Son of Truth (Follower of the Word) Read online

  Son of Truth by Morgan L. Busse

  Published by Marcher Lord Press

  8345 Pepperridge Drive

  Colorado Springs, CO 80920

  www.marcherlordpress.com

  This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  MARCHER LORD PRESS and the MARCHER LORD PRESS logo are trademarks of Marcher Lord Press. Absence of TM in connection with marks of Marcher Lord Press or other parties does not indicate an absence of trademark protection of those marks.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Designer, Typesetter, Editor: Jeff Gerke

  eBook Conversion and Design: Kerry Nietz

  Copyright © 2013 by Morgan L. Busse

  All rights reserved

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  An application to register this book for cataloging has been filed with the Library of Congress.

  International Standard Book Number: 978-1-935929-98-7

  To Jill and Jason,

  Thank you for the laughter and light of your friendship.

  High Sun, Day 3, First Year Reign of High Lady Astrea Celestis

  It is day one since the Temanin Empire fell at our gates. Already, Temanin prisoners are being taken to Mostyn, save those most injured, who are now under my care, as well as our own soldiers. So many injured with so little help. But we will make do. We always have.

  Rowen now rests inside the storage room in the Healers Quarter, where I can keep watch over her as she recovers. Rowen Mar, the last Eldaran. I have already recorded the day I first discovered the mark of the Word on her hand and the story of her banishment from the village of Cinad.

  I am still in awe of her, even more so since last night when she unleashed a torrent of light across Anwin Forest and the White City. The very power of the Word sweeping away our enemies. Like in the stories of old passed down by the bards.

  But I fear for Rowen now. The people of the north are not ready for someone like her. Which is why Captain Lore Palancar and I have chosen to hide her. There will always be those who fear another Nordic Wars. However, I do not see Rowen abusing the power given to her by the Word. I believe she will bring life, not death, with her mark.

  Until others see this, I hope that Lady Astrea Celestis will be able to protect Rowen. And I will do my best to help her, as well.

  Balint Kedem

  Chief Healer of the White City

  Caleb Tala stood naked in the dark, his hands covered in blood. Orbs of soft light bobbed in the tall, bare trees, leaving pools of light on the ground. A small stream wove its way through the dark forest, rushing over black rocks. The air felt warm and humid.

  He looked around, his muscles tense. This dark place reminded him of his nightmares. He looked behind him, expecting to see bodies standing in the shadows between the trees. The open spaces were empty. Caleb sighed and turned back, then saw his hands again. Repulsed, he held them away from his body. He needed to get this blood off.

  He hurried toward the stream and fell to his knees. He plunged his hands into the cold, clear water and waited for the blood to rinse off, to float away in the trickling waters.

  But nothing happened.

  Caleb shook his hands beneath the water, then rubbed them together. Nothing, not even a slight change in the water’s color. Bile rose in his throat. He stared at his hands submerged beneath the rushing water. What was happening to him? Why wouldn’t the blood wash away?

  A shadow fell across the clear water. Caleb looked up.

  A badly scarred man looked back. Long, jagged wounds marred his face, distorting his cheeks and brow. Smaller white scars were scattered across the rest of his face as if he had been cut a thousand times. Two ugly red lines ran down his neck until they disappeared into his dull grey robe.

  Caleb scurried away from the stream, staying in a low crouch so as to cover his nakedness. Was this a nightmare? It had to be. Nothing about this place felt real.

  But unlike his other nightmares, where he knew each and every ghost, he didn’t recognize the man before him. His gaze darted to the man’s scarred hands, but he saw no dagger. The others in his dreams had always held a dagger. His dagger. Caleb looked back at the man’s face. Yes, he would definitely have remembered this repulsively wounded man.

  However, he wasn’t going to stay and find out if the scarred man wanted to murder him or not. Caleb tried to turn around, but some unseen force held his face. He could not twist his head.

  The man raised his hand and looked at Caleb with dark eyes, as dark as his own. A chill ran down his spine, leaving his body covered in bumps.

  “It is time, Son of Truth.” The scarred man took a step closer to the stream that divided them. “The Lands need a Guardian once again.”

  The man looked down at Caleb’s hands. Caleb tucked his hands between his thighs and felt the hot rush of shame. “Who are you? What do you want?” Caleb searched out of the corner of his eye for a bush, a tree, anything to hide himself.

  “You cannot wash your hands, can you?”

  His heart hammered like a wild animal. Something about this man felt…terrifying. As if all the power in the Lands were bound within this simple and misshapen man. No…not man… “What do you care?” Caleb felt vulnerable, crouching here by the stream.

  “There is nothing you can do to wipe away the blood,” the man said.

  Nothing? Caleb wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t tried everything yet. If only this man would leave him alone!

  “There is only one thing that can remove the blood from your hands.” The man walked toward Caleb until only the small brook separated them. “Death.”

  Caleb scowled at the man. “More killing?”

  “No, your death.”

  Caleb flushed, and his breath grew short. So that’s what this was about. He pulled one of his hands out from between his knees. He could see the blood stain across his fingers and his knuckles. He must atone for all the lives he had taken.

  The killer inside of him wanted to fight for his life. But there was another part of him that knew the man spoke the truth. He had always known he would have to pay for his murders. Had not his conscience warned him with visions of his own victims killing him?

  “So,” Caleb said, lifting his gaze toward the man, “are you here to kill me?”

  The man did not answer. Instead, he walked across the brook. The hair along Caleb’s neck rose. The man did not step into the water, but rather he walked across the top as though it were a hard surface.

  Caleb stumbled back. He turned and scrambled toward the nearest tree. He reached the trunk and hid himself behind it. He looked around and found the man standing next to the stream, staring in his direction. “What are you?” Caleb shouted. Something deep inside told him that the woman with the glowing hand was nothing compared to this strange man with scars.

  “I am the one who can clean the blood off your hands.”

  “So you’re the one who will kill me.” Well, he wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Dagger or not, he still had skills, skills enough to save him from this scarred man.

  “No. I will take the blood. That is, if you will let me.”

  Caleb readied himself. “Take the blood?” he sneered.

  “Come out, Son of Truth. Give me your hands.
I will wash them.”

  That name again. Son of Truth. The words stirred something inside him. Caleb hesitated, confused by the feelings bubbling up, confused by the man’s words. “But you just said—”

  “That only death could take away the blood on your hands, yes.”

  “My death.” Caleb felt his strength and resolve return. Death, it always came down to that.

  “Yes, you are right. Unless another took your death in your place.”

  Caleb laughed. The guffaw was harsh and grating. Someone take death for him? Ha! He could think of no one who would die for him. Not his cousin, Lord Corin. Caleb was only an instrument in Corin’s hands, a weapon to carry out his will throughout the Temanin Empire. And certainly not Ailis. Beautiful, passionate Ailis. What they had was purely physical.

  And if Caleb were honest with himself, he would never die for them either.

  “I’m afraid you will not find anyone willing to take my place,” Caleb said in a mocking tone. But deep inside, the truth hurt.

  “Actually, someone already did.”

  “What?” Caleb raced through all the faces he knew. Who? And why? And how did they even know about his dark secrets, those that now covered his hands in blood? Did he mean that all the people Caleb had killed had actually died in his place in some way? “No, you’re wrong.” He shook his head. “No one died for me.”

  “I did.”

  Caleb gaped at the man with scars. “You? How can that be? If you took my death, then wouldn’t you be…dead?” Or perhaps they were both dead. That would explain this dark place, the trees, and his bloody hands. All he needed now were his victims, and he would be in his own personal hell. To be tormented forever by those he had killed. Too late to change that now—

  “No. Neither of us is dead.”

  Caleb’s head shot up.

  “Yes, Son of Truth, you are still alive. And I can take the blood off your hands.”

  An odd sensation filled his chest. “You can clean my hands?”

  “Yes.”

  The feeling expanded, like a ball of fire inside his heart. He slowly lifted his hand and stared at the blood. He could be clean? The ball of fire burned brightly, then dimmed as if water had doused the hopeful flames. Guilt moved in, and something even darker.

  “Not only can I take the blood from your hands,” Caleb heard the scarred man say, “I can heal the darkness inside you. Yes—” Caleb looked up and found the man staring at him. “You can feel it. It is what stains your hands.”

  That dark thing came alive inside Caleb. He had felt its subtle stirrings before, heard its seductive whispers, felt its power. It was what had driven him for so many years. It blazed inside him, a hot dark flame so unlike the hope that had filled him moments before. The flames hurt. Caleb fell to his knees beside the tree and folded his arms across his chest.

  He knew the darkness inside him did not want to die. It wanted to live. And there was a part of him that wanted it to live too. The darkness was powerful and intoxicating. Could he give it up?

  The man before him began to change. A brilliant light flashed across Caleb’s vision, so bright that it forced him to shut his eyes. The darkness inside him blazed even hotter.

  Then the light dimmed. Caleb slowly opened his eyes and looked up—

  The man with scars had changed. He was still covered with scars, but now he was robed in brilliant white. The power Caleb had felt around the man now showed on the outside. No…not a man…

  Caleb dropped his head, adrenaline rushing through his body. He was naked and filthy and wished for anything to cover himself, to hide himself from—

  “You have no need to fear me,” the man said. “I am the Word.” The Word began to walk toward him.

  Caleb’s entire body froze. The Word? Memories of all those he had murdered flashed across his mind. Many of his victims had been Followers of the Word—

  “And if you are willing, I will heal you.”

  Caleb lifted his eyes until he could see the scarred feet and ankles of the Word. Why was He covered in such ugly disfigurements? Wasn’t He supposed to be a god, perhaps the God? Shouldn’t He look…better? More beautiful? Majestic? Uninjured?

  “Why?” Caleb said, his voice hoarse. Why would the Word heal the person who had killed so many of His Followers?

  “Because I am the only one who can heal the darkness inside you.”

  Caleb slowly shook his head, his gaze still on the ground. “But I have killed so many—”

  “I know.”

  Caleb lifted his gaze a fraction more until he could see the hem along the bottom of the white robe. “And yet you would still heal me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just like that? Even after…?”

  “Yes.”

  Caleb glanced down at the blood on his hands. The darkness inside him flamed up again. It was too easy. Shouldn’t he have to pay penance for what he had done? Perhaps die for what he had done? Isn’t that what the Word had said? A life for a life? Except in his case, that would be a lot of lives.

  Yet there was a hope inside him that deeply desired the healing the Word offered. He wanted the blood gone from his hands. He wanted to be free of this darkness that burned inside his soul. He wanted forgiveness.

  Could the Word really do all that…and it would cost him nothing?

  “Hold out your hands,” the Word said above him.

  His body went rigid. Blood pounded inside his head. He raised both hands. They trembled in light cast from the Word.

  As if knowing its end was near, the darkness inside him roared into an inferno. Caleb clenched his jaw and continued to raise his hands. His chest felt as if it were on fire and would burn a hole right through him. Take them, he thought frantically. I can’t hold them out much longer.

  The light around the Word grew. The Word knelt and extended His own hands toward Caleb. Caleb watched, his breath caught inside his throat. Closer, their hands only inches apart. Bloody fingers extended toward brilliant white light—

  Their fingertips met.

  The fiery darkness vanished.

  Healing warmth flooded him. The warmth spread from his fingers, up along his arms, reaching to every part of his body. It swirled around his heart, mending what had for so long been broken.

  Caleb collapsed onto the ground, his body still shrouded in the Word’s warmth. He lay there, taking in each breath and letting it out. He could not move. He had lived for so long by the strength of that dark power that now, to be free of it, left him as weak as a newborn babe.

  “You are free now, Caleb Tala.”

  Caleb looked up. The Word’s hands still extended toward him, blood coating them. He struggled to sit, then stopped and gasped when he saw his own hands. They were spotless, not a trace of red anywhere.

  The blood… It was gone!

  He held his hands out in front of him and flexed his fingers, staring in wonder. Then he laughed. “I can’t believe it!” He looked back up at the Word. “I can’t believe—”

  He choked back his words. His eyes widened, and his throat grew tight. The blood on the Word’s hands: It was his. The blood slowly soaked into the Word’s skin, leaving behind a long scar along His left palm.

  Caleb raised his gaze until he was looking into the deep dark eyes of the Word. “You,” he said, his voice shaking. “You took the blood. You really healed me.”

  “Yes,” the Word said.

  “How can I ever repay—”

  “You cannot. The healing was mine to give.”

  Caleb looked back down at his hands. Free. He was free now. He moved his fingers again. Then he looked back up. He found his next words lodged inside his throat. Caleb swallowed. “Thank you,” he said finally. He couldn’t remember ever feeling gratitude before. But he felt it now, to the bursting point.

  A gentle smile spread across the Word’s face. He placed His newly scarred hand upon Caleb’s shoulder. “Come, Caleb. There is one more thing we must talk about before you leave.”
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  “Leave?”

  The Word stood and took a step back.

  Caleb went to stand, then stopped in mid-movement. He stared down at his body.

  He was no longer naked.

  Instead, a short white tunic covered his body. He stood the rest of the way, still staring at the clothing. The Word took a few more steps back. Caleb touched the clothing with his fingers. The cloth felt cool and silky to the touch. He took a deep breath and moved to the Word’s side.

  They walked alongside the small brook. The sky above them was still dark, save for the small orbs of light that hovered between the trees. In his nightmares, this place was filled with those he had murdered. But now they were gone. It was only the Word and him.

  “There is a choice you must now make.” The Word’s voice rumbled through the quiet forest. “You are a Guardian by blood, but it must also be by choice.”

  “A Guardian?”

  “Your mother was an Eldaran,” the Word said. “A Guardian of mankind. A Daughter of Truth.”

  Caleb’s eyebrows shot up. “My mother?”

  “Yes.” The small stream wove to the left. They both turned and followed it. “A long time ago. She made a choice to no longer be one. I granted her desire. I removed from her the gift and responsibility of Guardian.”

  A chill ran down his spine. Hazy memories surfaced. An image of his mother appeared. She was lying on a bed with white gauze surrounding her. Her black hair, once shiny, was now dull and spread across the linen pillow. He stood beside her and held her paper-thin hand. In her delirium she spoke of the Eldarans.

  He had been sixteen when she’d taken fever and died. At that age, he’d practically been a man by Temanin standards. Her words had scared him. He’d wanted to dismiss her ramblings, blame them on her fever. After she’d died, he’d been able to do that. Until the night he’d assassinated Delshad.

  Caleb now understood why his visions of the woman with the glowing hand had terrified him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew such power existed. Only he had wanted to deny it, to say it was a myth.