Daughter of Light (Follower of the Word Book 1) Read online

  Balint came to stand beside him. He was quiet for a moment before answering. “It wasn’t me. There is still no cure for the black wolf’s bite.”

  “Then how—”

  “The Word healed her.”

  Lore could hear the hesitancy in his answer. He glanced over to find Balint looking down at Rowen with a look of pity. How strange. Balint should be delighted that Rowen would live. Lore narrowed his eyes. There was something Balint wasn’t telling him.

  “How long do you think it will take for her to recover?”

  That same period of silence ensued before Balint answered. “Physically, she is almost healed. But her mind…”

  “Her mind?” Lore said, subtly pushing the question.

  “More happened to her than just the physical attack.”

  Yes, there was definitely something going on.

  “And that would be…?”

  Balint turned to look at him. “Captain, if you care for this young woman, you will give her the room she needs to recover.”

  Lore felt like he had been slapped in the face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push. I just need to know if Rowen will be able to do her duties and when.”

  The protective look across Balint’s face morphed into understanding. “I’ve known you for many years, Lore,” he said, dropping all formalities. “You care about the men and women under your command as if they were your family. The best way you can help Rowen is to give her space and time to work out what happened yesterday.”

  There it was, that same dodge. But this time Lore chose not to push. “I understand,” he said. “When should I let her come back to duty?”

  Balint thought for a moment. “Give her a couple days at least to finish recovering physically. As far as her mental state…don’t push her. If Rowen chooses to open up to you, then listen. If not, well, hopefully when she is ready she will find someone to talk to.”

  His heart twisted at Balint’s words. What made Balint so concerned for Rowen? What had happened besides the wolf attack? Lore looked back down at where she slept. “I will do as you say,” he said, fighting the urge to reach out and touch her face. He would not press her, but deep down he hoped she would open up to him. She should not fight alone whatever this was.

  Lore straightened back up. “I need to get back to my duties. Keep me informed.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Lore escorted himself out.

  The next few days he restrained from going to the Healers Quarter. He wanted to honor what Balint had said and let Rowen recover at her own pace without him or anyone else looking over her shoulder. The other guards asked how she was doing, and Lore told them the truth: Rowen would live, but she still needed time away. He forbade anyone to visit her, and he followed that command himself.

  Apart from Rowen, there were other matters weighing heavily on his mind. The hunting parties had successfully found the other black wolf and brought the pelt back to the castle. But that didn’t mean there weren’t more. He debated whether to send more parties out and shut the city gates or to assume the wolves were gone. The fact that there had been only two rather than a pack seemed to indicate perhaps it was an isolated event.

  Lore rubbed the back of his neck and headed toward the training room. Then there was the Temanin Empire to think about. Now that Temanin had broken through the pass and was moving through the north, it was only a matter of time before the empire headed toward the White City. At Lord Gaynor’s command, Lore had scoured the city for more recruits. Now he needed to train them.

  He walked into the large training room. Dark clouds filled the glass dome above. Torches were lit and hung from the metal brackets in the walls.

  “Captain.” Aren came and stood beside Lore. “You training these recruits?”

  Lore looked over the room. There were at least fifteen men and two women. And they all looked so young. Lore ran a hand through his hair. Was he really getting that old? Suddenly he felt conscious of his grey hair and the few wrinkles near the corners of his eyes.

  A couple heads turned his direction. “As a matter of fact, I am,” Lore said “Care to join?”

  “An opportunity to show off my skills?” Aren said with a grin.

  Lore let a small smile cross his lips. “Then follow me.”

  • • •

  Lore spent the morning teaching the basics. Most of the new recruits caught on fast, allowing him to progress further than he had anticipated.

  Lore wiped his forehead. “Time for a break,” he said, motioning for everyone to stop. “Feel free to spend your time in the Guards Quarter or out in the courtyard. In one hour we’ll resume training.”

  The recruits began to wander toward the double doors. Lore reached for one of the small rags sitting on a nearby bench.

  Aren edged up next to him. “Captain.”

  “Yes?” Lore took the rag and wiped his forehead. Aren nodded toward the doorway. “Rowen is here.”

  “What?” Lore turned and stared.

  Rowen stood rigidly in the doorway. She was in uniform, her long pale hair braided and hanging over one shoulder, her blue cloak clasped around her neck. A couple of the recruits looked her over.

  “Aren,” Lore said, “clear out the training room. Rowen and I need to talk.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Aren followed the crowd out, stopping once to say something to Rowen. Moments later, the training room was empty. Rowen continued to stand in the doorway.

  Lore walked toward her, noting her stubborn stance. Then he glanced at her eyes. Shocked, he faltered. Her eyes were dull and lifeless, the sparkle he remembered, gone.

  “Captain,” she said, tilting her chin upward.

  “Rowen.” Lore stepped closer. “What are you doing here?” Her eyes looked up into his, giving him full view of the pain radiating within.

  “Returning to duty, Captain,” Rowen said.

  Unwilling to embarrass her in front of the guards in the other room, Lore placed his hand on her arm and steered her into the training room. Then he turned to look at her. The stubbornness present moments ago melted away into hesitancy. Her eyes flickered as he studied her.

  “You’ve just recovered from what should have been a fatal wound.”

  Rowen stiffened. “I’m feeling fine,” she said, “and I’d rather—”

  Without thinking Lore placed a finger on her lips, shocking her into silence. “No, Rowen,” he said. “We are leaving for Avonai in five days, and I need you to be at your best for the trip. Until then, you are to rest.”

  “Avonai?” Rowen said in a puzzled voice, her lips moving against his finger.

  Lore withdrew his hand as if scorched, his heart suddenly thudding loudly in his chest. “Yes,” he said, grateful his voice sounded normal. “Avonai has agreed to join the northern alliance.”

  “So Lady Astrea agreed to the bonding?”

  So Rowen knew about that too. “Yes,” Lore said.

  Rowen’s face turned downcast.

  “So I’m asking that you rest until the trip.”

  Her shoulders slumped even farther. “Yes, sir.” She turned to go.

  “Rowen?”

  Rowen turned back to look at him. “I’m here…if you need someone to talk to.”

  She gave him a sad smile. “Yes, sir.” Then she walked away.

  For one moment Lore almost followed her, then thought better of it as he remembered Balint’s words. Please help her, Word, he thought as he watched Rowen leave. Whatever is killing the life inside of her, please help her.

  • • •

  Rowen turned right and continued down the long hallway. Disappointment swelled inside her chest. Had she really expected Lore to let her come back? Yes, a small part of her answered. After spending three days in the Healers Quarter with nothing to do but reflect on what Balint had shared with her, she was ready to return to duty. Yet Lore had said no.

  Rest he had said. Rowen laughed bitterly. That was the last thing she wanted to do. So
instead she headed toward the front doors.

  She passed two guards. They glanced briefly her way. Rowen ignored them as she opened one of the doors. Rain poured down in thick sheets from dark clouds, pounding the portico and stairs in a deafening staccato. The sight of it drew her in. The sky looked the same way she felt.

  A reckless spirit came over her. Rowen pulled her hood over her head and walked out into the torrent. The rain hammered her head and shoulders as she hurried down the stairs and past the water fountain toward the first gate.

  No one stopped her as she walked beneath the first archway. The stone overhead shielded her momentarily from the rain. Then she stepped back out into the rain and continued down the long main street.

  Water rushed between the cobblestones, pooling beside the stone buildings. Cheery lights shone from homes and shops, a contrast to the dark outside. The streets were empty, devoid of life. No one in their right mind would be out in a storm like this, even though it was midday.

  Halfway through the city, she turned down one of the side streets. The rain stung her face and the wind tried to whip back her hood. Rowen held her cloak tightly beneath her chin and made her way toward the city wall. Ahead she could see the dark silhouette of a door. The reckless feeling inside of her grew. She knew the gate opened up on the western side of Anwin Forest, a small entrance for those who needed lumber from the forest. She bent her head down and hurried toward the door.

  As Rowen approached the gate, she felt a twinge of caution. She knew the black wolves had been tracked down and killed. Balint had told her so. However, there could still be some in the forest. Would she risk it?

  The rain pounded her face. She raised a hand to wipe away the water, and she felt the rough texture of leather against her cheek. Anger roared to life inside her chest. Suddenly she knew: She didn’t care. She wanted to run away. Run somewhere, anywhere. Anywhere but here.

  Rowen edged alongside one of the buildings. She placed a hand above her eyes to keep the rain out and glanced up. She could see figures moving in and out of the guardhouse near the main gates. If she were careful, none of the guards would see her leave.

  She hurried along the wall toward the gate. Tugging on the gate, she found it unlocked. She pulled the door open, slipped out, and carefully pulled the door shut behind her.

  Rowen blinked against the rain. She could barely see the trees. She put one foot in front of the other, the water battering her body. But the storm overhead was nothing compared to the way she felt inside: the utter grief and despair over Balint’s revelation. She was an Eldaran, a Truthsayer.

  And all she had ever wanted to be was human.

  Instead, she found herself hiding behind a glove, terrified of touching another person, terrified of seeing the darkness that hid inside the heart of another.

  The rain continued its steady downpour as she drew near Anwin. Tall trees branched out overhead, catching the rain between their spindly fingers. Rowen stopped beneath the foliage. She took a moment to catch her breath. Then she plunged into the forest, keeping the city wall to her back and the side of the mountain to her right. The trees grew thicker the farther she went, their trunks broadening with the years they had spent in the forest. The rain, where it was able to find its way between the branches, had reduced to a steady drizzle.

  Rowen walked through the wet underbrush, her thoughts wandering bitterly now toward her parents. Her real parents. In the past, she had been only somewhat curious about them. But her thoughts had never lingered long on their absence. She had never known them, after all. And the loving attention of Ann and Jedrek kept her more than content. But now she wondered who they were, what had happened to them, and why they had left her on the Mar’s doorstep over twenty years ago.

  Why weren’t they here when her mark had appeared? Why weren’t they here to explain to her who she was? Instead, they had left her to stumble through the dark misunderstandings of others, to be hurt and wounded simply because she had been ignorant of her abilities, her gift.

  So where were they now?

  Rowen wiped away angry tears, then stopped. She stared ahead at a small meadow. Lush green grass grew, dotted with tiny white flowers. A mist gently floated along one side of the field. An old stone ruin stood on the other. Nearby, she spied a deer and her fawn grazing quietly, neither noticing her presence.

  There was such a peaceful lull to the tiny meadow that for one moment she forgot her heartache. She lowered her hand and began to walk across the meadow. Her movement startled the deer. With lightning speed, the mother and fawn bounded back into the trees.

  The grass clung to her boots and pants. Tiny white petals broke off and scattered at her footstep. Halfway across the meadow, the mist shifted. Falling from the high mountain cliffs above were dozens of waterfalls. Rowen stopped, the sight catching in her throat.

  At the bottom lay a pool of water that caught the cascades. White mist drifted up and around the waters. A moment later, the mist covered the falls again, leaving a wall of white. Rowen stared at the white haze, then over at the white stone ruin. A shiver ran down her spine.

  What was this place?

  Hesitantly, she took a step toward the ruin, then another, feeling as though she were walking on hallowed ground. She could see long cracks along its white surface. Dark green ivy climbed its walls. A doorway stood in the front with charred remains of two doors on either side.

  Rowen carefully made her way up the broken set of stairs to the door. She could not remember anyone mentioning a stone ruin outside the city. And that seemed strange, for when she reached the top of the stairs, she could see carvings etched into the wood doors where fire and ivy had not reached. The same carvings she had seen on the gates that hung on either side of the White City’s entrance.

  Rowen bent closer to the wood and looked at the carvings. She had no idea what the symbols meant, and now she wished she had asked someone about the symbols back on the city’s gates. She straightened up, still staring at the doors. Could the White City and this decrepit building be somehow linked?

  A sudden desire to see inside filled her. She carefully stepped passed the burnt doors and looked inside. Small bits of light filtered down from somewhere above.

  It looked safe enough.

  She craned her neck to look a bit more. Overhead, thunder boomed and the rain started up again. A shiver rushed across her body. Freezing, Rowen went inside the ruin.

  Damp, musty air filled her nostrils. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark interior. Rain fell through a partially collapsed roof overhead. Huge chunks of masonry littered the stone floor. Dirt and windswept debris crowded the corners. Spider webs shimmered along cracked columns whose job had once been to hold up the ceiling.

  Rowen cautiously made her way across the floor. Ahead, a collapsed wall cut off her view of the rest of the room. She sidestepped another chunk of masonry. What was this place? An abandoned academy? Religious abbey? Or perhaps a military outpost dating back to the foundation of the White City?

  Rowen looked around and made her way across the room. She could find nothing that explained what the old ruin had once been: no broken furniture, no scattered scrolls, not even a scrap of cloth. Just crumbling walls and a caved in ceiling.

  She turned to go, but a flash of color caught her eye. Rowen turned back. A small archway stood half hidden behind a large slab of rock. She should really be getting back…

  Color flashed again.

  Just one more minute.

  Rowen walked around the slab. The archway was clear of webs and debris. Odd, she thought. The color flashed again. She followed the colors through the archway. Rainbows danced across the white stone floor. Puzzled, Rowen raised her eyes…and everything inside her stopped.

  From floor to ceiling stood a wall made entirely of colored glass.

  The ruin stood silent around her as if it were holding its breath. Rowen took a step, then another. A stray sunbeam suddenly shone from behind the glass, illuminating the entire room.
The hairs on the back of her neck rose.

  What is this place?

  Moving closer, she realized the colored glass was broken up into multiple panels by thin dark metal rods. And within each panel was a picture.

  Rowen moved toward the nearest panel. It was a picture of a young woman kneeling near a man in uniform. The detail of the glass was such that she could see the pain etched across the man’s face and a look of peace on the woman’s. Dark red glass covered the man’s chest. Blood.

  The young woman held her hand above the man’s wound. Rowen stared at the woman’s hand and froze.

  On the woman’s hand was an oddly shaped white mark.

  Shaken, Rowen quickly moved toward the next frame. In this one she found an old woman. By her bedside were two people. Both had their hands raised just above the woman’s body. Taking a step closer, she peered at their hands and found the same marks across their palms.

  A chill ran down her back. These people… It couldn’t be. Rowen moved on toward the next frame.

  This one was different from the other two, the image much darker. The picture consisted of a young man standing near a creature she had never seen before. The glass that made up the creature’s body was a swirl of blacks and greys, as if to portray the creature as an incorporeal being. Its narrow eyes glowed with flame-colored glass, and a protrusion of sharp fangs extended out from its upper lip.

  Rowen turned back toward the young man. There was neither fear nor surprise on his face. Instead, he looked confident and determined. Her eyes traveled down the black lines toward his hand. But instead of a mark on his palm, he held a sword—a strange pale yellow sword that seemed to fade in and out of the glass.

  Rowen looked again into the man’s face. Who was he? And why was he different than the others?

  On and on went the portraits, each containing people with a white mark upon their palm. As she studied the pictures, Rowen felt a twisting inside her heart. She knew there was no mistaking who these people were.