Souls of Aredyrah 3 - The Taking of the Dawn (15 page)

But then he realized he still had Nely and
Gem, and he couldn’t let them down, not like he had Farris and Mya.
If he saved the girls, then Mya could live on—in them—with him. He
summoned every ounce of strength he could muster and pushed on
harder. But as fast as he was running, he could not shake the
stallion at his back, nor the taunting words of its rider: “Run,
rabbit. Run.”

Gem continued to struggle, and Torin felt
certain he would lose his grip on her. He barely had the strength
to hold the girls, much less run with them. Why was Gem fighting
him so? She cried out, and Torin felt the hot breath of the horse
at his back. He changed direction and dodged between two tents,
barely navigating a heap of flaming debris.

He stumbled into the main corridor of the
encampment and slid to a halt. People were running all around him,
shouting and shoving and blocking his path. Which way? Which way?
Dozens of eyes darted in his direction, then turned as one to stare
beyond where he stood. People screamed as the crowd scattered in
various directions, leaving Torin standing in the emptiness of
their wake. The clank of a horse’s bridle sounded at his back. He
slowly turned his head. The sky exploded like a thousand drums. But
it was the sight of Whyn that sent a start to Torin’s heart.

“Ah, there you are,” Whyn said with
amusement. “I thought you would be better sport.”

Torin turned and ran. One by one bodies
dropped around him. One by one tents burst into flames. Guards
approached from every direction, some on foot, others on horseback.
Torin managed to outmaneuver them, but he could not evade Whyn who
was not far behind. He veered into a passageway too narrow for any
horse to navigate. When he reached the end of it, he deviated in
yet another direction. His eyes darted back and forth, expecting to
see Whyn around every corner.

Torin wasn’t sure where he was or which way
to turn; he only knew that he had to escape the encampment. A flash
of lightening illuminated the landscape, just long enough for him
to gain his bearings. Then his hopes lifted. The last row of tents
was just ahead. If he could make it to the foothills beyond,
perhaps he could hide the girls and find refuge from Whyn.

Torin sprinted past the perimeter and up the
hillside, struggling to keep his footing on an increasingly slick
terrain. The landscape had become a blur of rain, and the steep
incline of the hill felt treacherous beneath his feet. As Torin
plunged deeper into its shadows, he risked a glance back. The
orange glows within the camp were turning to steamy hues of gray.
Even the screams of the people were growing more and more
distant.

Torin clambered up the slope, his lungs
laboring so hard he felt certain they would burst. His arm and
shoulder screamed with pain, and his legs were all but numb. He
honestly did not know how he was moving them; they no longer seemed
under his control.

The girls were quiet and still in his arms;
even Gem no longer struggled. He glanced down to see their faces
buried in his neck. “Almost there,” he said. “Almost—” But before
he could say another word, something
thunked
into his back,
throwing him forward. The girls tumbled from his arms, and Torin
plummeted to the ground.

Torin lay there, sprawled in the mud, unable
to move, unable to think. All he was aware of was the air dragging
in and out of his chest and the sound of the rain pelting the
ground around him.

His pulse began to beat a rhythm in his ears,
playing in unison with the wheezing of his lungs. Their tempos
raced then gradually slowed, until at last they seemed to stop
altogether.

Torin was not sure which sound gave out
first, the beating of his heart or the rasping of his lungs, but he
no longer cared. All went quiet as the world plunged into darkness,
and Torin gladly followed it there.

Back to ToC

Chapter 12: Concerns of the
World

R
eiv bolted upright,
his heart hammering in his throat. He scanned the room, seeking any
sign of an intruder. But the only movement he saw was the moonlight
flickering through the drape. He turned his gaze to Kerrik sleeping
nearby. Perhaps the boy had been talking in his sleep; Kerrik’s
nighttime ramblings did frequently wake the household. But no,
Kerrik was quiet and his breathing steady and slow. Reiv relaxed,
deciding whatever had startled him from his pillow must have been a
dream. But he rose from his bedding nonetheless.

He tiptoed past Kerrik, then toward Brina and
Jensa. A cool breeze tinkled through the drape in the doorway,
sending a melody of cockles and the scent of rain into the room.
Reiv turned his attention to the shells. Perhaps that was it, the
drape. But then a horrible vision stole into his consciousness, and
he knew it had been neither dream nor drape.

He moved to Jensa’s bedside and shook her
shoulder. “Jensa…wake up,” he whispered.

“What?” she mumbled. She swept a mass of
curls from her forehead and squinted up at him.

“I think Torin is in trouble.”

Jensa threw her legs over the edge of the bed
and rose. “What are you talking about?”

“Something has happened,” Reiv said. He
turned and reached for his tunic and pulled it over his head.

Brina, now awake, sprang to her feet. “What
is it?”

“I am leaving to find Torin,” Reiv
replied.

“What? Why?”

“He may be injured.”

“
Injured
?”

Jensa clutched Reiv’s arm. “How can you know
this?”

Reiv eased his arm from her grasp and secured
his belt around his waist. He turned his attention back to Brina.
“Fetch Gitta for me, will you?”

Raindrops began to pelt the hut. Brina
grabbed her shawl and pulled it over her head, then raced out the
door.

“I’m going with you,” Kerrik declared.

Reiv turned to face him. He hadn’t realized
the boy was awake, and cursed himself for not having handled the
situation more covertly.

“Back to bed, sprite,” Reiv said. “I will be
back soon.”

“No,” Kerrik said, and threw off the covers.
He scrambled up. “I have a right; he’s my brother.”

“You’re not going, Kerrik,” Jensa said
firmly. “Reiv can handle this on his own.”

“Jensa is right,” Reiv said. “Gitta will get
there more swiftly with only one rider.”

Kerrik stomped his foot. “I’m tired of being
treated like a baby.”

“You’re not being treated like a baby,” Jensa
said. “Brina and I aren’t going either, now are we?” She handed
Reiv a pouch of water, then another containing herbs and assorted
medicinals.

Reiv rushed outside to find Brina waiting
with the horse. There was no saddle on its back, but Reiv rarely
felt the need for one. He leapt onto its back and grabbed hold of
its mane. “Jensa, call the clan together—tonight,” he said.
“Something is afoot.”

“What do you mean?” she asked anxiously.

“I saw things,” Reiv said, “during my
Transcension, things I never wished to see, things I have tried to
deny. This is one of them.” He nudged the horse and turned it
toward the road. The rain began to come down harder. “The
perimeters must be watched,” he said over his shoulder. “No one can
be allowed in. And the healers must be prepared.”

“I will notify them,” Brina said.

Reiv looked down at Kerrik, now standing
beside the horse. “No worries, sprite,” he said. “Torin will be
fine.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Kerrik said. And
Reiv knew he meant it.

Reiv set his jaw, then kicked in his heels
and sped off into the night.

Back to ToC

Chapter 13: Muddy
Waters

R
eiv reared his
horse to a halt and studied the thick bank of fog creeping up the
hillside below. The rain had stopped, but the downward slope of the
road was steep and slippery with mud. The horse snorted and shook
her head, flinging a spray of wet mane. “Whoa there, girl,” Reiv
said. “I’m soaked through as it is.” He leaned down and patted her
neck, then took stock of the descent. One misstep and the horse
could be lamed and Reiv tossed into the mud.

He urged the horse down cautiously, guiding
her as best he could, halting when her pace became too confident.
At last she reached the base of the hill, but a dark shadow shifted
in the fog, diverting Reiv’s attention.

“Who is there?” Reiv called, but he was met
by only silence. He prodded the horse onward a few more steps. The
fog shifted again as the shadow crept closer.

“Halt,” Reiv said. “State your name.”

“State your own name first,” a man’s voice
replied.

Reiv resented the stranger’s tone, but there
was no time to challenge it. “I am Reiv, come from Meirla, seeking
a friend. He was headed to New Pobu earlier this evening.”

An old man, soaked though and muddied with
soot, emerged from the shadows. A woman cowered at his back. “If
your friend made it there,” the man said, “you’ll be lucky to see
‘em again.”

“What do you mean? What has happened?”

“The King’s what happened. Burned down the
encampment and killed just about everyone in it. Some of us made
it. Some of us didn’t.” He nodded his head toward the woman. “We
were lucky I reckon.”

“Have you seen others out this way?” Reiv
asked. “My friend is a Shell Seeker. Torin—you might know of
him.”

“Shell Seeker you say? Aye, I know of him.
The King himself was after him.” The man spat into the mud, then
eyed Reiv darkly. “Tearian filth,” he said, but whether the remark
was intended for Reiv or the King, it was hard to tell.

“Where did you last see him?” Reiv demanded.
He moved Gitta closer. “Tell me!” Suddenly he noticed a shell
necklace draped around the man’s neck. Reiv leapt from the horse
and whipped his dirk from its sheath. He grabbed the man by the
tunic and pressed the blade beneath his quivering chin. “I said,
where did you last see the Shell Seeker!”

The man’s eyes went wide with fright. He
flicked them toward the road. “Back a ways…off the main road.”

Reiv gripped the necklace in his fist. “He
gave you this?”

The man flinched, but remained silent.

Reiv tightened his grip. “I said, he
gave
you this?”

“In a manner of speakin’,” the man croaked.
“He’ll have no more need of it.”

Reiv yanked the necklace from the man’s neck,
breaking the leather strand and sending shells flying. He flung the
rest of it into the mud, then sprang onto Gitta’s back. “You had
best not show your face around me again, old man,” Reiv said. “I
will not soon forget it!” Then he kicked in his heels and urged the
horse in the direction the man had indicated.

Reiv quickened his pace, careful not to lead
the horse into danger, but equally determined to find Torin and
soon. Before long he noticed more bedraggled people making their
way along the road. With each and every one, he stopped to inquire
if they had seen a Shell Seeker. But no one had and quickly warned
him against traveling any closer to the encampment. In response,
Reiv advised them against traveling closer to Meirla, but they
continued on, oblivious to his words. Had he had more time, he
would have tried to reason with them, but as it was, he feared it
was already too late.

Recalling what the man had said about Torin
not being on the main road, Reiv turned off and picked his way
along the rocky hillside. He saw no movement, but the moon was
barely a glow in the sky. The clouds had yet to move on, leaving
his vision minimal at best. Reiv grew impatient. “I will never find
him at this rate,” he muttered. “Torin!” he shouted. “If you are
out there, make a noise—anything.” He stopped and listened.
Nothing. He urged the horse on slowly, then stopped again.
“Torin!”

A sound of whimpering wafted toward him. He
guided the horse, straining his ears to determine its location. The
sobs grew louder, until at last he spotted a pale-haired child
huddled near the bushes.

Reiv dismounted his horse, but before he
could reach the girl, another leapt in his path, pointing a stick
in his direction. Her hair was dark and her eyes wild. “You stay
away!” she shouted. “You stay away from us!”

Reiv held his hands up in conciliation. “I
mean you no harm, girl. I am only here to help. See…no weapon.” He
moved closer, then stopped. “
Gem
?”

She thrust the stick at him “Stay back.”

“It is me—Reiv. Remember? Your mother tended
me when—”

“I remember. You’re the Tearian one.”

“I am only Reiv, Gem,” he said, realizing the
hatred in her voice. “Not Tearian.”

“Yes you are,” she said defiantly. “You’re
like the one who killed my mother. He killed my mother, and he
killed Nannaven, too!”

“Nannaven?” Reiv whispered. “Gods, no.” He
glanced at Nely still huddled to the side, then turned his
attention back to Gem. “Where is Torin, Gem? If I am to help him
you must tell me.”

“No!”

Reiv rushed forward, yanked the stick from
her hand, and tossed it aside. She pummeled him with her fists, but
he grabbed her by the wrists, pulling her feet from the ground. She
writhed and kicked until at last he released her, letting her fall
onto her back. “No more, Gem! You hear me? No more!” He jerked her
up by an arm. “Where is Torin?”

Tears of anger welled in Gem’s eyes, then
tears of defeat. She worked her arm from his grasp. “In the
mud.”

“Where? Show me.”

Gem pointed a finger beyond Nely. “Over
there.”

Reiv dashed past her and discovered Torin
face down. He dropped to his knees beside him. Two arrows were
protruding from the man’s shoulder and back. Blood-colored streams
of water ran alongside him. Reiv pressed an ear to Torin’s back.
Still breathing
. He shifted his attention to the shafts of
the arrows and immediately recognized the royal mark. “Gods,
Whyn…what have you done?” He turned his head toward the girls.
“Gem,” he barked, “get the pouch off the horse.”