The Third Scroll (31 page)

By the time I reached the Great Hall, the feast was underway. Every eye turned upon me as I walked to sit in the empty seat between Lord Gilrem and Batumar. Both noted my garments as they greeted me, but neither commented.

As the feast proceeded and the foreign emissary on his other side claimed Batumar’s attention, at last I told Lord Gilrem about the Forgotten City. I think he only half believed me until one of the Palace Guards announced the visitors.

Batumar nodded, and the guard pushed the door open wide to allow the Guardians in. How odd they looked in this place, more ancient than the walls of the palace, solemn like the forgotten gods of the myths. Their robes swept the floor and seemed to glow in the flickering light of the torches. Gasps sounded from all around the room as the very air seemed to thin.

“Greetings to the High Lord and his esteemed brother and the Lady Tera. Good tidings from the Seela of the Forgotten City,” the Guardian of the Cave said rather ceremoniously. The Guardian of the Gate held his great carved stick. Even the Guardian of the Scrolls stood tree-straight, rising to the occasion.

I knew them to be curious of Karamur and the palace, but they did not gawk like children at the marketplace. They behaved with solemn dignity even as Lord Gilrem gaped at them next to me.

The murmur of people filled the Great Hall, everyone staring.

“Greetings, esteemed Guardians.” Batumar bade them to sit, and warriors moved at once to make room at the high table.

But the feast quickly fell into disarray as people would not eat, too intent on guessing what the Guardians’ appearance meant. They had been but mythical creatures of legends before this moment, the men’s and women’s astonishment as great as if the three-headed talking warthog of Morandor appeared among them, straight from the fairytales.

And thus, after a short time, Batumar rose and invited the visitors to his private chambers, requesting myself and Lord Gilrem to follow.

“The Lady Tera tells me you are here to discuss the war. Have you any news of the enemy?” the High Lord asked once we were all seated in his antechamber.

The Guardian of the Cave shook his head. “Only what is in the prophecies.”

Batumar leaned back in his chair. “They are near. Within a day or two, I shall have to leave again.”

“Then take the Lady Tera with you, High Lord,” said the Guardian of the Cave. “For the prophecies are clear. With her stands our only hope of victory.”

Batumar gave him a sharp look, his voice even but hard as he said, “I do not need a woman to fight my wars for me.”

“But it is written—”

The High Lord lifted his hand. “She will stay here in safety.”

The Guardian of the Cave would not give up. “My Lord, if you would consider…”

Batumar measured up the three men for some time before he turned to me. “As you give health and life, my Lady, can you also take it away?”

“I do not understand, my Lord.” Although I had a feeling he did not mean giving the wrong herb by mistake.

“If you stood in the battlefield, could you take people’s lives without touching them? From a distance?” His gaze searched my face.

“I would rather die than ever try such a thing.”

He nodded as if he had expected that answer.

“Lady Tera, if it is your destiny—” the Guardian of the Cave began to say, then fell silent as the Guardian of the Scrolls cast him a dark look.

My destiny. For war.

My throat tightened. It could not be true.

I looked from man to man. A swift panic rose to swallow me as the mist sometimes swallowed Karamur. All my insecurities returned.

“I do not think I am the one for whom you waited. I have no such great power as to save nations.”

The Guardian of the Cave, who sat by my side, covered my hand with his on the table as he turned to me and spoke to me in a low voice no other would hear. “I wonder if you fear not the lack of powers, my Lady Tera, but that you might be indeed powerful beyond all that you have thus far imagined.”

A strangled sound of distress escaped my throat. How little, after all this time, he knew me. “I have no great power but the gift of some healing.”

“Does the thought of power worry you? Do you think it might corrupt you as it had corrupted your great-grandmother?”

I did not want to answer, but then I recalled the flawed crystal that had shattered into sharp, dangerous shards, and I nodded, moisture filling my eyes.

“For some, their endless potential can be more frightening than their shortcomings,” he said with understanding. “You have not been called to be a simple healer, Tera.”

I had been trying to accept that. Had read the first scroll, even if I had not felt worthy. And I planned on reading the others as they opened, and following their instruction. But as I looked around, I realized that all those around me believed I would save them through war. How could I do such a thing? To take lives instead of preserving them as was my sacred duty? Even for the sake of multitudes, I could not.

I looked at the men and felt the weight of every eye upon me. I stood with determination. “I will not aid in killing.” My voice rang strong and clear. “I refuse my destiny.”

Silence met my declaration. A hard tension crackled through the room.

“The prophecy says you are our only hope of defeating the enemy,” the Guardian of the Gate reminded me.

A stunned expression came over Lord Gilrem’s face as he looked at me, then at his brother. “Who is she?”

“The One Foretold,” Batumar said with a frown, as if not the least pleased.

“The One Foretold?” Lord Gilrem paled.

“I refuse my destiny,” I repeated, standing firm.

More silence followed my words.

“But then how will she lead the Kadar to victory?” Lord Gilrem asked once he recovered.

“Through peace,” I said, suddenly inspired, and felt the horrible weight lift.

The Guardians exchanged glances. My heart filled with hope. They were considering my suggestion.

Batumar shook his head. “There can be no peace with this enemy.”

“How do we know?” I forged on. “I shall go as an ambassador and plead a treaty.”

“No,” the men around the table said as one, truly exasperating in their stubbornness.

“Empires rise and fall, for such is the way of the world,” I said. “Dahru is precious to us, but it must be of small value to this giant enemy. It is better to have a treaty and live than to fight and perish. The First People fought, and they are no more. The Seela are fewer and fewer with every coming year. They might not last through a long war. The Shahala do not know how to fight. Many would die. The Kadar are strong but outnumbered—”

“I will not crawl to the enemy as a coward.” Batumar’s voice held thunder.

“Then you put your pride before the life of your people, my Lord.” I could think of nothing else but those wounded warriors I had treated, the pain in their bodies and the death in their eyes, and the cry of the widows whose men did not return.

Batumar looked at me, his gaze sharp as a sword. “A treaty would not work. The Kerghi are hungry for blood.”

“But they conquered many lands. Their army must be stretched far and wide. What harm can it do to try? If the spirits meant to save us through war and not through peace, why would they have chosen me?” I looked around at the men who had grown up with and believed the prophecy. But did they believe strongly enough to accept what I had to say?

Silence enveloped the room, my words left hanging in the air.

“If she
is
The One Foretold…” Lord Gilrem rose. “I shall go.”

The Guardian of the Scrolls stood as well, and to my surprise, he said, “And so shall I.”

“With a large contingency of guards,” Batumar added, the lines on his forehead turning into deep furrows, his mouth drawn tight.

But the Guardian of the Scrolls shook his head. “If they are open to peace, we should not need more men.”

“And if they are not”—Lord Gilrem smiled with bravado—“a unit of guards will not mean much.”

They both looked at Batumar, and after a while, he reluctantly nodded. “But the Lady Tera stays.”

* * *

The following morning, the Guardian of the Gate and the Guardian of the Cave returned to the Forgotten City, while the Guardian of the Scrolls stayed at the palace. By the morning after that, Batumar had assembled his warriors and their supplies so we could begin our journey to the Sacred Gate on the other side of the mountain. Two long days we traveled on the backs of the manyinga before we reached the high plateau.

And for the first time, I saw the Gate of the World.

The strange structure resembled not a gate at all but rather a ruin, the columns of a Great Hall that had fallen down long ago. Tall stone pillars reached to the sky in pairs, forming a circle, more pillars resting on top of them. Each such formation did resemble a gate of some sort, I suppose, but they led nowhere, only a circle of moss between them.

The Guardian of the Gate was there, but I hardly recognized him. He wore the clothes of a servant and moved slowly, his back bent with age, his hood covering his face. When he looked at me, he gave no sign of recognition.

“Why is he like that?” I asked Lord Gilrem who rode his manyinga next to mine.

“Who?” he asked and looked around as if the old man was invisible to him.

“The Guardian.” I pointed as the Guardian of the Gate turned from us and leaned heavily on his staff.

“The old man? He is the groundskeeper, a position passed down in his family. Easy work, I suppose.” He shrugged. “Cannot have much to do around here.”

All around us, warriors covered the side of the mountain.

“The number of men guarding the gate was recently doubled,” Lord Gilrem informed me.

In addition to that, Batumar brought a large number of troops, certain the treaty would not work. He was preparing for war and had sent word to all the warlords.

Lord Gilrem slid off his manyinga and helped me off mine. The Guardian of the Scrolls was already waiting.

“Are you certain you wish to go?” I asked the Guardian.

“I shall fulfill my destiny as you will fulfill yours.”

“A savior of nations? But I am just a healer,” I protested, as doubts I could no longer silence had plagued me on the whole journey.

“Maybe you were called for more by the spirits. Maybe Batumar needs a partner in you and not a concubine.”

“I am no warrior queen.”

“But you could help him save our island. And then you could help him lead. You could help him change things.”

Before I could fully consider that, a few steps behind us Lord Gilrem called out to the Guardian of the Gate. “Which gate would be best, you think, for Mernor?” And then he walked up to me, saying, “The old man has an uncanny ability to find the smoothest journey to the exact place you want to go.”

The Guardian of the Gate shuffled over to us, bowed, and touched his stick to the boulder next to him. Lord Gilrem and the Guardian of the Scrolls walked through the gate side by side, an old man and a young warrior in his prime.

Lord Gilrem turned, his gaze fixed on Batumar. “I have not always served you well, Brother. This time—”

They shimmered for a moment before they disappeared.

I gasped in wonder. Now
this
was ancient magic.

“If we still had the knowledge of the First People,” Batumar said behind me after a long moment of silence, “it would aid us greatly in the war.”

I turned to glare at him, wishing he could focus on peace for once.

He did not seem to notice my displeasure and soon strode to his warriors who were setting up camp. I stayed by the circle of stones, even brought my meal to eat there, and retired to Batumar’s tent only when the two moons rose high in the sky, their night’s journey half completed.

He stayed with his men. I suppose they discussed various strategies for whatever news Lord Gilrem and the Guardian might bring upon their return. I fell asleep before he came to the tent and woke later to the heat of his body next to mine and his arm around me as he pulled me to him.

“Did they come back?” I mumbled, still infused with sleep as I turned in his arms, comforted by his warmth, feeling content and safe.

“Not yet,” he whispered.

I could barely see him, for he had put out the lamp before coming to bed, and the smoke hole let in precious little moonlight. Still, I could see his head move closer.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered and briefly touched his lips to mine before pulling away.

Without thinking, I lifted my head and placed my mouth back against his. A low sound escaped his throat. Did he want to say something? I opened my mouth to ask, but he claimed me then fully, and thought of any conversation flew from my mind.

I felt as if falling, then floating weightless in the air. I had to hold on to his broad shoulders for support, his skin hot under my palms. When he moved his hand to the hem of my short Shahala tunic—I had taken the robe off for sleep—and pulled it up until his large hands covered my stomach, I did not protest. I soaked up the warmth of it.

He caressed my skin with tender fingers that moved up my rib cage. I gasped when his palm cupped my breast. I had not expected it to feel so pleasant, a sweet tingle that spread across my skin.

He lifted his mouth from mine to pull the tunic over my head, but once I was freed, his lips did not return. He kissed my neck instead, moving down in a straight line between my breasts, which ached for something unknown.

And then his searching lips found them, one after the other, and gifted them with the pleasure they sought. His hands moved lower to caress my belly once again and then the hollow of my hips as he tugged my thudi lower. As if in a dream, I felt him remove my last piece of clothing while I floated toward some mysterious delight.

When he moved over me and brought his lips back to mine, I clung to them with need and glided my hands over his well-muscled back. But then I felt his manpart hot and hard between my thighs, and I froze.

All I could think of was the guard by the creek at the House of Tahar, the way he had thrown me to the ground and tore my clothes away, how his rough fingers had dug into my flesh as he forced my knees apart, his foul breath on my face, his friends cheering him on, impatient for their turn.