Souls of Aredyrah 2 - The Search for the Unnamed One (9 page)

He was helped from the floor and guided out
the door, no longer able to resist them, no longer caring enough to
try. He did not recall saying goodbye to Alicine or Dayn, nor was
he aware of anything during the silent walk through the back
streets with Torin and Jensa. Although he managed to put one foot
in front of the other, that was all he was able to do.

When they reached the outskirts of the city,
the Shell Seekers had packed and were already making their way down
the road leading from Pobu. Kerrik ran up to Reiv, but even he said
nothing.

Kerrik took Reiv’s hand in his and held it
tight, but Reiv did not pull away as he usually did. There was no
feeling left inside of him now, just the overwhelming weight of
weariness. He could only stare with indifference at the tiny hand
now holding his.

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Chapter 9: The Crooked Child

T
enzy clutched her
shawl around her thin shoulders, but it did little to stave off the
cold of her cell. Cold: For years now, it had been her only waking
companion, wrapping her like a cruel lover, owning her body and
soul. She no longer knew what it meant to be warm, just as she no
longer knew what it meant to be loved. She had never felt the
embrace of a man, nor the feel of a child growing in her belly,
something she had once longed for but steadfastly refused to bear.
There could be no flowering of a child without seed, and the
thought of a man pressed against her had always been abhorrent. Her
mother had died at the hands of men, many men, swarming over her
like flies. And Tenzy and her younger sister had been forced to
watch. The cold that wrapped Tenzy’s body had been her only mate
for nigh on sixty years now.

She shuffled over to the table that dominated
the center of her dismal cell. It was stacked high with parchments
and ancient tomes, their leather covers tooled with the markings of
many races, some familiar, some not. Her eyes swept over them. They
should have brought her comfort, should have been her companion in
the lonely hours of her life. But they were only the shackles of
her miserable existence.

Her gaze rested on the tome that had recently
been slammed onto her table. “You will interpret it,” the Priestess
had ordered, “and you have three days time in which to do it.”

Tenzy had yet to open the book. She knew what
it contained, just as she knew by whose hand the pages had been
written. It was not the tome, however, that had her insides twisted
into a knot. It was something else the Priestess had said:
Perhaps a crooked child would sway you.

“You’ll not have him,” Tenzy said with
determination.

But how to protect him?

She surveyed the book, her hand hovering over
it. The crooked child was within those pages, as were the players
in so many other prophecies, some true, others false, but all very
powerful. It was the prophecy of the child, however, that held the
greatest power of all.

The crooked child had visited Tenzy’s dreams
many times, so many that she had come to think of him as her own.
But he was not. He belonged to everyone, though she had become
selfish in her attempts to claim him. He came to her when she
slept, and so she slept often, but he did not come with the purpose
of bringing her joy; he came to remind her that he was waiting.

She lifted the cover and slowly turned back
the pages, her emotions fluctuating from fear to comfort and back
again. So many beautiful words were contained within, words of hope
and optimism, but also words of foreboding. The pages fell open to
the stanzas of a song.
The Song of Hope.
She smiled in spite
of herself. She no longer felt hope, that had long since been
drained from her, but she remembered her mother writing the words
of this song onto the page now opened before her, and realized it
was probably the last time she had felt the very emotion it
celebrated.

Tenzy paused and gazed at the piles of books
that surrounded her. In all likelihood they were the last remaining
documents of her people. The stacks also included writings by
Tearians and other societies, some extinct, others assimilated into
the masses. The writings she found most fascinating were from a
race of people to the north, a region burnt into the sea during the
event that became the catalyst for the Purge. They were the ones
who had told the story of the child. It had been such a favorite of
hers during childhood that she had asked to be its transcriber. As
she flipped through the pages now, she became determined to find
it. If she could lay her eyes on the story of the child one last
time, perhaps she could find the courage to do what needed to be
done.

She sat on the bench at the table and
searched the pages until at last she found what she was looking
for. There it was, tucked between a tale of a sinner’s redemption,
and the musings of a long dead philosopher. The story of the child
revealed no author, nor did it indicate a title, just some lines
that at first glance seemed inconsequential. But from the moment
she had first lain eyes on it in the dim light of a cave all those
long years ago, until the moment when she would read it one last
time, she knew it would bring salvation to this world and a golden
path that would take her into the next. Perhaps she had not lost
hope after all.

Tenzy ran her fingers lovingly over the
lines, her eyes glinting as they traced the familiar words:

He breathed his breath and cried with
Joy,

but Love was stolen from him.

Into the Darkness he was cast,

O crooked child of Blindness.

Hunger, Terror, Pain, and Sorrow;

all wrapped him with abandon.

’
Til secret hands did raise him
up,

and bathed his heart with Gladness.

His spirit was as pure as Light;

and Fire dared not harm him.

Vast Water drew him to its arms,

to place its kiss upon him.

The Earth saw not child’s winged path,

and sought to keep him planted.

But Starlight showed his destiny,

and paved his footsteps God’s way.

Child’s Goodness gave forth sustenance,

all creatures gathered round him.

Upon their shoulders he was raised,

all Evil banished from him.

The World was lifted into Day.

The Night its calm companion.

For Child laid claim to Purity,

and blessed the World around him.

Tenzy wept as she realized her love for this
child, this crooked, beautiful, unnamed child. He was more than
words on parchment; he was a part of her deepest self. They were
entwined, he and she, like a mother and unborn child, their blood
mingling as one, the breath of their souls in perfect unity. For
too many years she had abandoned life, allowing herself to be made
a prisoner. And in so doing, she had kept the child a prisoner,
too.

She bent and kissed the page. “Child of my
heart,” she whispered. “I will free you from this place.” Rising
from the bench, she gazed one last time at the knowledge and
history that surrounded her. The writings contained power, and she
could not risk the Priestess learning of it. Even more importantly,
she could not risk the child. Were the Priestess to touch him, she
would thrust him into a darkness from which no hand could ever
raise him.

Tenzy shivered, for she realized there was
only one way to save him, and in so doing she risked the world ever
knowing him. There was but one other record of the child that she
knew of. Had it, too, been confiscated? Or was it still buried in
the mountainside, never to be found? Tenzy hesitated, realizing the
selfishness of her plan, but she vowed to protect him, no matter
the consequences.

She set her jaw, then lifted a candle from
the table and gazed into its flame. With shaking hands she tilted
it toward the tome. Wax plopped onto the cover, obscuring the pale
symbols tooled into the leather.

“Forgive me, dearest,” she said. “But if the
world perishes for the want of you, so be it.”

She touched the flame to the book, watching
as the fire consumed her crooked child. Clutching him to her
breast, she allowed his pain to become hers. Then she burst into
ethereal light, and her spirit rose to mingle with his in the
air.

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Chapter 10: All That Slithers

W
hyn stood at his
bedroom window, staring out at the morning landscape, but his
attention was not on the scenery; it was on the mental image of his
brother and the plans the Priestess had for him. Whyn clutched the
windowsill so tightly his knuckles turned white. The Priestess had
made it clear that there were to be no more delays. She was ready
for a young, healthy monarch to rule Tearia by her side, and there
could be no more doubt as to who that monarch was.

“Whyn?” Brina asked as she peeked through the
barely opened door to his bedchamber.

Whyn spun to face her. “Brina,” he said with
surprise.

“I came to see how you were holding up.” She
stepped in, closing the door quietly behind her.

“Well enough. I am grateful that Father no
longer suffers, of course, but I was not prepared for his
passing.”

She crossed over to him and laid a hand on
his arm. “Of course not, dear. One can never be prepared for such
things.”

“Where were you last night, Brina? When you
could not be located during the family gathering, I grew concerned.
Mahon went looking for you.”

Brina sighed. “Well, he found me, or rather I
found him. He was waiting for me when I arrived in my room.”

“And?”

“We had our usual sparring of words.” Brina
frowned. “I am sorry I was absent during the announcement regarding
your father, Whyn. It grieves me that I was not there, but I have
not been sleeping well and went to the springs to toss in a coin. I
thought perhaps an offering to the gods would bring me respite. The
gods answered me, perhaps too well. As I reclined on the grass for
a moment, I was lulled quite to sleep. Strange how the gods answer
prayers, is it not?”

“Yes…strange.”

“You look tired. Have you had any rest?”

Whyn turned to the dressing table next to the
bed. He leaned in and stared into the mirror. A strange memory
flickered through his mind: a feeling of weightlessness followed by
terrible pain. His fingers rose to his cheek. As he gazed at his
reflection, he realized his face looked different somehow, as if a
stranger had crawled into his skin.
I am still Whyn
, he
whispered.
Still Whyn.
He turned his attention to the eyes
staring back at him from the mirror: pale blue, with a hint of red
circling the irises. He drew a sharp breath and backed away from
the table.

“Whyn?” Brina asked with concern.

Whyn turned to face her. “I—I am sorry. You
asked me something?”

“I asked if you had had any rest. I
understand that in addition to your other duties, the Priestess
summoned you.”

“Yes. We spoke earlier. She wants the formal
transfer of power to happen as soon as possible.”

Brina blinked. “You mean…before the eight
days of mourning have passed?”

“She wants it on the sixth day instead of the
eighth.”

“Did she say why?”

“In a sense. She wants my first order as King
to be given without delay.”

“What order?”

“I cannot say.”

“Cannot, or will not?”

“Do not concern yourself, Brina. I have
everything under control.”

“Does this involve your brother?” Brina
asked.

At first Whyn thought not to answer. Who was
she to ask him such questions? But he kept his anger in check and
said, “The power of Tearia’s new King must be displayed with
swiftness and fortitude. Since Father’s illness, things have
slipped out of control. It has to be stopped, and the sooner the
better.”

“Of course,” Brina replied. “And you will be
the King to do it. But if you rush things to the detriment of your
father’s memory, it might only serve to turn hearts against you.
You want the people to love and respect you, dear nephew, not
resent you or feel they are being intimidated by you. Surely the
Priestess understands that.”

“Her wishes take precedence over the desires
of any King. She made it clear I am not to question her.” He lifted
his hand to his cheek without thinking.

“Perhaps she is only testing you.” Brina
smiled. “My dear boy, you must let the Priestess know you have a
will of your own. May I remind you that she may be a priestess, but
she is also a woman. Perhaps a little friendly persuasion would
help her see that you will be an accommodating prince, but one
that—”

“What do you mean by accommodating?” Whyn
snapped.

Brina seemed startled. “I—I only meant that
that smile of yours can be very persuasive. You managed to convince
the Priestess to spare the Jecta thieves that day, did you not? You
said so yourself. Surely you worked some of your charm on her then.
Perhaps you just did not realize it.”

“I accommodate no one. Her will is my
will.”

“The Throne and the Temple have always been
strong allies, Whyn, but there must be a separation between the two
if balance is to be maintained. Your father understood that.”

“Father is no longer here. Tearia is my
responsibility now. The Priestess demands that wrongs be made
right. She demands nothing less, so I give nothing less.”

“You poor boy. If only that headstrong
brother of yours had mended his ways, then he would be King and
bearing these heavy burdens instead of you. All those years of
training invested in him…but you know, he was never truly suited
for it. He knew it and wished to be rid of the responsibilities,
but what choice did he have?” Brina paused and sighed. “I suppose
one should always exercise caution when it comes to wishes.”