You know full well what I mean. You are
harboring Jecta thieves, are you not?” Crymm tightened his grip on
the sword.

“They are not thieves,” Reiv said.

“Oh, but you are,” Crymm replied. “I saw you
stealing from the dormitories this very morning. Do not deny it. I
watched you.”

“I do not know what you think you saw, but I
stole nothing.”

Crymm slitted his eyes. “Oh really? I seem to
recall your guests were dressed in some rather odd attire last
night.”

“What of it?”

“Do you normally keep women’s clothing in
your apartment?” Crymm motioned to Alicine who was now being shoved
into the room by another guard. “I’m sure Labhras, as well as the
Commander, will have some choice words for you and your thief
friends.” Crymm strutted over to Alicine and fingered a long strand
of hair that cascaded across her shoulder. He glanced at Reiv, no
doubt expecting a reaction. Alicine jerked her head away, while
Dayn scrambled to his feet and rushed toward her.

Reiv threw out an arm to block his cousin’s
path. “I will handle this,” he said. He took a step toward Crymm.
“Take your hands off of her, or I will be sharing a few choice
words with Labhras about you.”

Crymm smirked and released Alicine’s hair,
then wiped his hand down his chest. He strolled around the room,
lifting an item here and there, and examined the meager contents
with a critical expression. “Not exactly a palace, is it?”

“What is your point, Crymm?”

“My, but your arrogance does land you in the
worst sort of places. Well, compared to the jail cell you will soon
be visiting, this will seem like a palace.”

“And just why do you think I will be visiting
a jail cell?” Reiv asked coolly.

“Stealing, for one thing,” Crymm said, eyeing
Alicine’s sarong.

“I stole nothing. It was a purchase, nothing
more.”

Reaching into a small pocket, Crymm pulled
out a coin and flipped it into the air, then caught it in his hand.
“Is that so?”

“Your pay for the month, Crymm?”

Crymm’s face grew red. Snapping his fingers,
he motioned one of the guards toward him. The guard stepped forward
with a bag clutched in his fist. He handed it to Crymm who shook it
in the air, jingling its contents. “It seems you dropped something
in your mad dash from the dormitories, princeling.” He opened the
bag and held it up. Turning his hand over slowly, he poured out its
contents. Beaded necklaces, bronze bracelets, and a decorative belt
of shells, cascaded down and danced across the floor.

Reiv’s jaw went slack. “You know full well I
did not take those things!”

“Oh, but I saw you drop them. Of course that
is what I will tell the Commander.”

“Why should he believe your lies?”

“Why should he believe yours? We will let him
be the judge of who is lying and who is not.” Crymm then turned to
the guards. “Take them,” he ordered. And with that he turned on his
heels and strode out the door.

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Chapter 18: The Other Side of the Bars

B
rina pushed her way
against the chattering flow of Jecta and kept her eyes on the dirt
road ahead. The cloak she had borrowed concealed her hair and upper
class attire, but her face was still at risk for recognition. Over
the years she had made the acquaintance of many of the Jecta
bustling past, but she dared not make eye contact with any of them
now.

The crowd began to thin and Brina found her
advancement to Pobu less trying. She quickened her pace, rehearsing
in her mind what needed to be said to the Spirit Keeper. Nannaven
would not be expecting her, and Brina prayed the old woman would be
home, not tending to a sick child or some other task that befell
her status in the community. There was no time to search for her,
and little time to explain.

Pobu was just ahead, nestled in the valley at
the end of the dusty road. It was nothing like the great metropolis
she had left behind. While the pastel outline of Tearia’s buildings
was impressive, Pobu’s was dull by comparison. Its buildings were
low and tightly packed, the mud-brick walls of them blending into
the dirt as if they had simply risen from it. There were no gates,
no guards, no banners, nothing to indicate pride in its identity or
any desire to maintain power and security for its residents. It was
dusty and crowded and filthy compared to Tearia, for the Jecta had
long since given up hope of improving their lot in life.

The rutty road stretched into the city until
it was assimilated into a huge courtyard, leaving Brina to select
any one of the narrow lanes that disappeared between the sameness
of the buildings. Normally she would have been met by the noises
and smells of vendors selling their wares: dried fruits scavenged
from Tearian orchards, flatbreads and sweet breads, unknown meats
hanging from hooks, blankets and trinkets and crafts. But today the
courtyard was unusually empty, except for the beggars and those too
old or sick to make their way to Market. Brina scurried past them
without her usual offering of assistance. Her errand would allow
her no time for charity.

She made her way down several narrow, winding
streets before reaching the weatherworn door of the Sprit Keeper’s
house. She knocked, then pushed open the creaky door and peered
inside. “Nannaven?” she said. She stepped through the threshold and
glanced around. The room was dark and cool and smelled of sweet
herbs and onions. The Spirit Keeper always had something cooking in
the great black pot that hung in her hearth.

“Brina? Is that you?” The elderly voice from
across the room sounded soft and calm and did not seem terribly
surprised, although it should have. Nannaven was sitting on the
floor in front of the hearth, reweaving the grasses of a well-worn
mat. She ushered Brina over with a wave of her hand. “Sit child,”
the old woman said. “Tell me.”

Brina gathered her wits and sat as
instructed, then stared into the ancient face of the Spirit Keeper.
The crinkles around the woman’s eyes deepened with her smile.

Brina worked her mind to find the words to
explain, but she suddenly felt afraid. It surprised her, for she
had never before feared the wise old woman seated across from her.
But she had lied to the Spirit Keeper and now realized she had to
face her for it.

“Nannaven,” Brina said, “I have come to beg
your help. There is a boy and a girl I need you to shelter.”

Nannaven tilted her head and eyed Brina
curiously as she continued to work the reeds of the mat. “What is
so unusual about that, my dear? You’ve spirited many an unwanted
Tearian child my way over the years.”

“But these are not Tearian children.”

The old woman paused. “Your face is flushed.
Here, let me get you some refreshment.” She moved to raise herself
up, but Brina motioned her to stay.

“There is no time for the luxury of drinks,”
Brina said, the pace of her words quickening. “Will you shelter
them?”

Nannaven furrowed her brow. “Who are these
children?”

“There is a boy, sixteen years old, and a
girl, younger. They are at Reiv’s and must be smuggled out.”

“Reiv’s? But how did—”

“It is a long story, but I will say this
much, I would give my life for them.”

“You did not answer my question, Brina. Who
are they?”

Brina’s gaze moved from the Spirit Keeper’s
questioning face to the fire dancing in the hearth. “The boy is my
son,” she said.

“I see,” the Spirit Keeper replied.

Brina’s eyes shot to hers. The tone in the
woman’s voice had not contained the shock or confusion she had
anticipated. It had, in fact, sounded almost as if the Spirit
Keeper expected it.

“Nannaven,” Brina said, “I lied when I told
you my son was dead. That night sixteen years ago when I took him
to do what was expected of me, I found I could not do it. I went to
the mountains instead. I took him to be saved, but I sinned in
doing so, this I know. I defied the laws of my people and of my
gods, but I did not care—not then, not now. I took my baby to the
sacred mountains, searching for the gods, but in my ignorance I
left him with a man.”

“A man?” Nannaven said. She set the mat
aside.

“I thought he was a god, but he was a man.
All this time my child has been with strangers, raised in an
unknown place, a forbidden place. Now he has returned to me, but
his life is in great danger. Please, Nannaven, will you take
him?”

“Of course I’ll take him. Did you think I
would not?”

“He has been falsely accused of thievery, but
I have no time to explain. I must get back to Reiv’s.”

A sudden shadow darkened the doorway and the
jingle of shells mixed with the sound of labored breathing entered
the room.

“Brina, Spirit Keeper,” Torin said, bowing
hurriedly. “You must come back, Brina. Guards have taken them!”

Brina gasped and rose quickly from the floor.
“Guards have taken them? Oh gods, oh gods.” She paced back and
forth, wringing her hands. “What am I going to do? What am I going
to do?”

“Calm yourself!” Nannaven said, rising also.
“Torin, what do you know?”

“Kerrik was watching them. The guards came
and took them—Reiv, the boy, and the girl.”

“Were they all right? Were they hurt in any
way?
Were
they?” Brina demanded.

“I don’t know,” Torin said, but his
expression said otherwise.

“I must speak with Mahon.” Brina brushed past
him and headed for the door.

“Stop this instant, Brina,” Nannaven ordered.
“You’re not thinking clearly. You’re letting your emotions dictate
your actions. Exercise some common sense, my girl. You mustn’t
reveal too much too soon. What would you say to Mahon?”

“I do not know, but he is the boy’s—” She
glanced at Torin, then rephrased her statement. “He is the
Commander of the Guard and would have some say as to their
treatment. Perhaps I could persuade him.”

“To do what? Let them go? Why should he?”
Nannaven asked. “No, you mustn’t reveal any of what you have told
me, Brina. Not to anyone, especially to your husband. Talk to Mahon
if you must, but no matter what he sees or suspects or thinks he
knows, he mustn’t know the truth. Not yet. Do what you can, but
watch your words.”

Brina nodded.

“You must get them here to me, all three of
them.”

“Reiv would never.”

“He’ll come,” Nannaven said. “I do not think
he’ll have a choice.”

****

Reiv threw a scowl in Crymm’s direction,
sending an extrasensory dagger into the guard’s arrogant back. The
man was strutting up ahead, his golden head held high, his sword of
power clutched in his hand. From the cocky bounce in his step, he
had a prized catch indeed.

A throng of spectators lined the streets,
making way for the small parade of guards and prisoners walking
down the middle of it. Anxious voices traded theories about the two
Jecta, particularly the pale-haired boy. His features were
whispered to look like that of the Lord Prince. But it was the
red-haired prince-turned-Jecta that held most of their
attentions.

Reiv twisted his wrists to ease the pain of
the straps that bound them at his back, struggling to keep his eyes
ahead of him rather than at the crowd gathered on either side of
him. But that could not prevent him from feeling the sting of their
judgmental eyes, nor hear the cruel assault of their laughter. He
swallowed back the nausea that had edged up his throat and worked
to keep a brave mask in place, but even a mask wouldn’t disguise
his humiliation if he vomited it onto his feet.

Crymm glanced back at Reiv, who refused to
meet his eye, then stormed toward him and thrust a boot in his
path. Reiv tumbled into the dirt while Crymm displayed an
expression of exaggerated surprise. The crowd reacted with cheers
and laughter, though a smattering of boos and hisses could also be
heard.

Crymm grinned and raised his arms as if he
were a performer on a stage. He placed his hands on his hips and
leaned toward Reiv. “Are you tired, princeling? Here, let me help
you.” He grabbed Reiv by the hair and forced him up, eyeing the
audience with a cruel gleam.

“Show some respect to our prince,” an angry
voice shouted from the crowd.