Son of Truth (Follower of the Word) Page 10

  Rowen’s eyes were now closed. “And the Monastery?”

  “The Monastery is one of the oldest buildings in Thyra.” Nierne folded her hands on her lap. “But unlike the other white buildings, it is made of red brick.”

  The ship creaked softly. “How did you come to live at the Monastery?” Rowen asked.

  Nierne slowly reached for the pendant she wore around her neck and pulled it out. The light from the lantern glinted off the golden oval and curved symbols that represented the name of the Word. It was the emblem of her status as scribe. “I was left there as a child.”

  Rowen opened one eye and looked at her. “I’m sorry. What happened?”

  Nierne took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “My mother was dying and wanted a safe place for me to live.” Her heart grew heavy. “She caught the fever. Many caught the fever. It was a bad year.”

  Nierne dropped the pendant and clasped her hands together. “We had no other family, so she took me to the one place she thought I would be safe. It was safer than living in the red district of Thyra, anyway. But the fathers had not wanted me. It was only at Father Reth’s insistence that they took me in. I guess that’s why I applied myself so diligently to learning my letters and reading. I worked hard enough to become top scribe. But I could never become a father.”

  Rowen’s steady breathing made Nierne look up. She had fallen asleep. Good. Nierne stood and pulled the blanket and tucked it around Rowen’s neck. She didn’t want to answer any more questions about Thyra or the Monastery, anyway. After checking the lamp, Nierne left the small cabin.

  The underbelly of the ship was airless and hot, so Nierne headed toward the top deck. A blanket of grey filled the sky, blotting out the sun. She walked toward the railing and looked out. Water the color of slate as far as the eye could see. She leaned forward and placed an elbow on the railing, cupping her chin with her hand.

  Something brushed her side.

  “See anything interesting?”

  Captain Drake stood behind her.

  “No.” She backed up against the railing.

  Drake closed the distance between them. His breath smelled rancid. Revulsion filled her. He reminded her of the men her mother would do business with.

  Nierne edged along the railing, her fingertips sliding along the rough wood. “I’m sorry, I need to go check on—”

  “Hold on.” His hand darted out and grabbed her wrist. “I just want to talk.”

  Nierne jerked her hand back but found her voice gone. Fear ripped through her. Talk, move—something! Nierne worked her mouth. “I-I’m not interested in talking.”

  “Really?” Drake lifted one eyebrow. “That’s not nice, now is it? And I thought you were supposed to be nice, being a scribe of the Word and all.”

  Nierne stopped and looked at him. How did he know she was a scribe? She yanked her hand again. “Please let go of me!”

  “What I want to know,” Drake said, “is how a woman like you can be a scribe. What a waste.” His eyes slowly moved down, taking in all of her. Nierne brought her other hand across her chest in an attempt to hide herself. His eyes came back up. “You look nothing like a dusty old scribe. You look more like a—”

  “Nierne, is everything all right?”

  Drake dropped her wrist and stepped back. Nierne fought the urge to vomit. Aren approached from the left with a puzzled look on his face.

  Drake turned toward Aren. “The lady looked a little sick, like her friend. I was just making sure she’s fine.”

  Aren glanced at Nierne with a frown. “She looks fine to me.”

  Drake shrugged. “Just trying to be helpful.” He turned and walked away.

  Nierne stared at his back and glared. Helpful? That no good, low—

  “Was Drake right? Are you feeling sick?”

  Nierne turned to Aren. For one moment she wanted to say no. She wanted to tell Aren everything Drake had said, what she had felt in his presence. She knew the kind of man Drake was. And she wasn’t sure if Drake could be trusted. But years of hiding her own past kept her mouth shut. “I’m fine.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

  Aren was so different than Drake. Kind, polite, caring. And not staring at her figure.

  Nierne let out her breath. “No, really. I’m fine.”

  “But Captain Drake—”

  “Thought he saw something. But I’m fine.” Her insides squirmed at her half-truth. But she really was fine, now that Drake was gone. “Still…I appreciate you asking.”

  Aren relaxed. “Well, all right.” Then he began to talk to her about something he had overheard earlier.

  Nierne only half listened, her thoughts still on Drake. She would just ignore the captain until the trip was over. She would soon be back in the Monastery and would never see him again. She could endure his innuendos until then. Nothing would happen. The ship was too small. She could endure it.

  • • •

  Over the next few weeks, Nierne kept to the small cabin she and Rowen shared. Only when she knew Aren or Rowen or the other guards were on the deck did Nierne venture up top.

  One morning, Nierne found Aren leaning on the railing, watching the water. He looked up and motioned for her to join him. She saw Drake from the corner of her eye, so she hurried to Aren’s side.

  Aren pointed toward the west. “Drake says we’re sailing along the Temanin coast now.” Nierne looked along the horizon for any sign of land but saw only water as far as the eye could see. “Glad we’re not stopping there,” he said.

  Nierne agreed, although a small part of her was curious about the great empire of Temanin. What was Azar, its capital city, like? How could such a large civilization thrive in the desert? Her thoughts went back to her capture and her time spent with Lord Tala. She remembered his dark eyes, his abrupt attitude, and his descent into insanity. What had happened to him after her escape? Had he been captured? Part of Nierne hoped so, although she knew it was not a very merciful thought.

  “How is Rowen doing?” Aren asked, his face toward the water.

  “Resting. She isn’t as sick as when we first started sailing, but she doesn’t seem to handle the rocking motion well. ”

  Aren sighed. “And we still have at least six weeks of sailing left.”

  “Yes.” Nierne glanced at the man at her side. His hair was pulled back, exposing the dark tattoos along his cheek. Nierne found it fascinating that a Nordic served as one of Lady Astrea’s varors, knowing the history between the Ryland Plains and Nordica. During the Nordic Wars, Nordica had obliterated their southern neighbor. Apparently, a couple hundred years could heal such wounds.

  Aren turned to leave.

  Nierne saw Drake hovering nearby. “How is it you came to serve Lady Astrea?” she asked.

  Aren turned back. “What?”

  Nierne’s eyes darted briefly toward Drake. “How did you come to serve as Lady Astrea’s varor?”

  Aren came back to the railing. “Well…” He rubbed his chin. “It was actually her father, Lord Gaynor, who invited me. I lost my father and two older brothers during a clan war. That is what these are for.” He fingered the tattoos on his face. “My uncle, Lord Tancred, talked to Lord Gaynor, and the high lord asked me to come serve him in the White City as a guard. It was Captain Lore who recommended me as varor.”

  “I see,” Nierne said. “How long have you served in the White City?”

  “I spent two years as a guard and five as a varor.”

  “Do you ever go back?”

  “To where? Ragnbörk?” Aren said.

  “Yes.”

  Aren turned toward the railing and leaned over it. He looked down at the waves lapping the side of the ship. “No,” he said and sighed. “I do not make it home much. My family is all gone except for Uncle Tancred. And he is a very busy man.” Nierne could hear a sadness underlying his words. “I’ve actually come to see the White City as my home, and my fellow guards as my family.”

  Nierne took a step c
loser to Aren. “Then it must be hard to go on a journey like this.”

  “Hard?” Aren looked over at her. “I guess it can be. But I would do anything for Rowen.” The way he said Rowen’s name was like a soft caress. Nierne studied him more. Aren was not just here on orders—he was here because of something more.

  “You love her, don’t you?” Nierne asked quietly.

  Aren started and swiftly turned toward her. He studied her for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. “Yes.” He let out a long breath. “But her heart belongs to another.”

  Nierne straightened in surprise. “Rowen is bonded?” She did not remember hearing that.

  Aren shook his head. “Not fully. Not yet. But she and Captain Lore have an…understanding,”

  Captain Lore. That name again, the man she had bumped into back in the White City. Nierne frowned and looked at Aren. He had turned back toward the railing and was looking out over the sea. Aren had come on this trip with Rowen, and Captain Lore had not. This Captain Lore and Rowen had an understanding, yet he had stayed behind?

  Nierne placed her hands on the railing and looked down. Love seemed like a complicated thing.

  “So you’re a scribe from the famous Monastery in Thyra,” Aren said.

  “Yes.”

  “I understand that your order does not bond.”

  Nierne folded her hands across the railing. “That is true. But I have not yet taken my vows. Some choose to leave the order before taking their vows.”

  “And you?” Aren glanced over at her. “Will you leave?”

  “No!” Then she sighed and looked back down. “But there are not many left of my order. I may not even have the opportunity to take my vows.” Were there any fathers left? Or other scribes? Was the Monastery even standing? What would she do with her life if the Monastery were no more? Nierne gripped her hands together. She did not want to think about it.

  “Have you ever considered bonding?” Aren asked.

  Touché. She had asked him personal questions, and now he was returning the favor. “No.” She looked at Aren. “I have no desire to bond.” To bond would require becoming close to a man, something she did not desire. At least not with any of the men she knew.

  It is not good to be alone.

  The words whispered past her ear. Nierne shrank from the voice.

  Aren cocked his head in a thoughtful way. “Why?”

  Nierne stuffed the voice back down into the recesses of her mind. “I would rather give my life to serving the Word.”

  You can serve the Word in many ways.

  This time the voice sounded like Father Reth. No! she argued back. The Monastery was her home, her life, her—

  “But what if you meet someone someday?” Aren asked.

  Nierne shook her head. That would never happen. “Once I take my vow, there is no turning back.” Never. She stared resolutely out toward the sea.

  “It seems to me you’ve never considered a life outside the Monastery.” Aren tapped his chin with his finger. “What if the Word you serve had a different plan for your life?”

  “There is no other plan,” Nierne said hotly. Then she blushed, ashamed that her anger had gotten the best of her.

  “I see.” Aren stared at her for a moment, then he turned his attention back to the sea. “Well, I would prefer to love, even if I am never loved back.”

  Nierne bit her tongue. Why was this man trying to get under her skin? She knew what she wanted to do with her life. She had planned it out a long time ago. The water lapped gently against the side of the ship. Nierne watched the water. Love. What did she know of that? Father Reth had loved her. At the end, he had told her she had been like a daughter to him. Her heart twisted at the memory.

  Her mother had loved her too, in her own way. Father Reth had to remind Nierne of this over and over again. Her mother had left her at the Monastery to protect her, care for her, give her a better life than she had experienced.

  So whom did Nierne love?

  Aren stirred at her side. She glanced at him again and recalled his words. I would prefer to love, even if I am never loved back. Father Reth. She had loved Father Reth. What if you met someone someday? No. Nierne shook her head. She would never love another man.

  A shadow fell across the railing. Nierne and Aren turned at the same time.

  A sailor stood behind them, his arm already in mid swing with a large board.

  Time slowed.

  The board moved toward her face. Somewhere inside her mind she heard Aren yell and push her away.

  Crack! The board hit Aren fully across the face, twisting his head hard to the side.

  Nierne let out a gurgled scream.

  Aren crumpled into a heap on the deck, a large bloody gash quickly forming alongside his head.

  She fell to her knees. “Aren, Aren!”

  Blood and spittle flew out of his mouth. “Watch out!” His hand came up just as the board came again. Crack!

  The board hit his outstretched arm, slamming his hand into the side of her face. Nierne blinked and shook her head. Shouts echoed around her. People ran in front of her in a blurred motion.

  Aren grunted and struggled to sit up. Blood covered his face. He looked at Nierne, his eyes wide. He struggled to reach his sword. “Nierne—get away—find—” His eyes rolled up, and his head fell back against the deck.

  Hysterics sank in. Nierne screamed.

  The sailor moved above her. She looked up, still screaming. The sailor swung his board back—

  “Enough!”

  Drake walked up to the sailor’s side.

  Nierne shrank at the sight of Drake. Her body shook so badly she couldn’t move.

  “Enough.” Drake looked down at her. “I don’t want the woman harmed.”

  The sailor stood with the board still clutched in his hands. “And the man?”

  “He’s had enough. Take them both below.”

  “Below, Captain? Why not just toss him—”

  “I need him and the others, for now.” Drake turned and walked away. The sailor bent over to grab Aren.

  A surge of adrenaline swept through Nierne. “No!” She lurched forward with her fingers curled. She raked the sailor’s cheek, leaving three long red welts.

  He yelled and swung his hand back. “That’s it! I don’t care what the captain said.”

  Nierne raised her hand in defense, but his blow blew past and caught her by the chin. Her head reeled back. One vast throb rocked her head, and stars popped across her vision. Nierne felt herself falling. She hit the deck, and everything went black.

  9

  Rowen stared at the lantern that hung inside the dark, cramped cabin. Warm stagnant air hung heavily, scented with the smell of refuse and brine. The boards creaked and the ship rocked with each wave.

  Her own stomach rocked with the ship. For weeks now, bile had become an unwanted companion, was always there, sitting at the back of her throat, threatening to come up if she dared to eat or if the ship moved too much.

  As her body fought to keep the bile down, her mind felt more and more muddled. Hot hours melted into days until she had no idea how long they had been at sea.

  Rowen groaned and rolled onto her side. At least the bucket next to her was clean, thanks to Nierne. She gripped the woolen blanket draped across her body and closed her eyes. Her mind wandered through dim darkness. How ironic. She loved a man connected to the sea, but she found she hated the sea. Rowen laughed out loud, the sound bouncing inside the small room.

  The Word had a sense of humor.

  The ship shifted again. Rowen sighed and cracked open her eyes again. She missed Lore. Every time she thought of him, a huge weight filled her chest. She wished she could turn back time, have a couple more minutes with him back on that balcony. If only she had known then what she knew now: that she loved him too.

  But now it was too late. Lore said he would find her, but would he? The world was a vast place. To even reach Thyra would take weeks of travel. Was it worth it to hi
m?

  The power inside her began to burn. Rowen lay still and felt it churning inside her chest. She placed a hand over the spot and frowned. Why would it trigger now?

  The heat reached out, pass the thin boards that separated her from the rest of the ship. She could hear the muffled sound of people moving on the other side of the wall. Her power burned hotter.

  Rowen struggled up onto one elbow and closed her eyes. Yes. It was coming from the men in the hold next to her. It felt as though they had pulled a dark cover across their minds. She could not see any further than that, but she could feel the cover.

  She opened her eyes and breathed out. Were they hiding something?

  There was a shout followed by a loud crash. Rowen sat up. More crashes and thumps came from overhead. Then the screams began.

  Her varor instincts kicked in. Rowen swung her legs around and touched the floor. With a shaky shove, she stood. The ship rocked beneath her, and Rowen fell forward. She stumbled toward the opposite wall and held a hand over her mouth. Not now! She took two deep breaths and swallowed. She turned and moved toward her pack. She bent down and felt around for her scabbard. The ship rolled again.

  Rowen stopped. She pressed her head against the wooden boards. Cold sweat broke out along her forehead. She heard another shout, this one farther away. She took a deep breath and felt around again. Finally, she found her scabbard. She stood, pulled out her smallsword, and made her way slowly toward the door.

  The door swung outward. Rowen blinked against the dark hallway. Musty air filled her nostrils, mingled with sweaty human flesh. She heard more shouting from the top deck. She weaved across the unsteady floor, past the hanging hammocks and barrels, and to the stairs that led to the top deck.

  Each stair creaked as she slowly went up. Yes, there was definitely fighting going on. But why? Pirate attack? She tightened her grip on her smallsword.

  Rowen lifted her head until she was level with the top deck. She saw a cluster of sailors near the main mast, many of them holding swords or clubs.