The Elder Blood Chronicles Bk 1 In Shades of Grey (46 page)

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to be rude,” Jala
spoke hastily and dropped her gaze.

Anthae gave a mirthless chuckle. “No need for
that, child. Now tell me, what is it that brings you to our lands?
I could sense you approaching, and I could feel the importance, but
I don’t know what you believe you need from me.”

“I was told you could answer a question for
me, so I came to ask,” Jala replied, keeping the answer as honest
as she could. She had the sense that Anthae was one that preferred
simple over flattering.

“Well than I would hear the question. If
there is truly just one question you cannot find the answer for,
you are a rare child indeed,” the witch prompted, sounding somewhat
amused.

“I want to know who I truly am. Who my true
parents were, that is,” Jala said, her voice quiet. It had seemed
such an important thing days ago, but now after Myzra’s warning,
she found herself almost fearing the answer.

Anthae gave a slight nod and reached below
the small table and pulled up a white porcelain bowl. She sat the
bowl carefully on the table between the two of them and poured some
of the hot water she had used for tea into it. The air above the
bowl steamed, rising in delicate waves above the water. Anthae
leaned forward and took one of Jala’s hands in her own. The witch’s
grasp was icy to the touch, and Jala fought the urge to check for a
pulse. “Look into the water, child. We will seek the answer for
which you have traveled so far,” Anthae said as she placed her
other hand on the rim of the bowl and slowly sank her fingers into
the near boiling water.

The water seemed to cloud at her touch and
turned a milky white. After but a few breaths, it began to swirl
and colors bloomed in its depths. Jala leaned forward and stared
down into it. Her mother stood there, young and terrified in a
house that had once been fine. Beyond her, closer to the door, two
men argued. One wore a uniform while the other was old and grey.
Near the wall, a woman stood crying, clutching an apron to her
face, her shoulder shaking. Jala watched as the argument grew more
heated between the two men and the one in the uniform shoved the
elderly one back out of the doorway. The soldier or guard, Jala
couldn’t tell which, pushed past and seized her mother by the arm.
The terrified girl her mother had been screaming and tried to pull
away but the man drug her from the house, deaf to her terror.

“In Merro, when a debt could not be paid, a
child was often taken,” Anthae said quietly.

Jala looked up from the water and watched the
witch. It was obvious from her eyes the woman was blind, yet she
seemed to see despite that.

“I see what is in the water in my mind; I see
what is in this world through my Familiar. Look behind me girl, in
the rafters,” the witch urged. Jala looked as directed and spotted
the bird after a moments search. It was built like an owl with
feathers the color of the night sky. “Now that you understand,
focus upon the bowl again so that you might have your answer,”
Anthae said quietly, her tone somber.

Jala gave a slight nod and remained silent as
she turned her gaze back to the bowl and watched her mother drug
off toward slavery. The water swirled again and cleared almost as
quickly showing an image of her mother beaten and bloody lying on
her side on the floor. Her clothing was torn so badly, Jala was
sure Anthae had spared her the sight of her mother being raped. A
man stood above her, sleek and handsome and obviously Elder Blood.
He was wiping his hands on a towel and smiling down at the crumpled
form of her mother. He kicked her lightly with his foot, and her
mother rolled away, her torn clothing trailing behind her as she
sought to escape further abuse.

“Traven Merrodin,” Anthae said her tone flat.
“He was second son of the High Lord and controlled the slave
plantations. There has rarely been a darker man born than that one.
May he rot forever in the Darklands for his sins.”

Jala glanced up at the witch and back to the
water and watched as abuse after abuse was inflicted on the
terrified girl in the vision. She felt her stomach knot as she
watched the suffering her mother endured. Her heart lurched as the
water swirled again and the image of her father appeared. He seemed
as fierce as Havoc had said he was. With brutal efficiency, he cut
down the guards of the plantation and met the young Lord Merrodin
in combat. It was obvious when he lifted her mother from the floor
that some time had passed between her captivity and rescue. The
abused, broken girl’s stomach was well rounded with child now.

“You know the rest of the story, Lady
Merrodin; the young Fionaveir carried the girl off and hid her
right under their nose in Merro. He raised a beautiful little girl
as his own. With love, he taught her honor and values until the
fall of Merro.” Anthae’s hand slid out of the water as she spoke
and the vision died. She looked up at Jala as if her blind eyes
could see. “You have so much work ahead of you, child.”

“Only school,” Jala replied with a sigh. “And
then I’m not sure what, they never told me what came after the
Academy, even if I am the product of that rape it doesn’t matter.
Merro is gone, it’s just a wasteland, and I’m nothing but a former
slave’s bastard.”

“You will rebuild Merro, child. I can see
this, though it is as if through a fog. You will be Lady Merrodin,
and I can tell you that your people are not lost to death. The
Lords of Oblivion hold their souls and if you are determined, you
may yet have them back.”

Jala’s head snapped up, her sadness
evaporating like morning dew. “My parents, you are saying my
parents can be brought back?” she asked, hope rising in her.

Anthae gave a nod and cocked her head to one
side. “They can, I see it, though as I said, it is through a thick
fog. You can do it. I’m just not sure how you will do it. Death is
a greedy mistress and she does not like to release souls, but for
the Lords of Oblivion holding tight to their souls the people of
Merro would be far past recovery.” Anthae paused and took a sip of
the now cool tea, her expression distant and thoughtful. “This is
not the vision that I see most clearly when I look at you, though,
the other I see I do not understand at all.”

“What else do you see?” Jala asked with a
voice thick with emotion. She wasn’t sure how she would accomplish
restoring the people of Merro, but there was no doubt in her mind
that she would.

Anthae held up her hand and a round gold disc
appeared in it. “This child, though I don’t understand. Both sides
of the coin mean much to you that I can see clearly.” She set the
coin down before Jala. “You may look at one or the other, but you
will never see the two together. No more than you can look upon
both sides of that coin at once.”

Jala looked down at the coin confused and
examined the crossed swords engraved in silver on the intricate
gold coin. With hesitation, she lifted the coin and turned it to
look at the other side. A badger was engraved there with such
careful detail there was no mistaking what it was. Jala turned the
coin back over and examined the swords more carefully. Along the
blades edge, the silver seemed a bit darker, almost tarnished. She
bit her lower lip and nodded to Anthae. “I think I understand, but
I hope I’m wrong,” she said quietly.

“If it is a painful answer it is most likely
the true answer, child. An Immortal’s life is a dangerous one,”
Anthae said, her voice full of sympathy.

“What can I offer you for your help, Anthae?”
Jala asked, hoping whatever the witch required would be within her
means to grant.

“Succeed where I failed, child, and I will be
content,” Anthae replied. She regarded Jala again for a moment and
spoke in a low whisper as if afraid of being overheard. “One among
your companions bears the betrayer’s blood. Be wary, child, and be
very careful of who you trust. Now is not the time to be Lady
Merrodin. You must gain more strength first. You will know when you
must take up that title, but until then, you must tread very
carefully. You should go now, dawn grows close, and you have miles
to travel.”

Jala rose at the dismissal then paused as
Anthae took her hand lightly. She looked down at the witch and
Anthae gave her hand a faint squeeze. “Words of wisdom for you,
child. Let no one tell you what you are capable of. Search your
heart and find that answer yourself. Others will doubt you. Never
doubt yourself. To doubt is to fail.” The witch released her hand
and motioned her to the door.

“Thank you, Anthae” Jala said quietly, her
tone sincere. She stepped out of the house and Finn quickly moved
to her side. The others watched her with open curiosity, but she
shook her head. “I’ll explain later, I promise, I need to sort
things out a bit first, though. It was a bit cryptic. For now, I’d
just like to get out of these woods.” The excuse would buy her some
time, but eventually her friends would want to know what they had
ridden through a cursed forest for. She had no idea what she would
tell them but at least she would have some time to think of
something.

“Are you OK? You’re pale,” Finn said, his
voice filled with concern. She gave a weak nod in reply and slipped
the gold coin into her pocket, as she tried to keep her eyes from
his swords with their darkened Barllen edge.

With closed eyes, Charm brought to mind the
image of Sanctuary’s rainbow lights. He took a deep breath and
imagined he could smell fresh bread and spiced meat rather than his
own sweat and horse. The ground beneath him was stony and he
shifted his weight, trying to find some comfort.

“You really are quite soft, aren’t you?”
Lutheron’s voice came quiet with no small amount of amusement in
the words.

Charm cracked an eye open regarding the man
darkly. They were at a small camp in the middle of nowhere. All
Charm could say for sure was that he was in Gaelyn. For the past
week, he had been drug from village to village examining the dead.
There had been no sign of Solace or Hawk, and as far as Charm could
tell from the carnage the rangers were likely dead. “I can sleep
like a baby in a gutter or on a tiled roof. I can live off rats for
days and you won’t hear a word of complaint. I can drink ale in the
foulest of bars and I can go days without sleep. I am not soft. I
am city born, and there is a difference,” he replied, his tone
sounding peevish even to himself.

One of the wolves lounging on the far side of
their small camp fire gave a growling chuckle. Charm regarded the
shifter and considered a wolf skin cloak. Lutheron gave a slight
nod and tossed another piece of firewood into the flames. “I used
to be city born,” he said quietly, not even glancing Charm’s
way.

Charm regarded Lutheron with doubt. Over the
course of the past week, he had come to believe Lutheron had
slithered out of the shadows rather than something as mundane as
being born in a city. The man seemed purely inhuman. Nothing fazed
him. Nothing. They could find the body of a child, torn and bloody,
and Lutheron would regard it as if it were a sample of meat in a
butcher’s shop. His demeanor never changed from what Charm could
tell. “Which city?” Charm asked. If nothing else, he would get
conversation to distract him from the mosquitoes and rocks.

Leaning back on his arms, Lutheron regarded
the bright starlit night. “It was beyond the Barrier, and it was a
very long time ago.” His gaze seemed lost for a time, and the camp
was silent as they waited to see if he would continue. Charm
himself knew very little about Lutheron. He didn’t think many did
know much about the man, except perhaps Caspian. “I was young when
I was locked in here, maybe seventeen. I still remember what
freedom tastes like though. I can remember living without a
constant eye over my shoulder.”

“It’s what you make of it,” Charm replied. He
didn’t meet Lutheron’s gaze, but he could feel the dark eyes upon
him. The topic was a delicate one with most Immortals, and Charm
usually avoided it. “If you consider it a prison, all of your
thoughts will be toward escape. If you consider it home, all of
your thoughts will be on improving it. We both know escape is
impossible, so it’s better to accept it.” He shifted again and
succeeded in dislodging a rock from beneath him. He gave a small
sigh of contentment at the relief of the gouging and dared a glance
at Lutheron. “Sure we have some neighbors that are pretty bad, but
all in all, the Guardians could have done worse for us. At least
they gave us the means to survive if we choose to. They could have
locked us in a wasteland. They could have removed our magic
entirely, but they didn’t.”

“I’m not sure they could have removed the
magic entirely from some of us,” Lutheron objected, but his tone
was mild as usual. He was showing no more emotion than he did
examining dead children.

Charm gave a shrug. “They could have taken
mine. I don’t have much in the way of magic. Most of what I do,
anyone could do with the proper learning.”

“You are supposed to be the sneakiest
individual in the prison,” Lutheron said as he prodded the fire
sending sparks dancing into the air.

“That’s debatable, for there are quite a few
rogues in this prison. My master used to say when the world ended
it would be filled with cockroaches and thieves because both know
well how to hide when light is shined their way.” He pulled a flask
from his cloak and took a small sip. He offered the flask to
Lutheron and was rewarded with a brief flash of amazement on the
swordsman’s face as he tasted the contents.

“Water?” Lutheron asked in disbelief.

Charm gave a chuckle and shrugged. “I don’t
partake of alcohol unless the situation demands it,” he
explained.

Across the fire from them the youngest of the
three Shifters sat up. His nose twitched as he scented the air and
the hackles on his back slowly rose. His companion stirred from
sleep his nose quivering, as well. “Blood,” growled the first, the
word so guttural it was barely recognizable.