Souls of Aredyrah 1 - The Fire and the Light (31 page)

Reiv motioned off-handedly. “A coincidence,
nothing more.”

“I don’t buy that,” Dayn said. “Who is this
Whyn and how do you know him?”

Reiv slumped against the wall and cradled his
arm. “Can we discuss it another time?”

“No!” Dayn and Alicine said.

Reiv looked at them wearily. “Very well. If
you must know, he was my brother. Satisfied? Now, leave me be. I
cannot think anymore.” He curled up on the straw, leaving Dayn and
Alicine to contemplate his words in silence.

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Chapter 19: The Hearing

B
rina rushed into her
husband’s office like a woman possessed. “What have you done with
Reiv!” she shouted.

Mahon lifted his gaze from the parchment on
his desk to the face of his exasperated wife. “What does one
normally do with a thief?” he said calmly.

Brina gripped the edge of the desk and leaned
in toward him. “That is a lie and you know it. Reiv is no
thief!”

Mahon returned his attention to the
parchment, dismissing her with a look of indifference.

“Mahon!” Brina said, marching around the
desk. “Do not disregard me. This is serious.”

Mahon drew a breath of forced tolerance and
rolled the parchment into a scroll, then set it aside. “You are
correct, wife. It is serious.” He stood and stepped to a table
located against the wall behind the desk and picked up a bag, then
turned and poured the contents of it upon his desk. “This is
evidence of Reiv’s thievery. Would you deny it now?”

Brina’s eyes widened as Jecta jewelry and
trinkets danced across the marble desktop. “What do you mean
‘evidence’? Reiv did not take those things. I know it for a
fact.”

“Oh, do you now? How is it that you know it?”
Mahon took a step toward her and stared into her face, searching
for evidence of a lie, or perhaps the truth for once.

She turned away. “I just know.”

“Well, it does not matter what you think you
know,” he said. “There is also the issue of the Jecta that Reiv had
with him.”

Brina’s eyes darted back to his. “Is Reiv all
right?” she asked, refocusing the subject of the debate back to her
nephew.

“Of course. He is in a cell where he will
remain until the hearing. It could be any time now.”

“Any time now? Surely not so soon.”

“As soon as Labhras arrives I will be
summoned. Sedric is too ill to attend of course, but Whyn will be
there, and Crymm, unfortunately.” Mahon shook his head. “This whole
sordid incident is going to have to be handled quickly. The
Priestess—”

“The Priestess?” Brina exclaimed. “What does
she have to do with this? Gods, Mahon, petty issues such as this
are not normally handled by the Priestess. Only issues that warrant
consultation with the gods. Why would—”

“Because she ordered it, that is why,” Mahon
said, cutting her short. “The situation is exceptional, surely you
understand that. Important decisions must be made. You know full
well there has been talk in the streets about the boy’s Unnaming.
And that fool Crymm marching him through the crowd like some sort
of prize.”

Brina laid a trembling hand upon his arm.
“What is going to happen, Mahon? Please tell me.”

Mahon pursed his lips. “It is a difficult
situation.”

“Who will have the ultimate say?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“The prisoners will not be made to appear
before her, will they?” Brina asked, digging her fingers into his
arm.

“Under law there is no obligation to allow
Jecta to speak, but since there are extenuating circumstances . .
.”

“Surely you have some influence, Mahon. I do
not think it wise to parade them before the Priestess. They are
only children.”

“They are hardly children,” he replied
crisply. “Regardless, I have no say in what happens. If the
Priestess wishes them brought to her, I have no choice but to do
so.”

“I must see them,” Brina said, making to
leave.

“Them? Why must you see
them
? I should
think you only need to see Reiv. Or is it Dayn you really need to
see?”

Brina’s face lapsed to alarm, but she quickly
rearranged her expression. “I said I need to see them. That is all
you need to know.”

“No, I think there is more. This boy Dayn. He
looks so much like—”

“Whyn. Yes, I know. Coincidence only.”

“So you know him?”

Brina shrugged. “I have seen him at
Market.”

“How did you know it was he who was arrested
with Reiv?”

“I went to see Reiv last night, and the boy
was there. Talk in the streets was that one of the Jecta was tall
and fair, so I just assumed.”

“Since when does Reiv entertain Jecta? No,
Brina, I think there is more to this boy than you are telling.” He
paused and forced her gaze to his. “I saw the mark on his neck, and
it is exactly like—”

“Do not say the words you plan to speak,”
Brina said. “Do not dare say them to me, Mahon.”

“I will say them! He is marked as our son was
marked, and he looks like our nephew, your sister’s own son! Do not
dare say it is coincidence.” Mahon grabbed her by the shoulders.
“No more lies, Brina. Tell me! Is this boy our son? Is he?”

“No! Our son is dead.”

“Are you certain? Did you watch him die? Do
you know for a fact he is dead?”

“Of course I know it.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I killed him myself!” A sob escaped
Brina’s throat. “I told you I left him for the gods, but I only
said it to spare you, Mahon. I killed him with my own hands. He is
dead I tell you. Dead!”

The falseness of Brina’s words could not
prevent the overwhelming emotion she felt at having said them. She
felt her legs go weak.

Mahon pulled her into his arms and held her
close. “Forgive me,” he said. “I did not mean for you to tell me. I
only thought that if the boy—”

Brina pushed him away. “Our son is not coming
back, Mahon. No matter how much we want him to. He is gone forever.
Please.”

Mahon nodded grimly. “You have lied to me so
many times that all we have between us now is the lies and the loss
and the painful memories of our child. When I saw the boy I thought
there was a chance he could be ours. Perhaps I even hoped he was.
But even if he were my son, he might as well be dead to me. I would
never be allowed to be a father to him. You are right. Our son is
gone.”

He turned to leave, then paused. “I would
have given you a hundred children had you asked it of me,” he said
softly.

“How can you say that to me?”

“Because it is true, dear wife. You see, I am
a foolish man who can love only one woman, even if that love is not
returned.”

He did not wait for a response, and
disappeared through the door.

* * * *

Whyn hustled up the path as two guards
struggled to keep pace. The Priestess did not like to be kept
waiting, and he knew the others had already arrived. He reached the
temple quickly, then paused to gather his wits.

Waving the guards back, he made his way in,
his lone footsteps and rapid breathing echoing down the corridor.
Before him loomed two great double-doors, their elaborate surfaces
decorated with gold filigree. There were images of torture and
sacrifice molded upon them, ancient images, but images not easily
forgotten. Whyn set his jaw and shoved open the doors.

The Room of Transcension was large and
illuminated by a dull, eerie glow. Immense statues reached from
floor to ceiling and lined the perimeter of the room. The images
stood cold and silent. Even the torchlight that flickered off their
brindle faces provided no sense of warmth. Each statue stood
shoulder-to-shoulder alongside another, and all stared with dark,
unseeing eyes toward the center of the room. No two were the same.
Some were human in form while others were animal, and there were
male and female, and some that appeared to be both, or neither.
Only one was greater than the rest, and it stood predominantly at
the center of the room. The statue’s feminine face, made of purest
white marble, seemed to be lit by a light from within. It was
Agneis, Goddess of Purity, the supreme deity of Tearia.

The Priestess, almost an exact replica of the
goddess at her back, sat before it on a high-backed chair centered
upon a raised platform. She was dressed in a sleeveless tunic top
that sparkled like precious stones, her breasts revealed beneath
the pale, shimmering fabric. A wide belt accentuated her slender
waist, and from it descended an elaborately embroidered apron, each
colored thread meticulously woven into a design of unsurpassed
splendor. Beneath it she wore a flounced skirt made of overlapping
layers of pastel material, each with a different design, each layer
adding to the pattern of the next. Her feet were bare, but her
nails were painted gold, as were her lips and the lining around her
eyes. Her white hair was pulled back by a band that wound around
her head, and streams of beaded jewels and feathers trailed down
her neck and across her shoulders. Her eyes were icy blue and so
pale they glowed like a cat’s against the flickering dimness of the
room that surrounded her.

“Welcome, our Prince,” she said in a smoky
voice as Whyn entered the room.

All but she bowed to him, their heads almost
touching the floor. He strode past them, paying little notice to
their respectful display, and kept his gaze fully upon the
Priestess. He went before her and bowed. She reached her hand to
his chin and tilted his head up toward her, then stroked his cheek
lightly with her fingers. Chill bumps rose on his arms, and a
shiver crept down his spine. But he showed no sign of discomfort at
her touch. He dared not.

Whyn stepped off the platform and made his
way to a row of seats that faced the Priestess. He settled himself
onto a velvet-cushioned chair. On either side of him were
cross-legged stools and in front of them stood Labhras, Mahon, and
Crymm. Four priests, older men with shaved heads and white linen
togas, stood with heads bowed behind the stools.

All waited silently, but the Priestess did
not speak for quite some time. It was as though she relished the
awkward silence that permeated the room. Finally she rose, and like
a master to her dogs, motioned them to sit.

Slowly, gracefully, she descended the steps
and walked as though floating along the row of men before her. As
she passed them, her hand brushed along their faces, necks, and
shoulders with a feather-like touch against their skin. Her gaze
fell upon them each one by one, and she searched their faces with
pale, piercing eyes.

“There is much emotion here,” she said as she
walked along. “Hatred . . . jealousy . . . gratitude . . . and ah .
. . what is this?” She focused momentarily on Mahon, then stepped
back and surveyed the row once more. “I do not believe a fair
judgment can be made amidst so much emotion,” she said, shaking her
head. “For how could the decision be an unbiased one?” Then she
turned her eyes to Whyn alone. “I fear, my dear Prince, that it may
be up to the gods to decide the fate of the Unnamed One.”

Whyn’s eyes widened. “Great Priestess . . .
the Unnamed One? To whom do you refer? Do you speak of the prince
¬unnamed, or the Unnamed One of the Prophecy?” His voice trembled
slightly as the words left his lips, and all eyes other than hers
turned to him in mute, but obvious surprise.

“Perhaps they are one in the same,” she said,
her features suddenly hard. “If the one the Prophecy speaks of is
indeed real, Tearia is at risk.” Then she smiled and relaxed her
expression. “Of course, who is to say whether the Prophecy is fact
or fiction. It was given in the age of the Purge by an impure one,
a dark witch, no one of consequence. Regardless, caution must be
paid. Things such as prophecies cannot be taken lightly. Belief in
them can be powerful.”

The Priestess walked back to the platform and
returned to her great chair, where she eased herself down and
rested her arms upon the golden scrolls beneath them.

Her voice grew loud, the sound of it
resonating against the walls. “It would not do for us to ignore
such things, just as it would not do for us to displease the gods.
History well proves their wrath can be terrible. As you know,
Aredyrah was once a larger place, but it grew lazy in its pride.
Its people fraternized with the lesser creatures of the land and
impurities were allowed to infiltrate. The gods were not pleased.
And for that sin, the ancient fires were sent up and the great
Purge began.” She sighed and rolled her crystal eyes, shaking her
head. “Alas, Mercy intervened, but we have done well to keep the
impure ones apart, and will continue to do so. As for the Prophecy,
the danger is in those who believe in it. For that reason alone we
must take care not to stir the pot of superstition.”

Whyn rose and bowed, then said, “Great
Priestess, if it is believed the Unnamed One of the Prophecy walks
among us, what would our duty be toward him?”

“That is difficult to say. Acknowledgement of
him would only serve to give him power.”

“You said one of the prisoners could be he.
You know of whom I speak, but I will not utter either of his names
in this sacred place. There is talk in Tearia of his treatment, and
much unrest has come about because of it. Now he is accused of
thievery, and there is evidence of it. The other two prisoners
trespassed and may have stolen as well. They appear to be friends
of the first. Examples should be made, of course, but considering
the circumstances—”

The Priestess interrupted him briskly. “I
know the circumstances and were it my decision alone, I would
execute the one and maim the others.” She smiled cruelly. “Alas, I
fear the Goddess will need to be consulted. We can risk no error in
this.”